Disclaimer: see previous chapters.

...

Emmett opened the door to Rosalie's apartment. He was wearing a tie.

"Late," he said flatly.

I glanced at my watch. It was 6:03, which, according to Jessica and Angela and everyone else who had always made me wait, meant I was well within-five-minutes-doesn't-count-as-late rule. But something told me maybe I shouldn't point this out just now.

"She's here!" Emmett called out over his shoulder, then shot me the stink I as I waked in, shutting the door behind me.

"I'll be right out," Rosalie replied, her voice light, "Offer her something to drink, Emmett?"

"This way." Emmett started into the living room. As we walked our shoes made swishy noises on the carpet. It was the first time I've been to Rosalie's, but I was surprised by the décor. Instead of the high class girl she is you think her house would resemble her, but it was the complete opposite. Her couches were a dark red and there was a normal size TV on the far back wall. Magazines were spread all over her coffee table and as I studied the photos on her wall closely, I could tell that these were pictures she took herself. She had a real talent.

I sat on the couch, and Emmett brought me a root beer, which he knew I hated, but thought I deserved. Then we sat down, him on the couch, and me on the love seat. Across from me was a large plant.

"I didn't realize it was a formal occasion," I said, nodding at his dark blue tie.

"Obviously," he shot back.

Ooookay.

I glanced at myself: I had on dark jeans, a purple t-shirt, with white boots barely passing my ankle. I looked fine, and he knew it. There was a clang from the kitchen, which sounded like an oven closing, and then the door swung open and Rosalie emerged, smoothing down her blouse as if it was already wrinkle free enough.

"Alice," she said, coming over and bending down to kiss my check. This was new. It took my all not pull back, from surprise, but I stayed, knowing my brother would give me another dirty look. The shock on my face was clearly there because my brother smirked at me from the corner of my eye. If only I could smack him. Rosalie settled down beside him on the couch and grabbed his hand. "I'm so glad you could join us."

"Oh, like wise." Kill me now.

The room was filled with an awkward silence. Before anyone could start another "conversation" the buzzer in the kitchen went off. Rosalie quickly let go of Emmett and got up. A couple seconds later an entrée was brought in. Crackers and some dip stuck that looked absolutely disgusting. Not that I would ever say something like that.

"So," she said, after we all had a cracker or two, "what do you think about what's happening with the elections in Europe, Alice?"

What?

I took a sip of my drink and thought about this for a second. "Actually, I haven't really been keeping up with the new lately." Well, it was the truth wasn't it?

"Oh, it's fascinating," she told me. "Emmett and I have been discussing how the outcome could affect our global economy, haven't we, honey?"

My brother swallowed the cracker he was chewing, cleared his throat, and said, "Yes."

And so it went. In the next fifteen minutes, we had kept a discussion going even if I wasn't paying attention. Discussions ranged from global warming, cars, books that we've read, and so much more that I can't even remember. By the time it was dinner, I was exhausted. I just wanted to go home and sleep for the next day and a half.

"Great chicken, sweetie," my brother said as we dug into our plates. Rosalie had made some complicated looking recipe involving chicken breasts stuffed with sweet potatoes and vegetables. They looked perfect; the kind of perfect you'd see in an ad or on TV.

"Thanks," Rosalie replied, reaching over to pat his hand. Gag me with a spoon. "More rice?"

"Please." Emmett smiled at her as she dished more food onto his place and I realized, not for the first time, that I hardly recognized my brother anymore. He was sitting there as if this was the life he was used to, as if he'd ever know was wearing a tie to dinner and having someone fix him some exotic meals on what clearly were the good plates. But I knew differently. We'd share the same childhood, were raised by the same woman. The transformation of Emmett, my stoner brother with a police record, to Emmett, man of culture and ironing. There were only a few more kinks to work out. Me.

"So your mother and Carlisle get back Friday, correct?" Rosalie asked me.

"Yep," I said, nodding. I turned to Emmett and said, "So we haven't done it yet, you know."

He blinked at me, his mouth full of rice. Then he swallowed and said, "What?"

"The wager." I waited for him to catch up, but either he didn't know or he was pretending not to. Oh, this was going to be fun.

"What wager?" Rosalie asked, looking between both of us.

"It's nothing," Emmett mumbled. He was trying to kick me under the table, but was failing miserably.

"Years ago," I said to Rosalie, as he took another swipe at me, barely nicking the sole of my shoe, "when my mother married the second time, Emmett and I started a tradition of laying bets on how long it would last."

"This bread is just great," Emmett said quickly to Rosalie. "Really."

"Emmett was ten, and I must have been six or so," I continued. "This was when she married Chris, the professor? The day they left for the honeymoon, we each sat down with a pad of paper and calculated how long we thought they'd stay together. And then, we folded up our guesses and sealed them in an envelope which I kept in my closet until the day my mother sat us down to tell us Chris was moving out."

"Alice," Emmett said in a low voice, "this isn't funny."

"He's just mad," I told her, "because he's never won yet. I always do. Because it's like blackjack: you can't go over. Whoever comes closest to the actual day wins. And we've had to really be specific about the rules over the years. Like it's the day she tells us it's over, not the official separation day. We had to establish that because when she and Kenny split Emmett tried to cheat."

Now, Emmett was just glaring at me. Sore loser.

"Well, I think," Rosalie said her voice high. "That is just horrible. Just horrible." She put down her fork carefully and pressed her napkin to her lips, closing her eyes. "What an awful way to look at marriage."

"We were just kids," Emmett said quickly, putting his arm around her.

"I'm just saying," I said, shrugging. "It's like a family tradition."

Rosalie pushed out her chair and picked up the chicken dish. "I just think that your mother deserves better," she snapped, "than for you to have so little faith in her." And then she walked into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind her.

Emmett was across the table at me so quickly I didn't even have time to put down my fork: he almost pierced his own eyeball. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed at me. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Alice?"

"Gosh, Emmett," I said. "Such language. You better not let her hear you, she'll make you stay after school and write a report."

He sat back down in his chair, getting out of my face. "Look," he spat." I can't help it if you're a bitter, angry bitch. But I love Rosalie and I won't let you play your little games with her. Do you hear me?"

I just looked him.

"Do you?" he snapped. "Because dammit, Alice, you make it really hard to love you sometimes. You know that? You really do." And then he pushed out of his chair, threw his napkin down, and pushed through the door into the kitchen.

I sat there. I honestly felt like I'd been slapped. I'd just been messing around with him and he just freaked. All these years Emmett was the only one who'd ever share my sick, cynical view on love. We'd always told each other how we'd never get married, shoot me if I do. But now, he'd turned his back on everything. What a chump.

I could hear them in the kitchen, her voice quiet, his soothing. On my plate my food was cold, just like my heart.

...

"Nope." The bartender shook his head, putting a cup of coffee in me. "She's cut off."

I wiped my face and slide my hands to my hair and ran my fingers through it. "I'm fine," I said. Or slurred. Maybe. "I only had a couple." The guy next to be just laughed.

"I know. They don't know anything," he said. "So, a girl like you must have a boyfriend."

"Nope," I said, poking at my coffee with a straw.

"I don't believe you," he said, picking up his drink. "are you lying to me?"

I sighed. This entire scenario was like the default talk-to-a-girl-at-a-bar-script, and I was only playing along because I couldn't even get off the stool without stumbling. At least Bella was coming. I'd called her. Hadn't I?

"It's the truth," I told him. "I'm really just a bitch."

He looked surprised at this. "Now who told you that?"

"Everyone," I said.

"I've got something that'll cheer you up," he said.

"I bet you do."

"No, really." He raised his eyebrows at me. "Out in the car, Come with me and I'll show you."

I shook my head. Like I was that stupid. Anymore. "Nope. I'm waiting for a ride."

"I'll make sure you get home. Come one." And the he put his hand on my arm, curling his fingers around my elbow.

"Let go," I said, trying to tug my arm back.

"Don't be like that," he said, almost affectionately.

"I'm serious," I told him, jerking my elbow. He held on. "Let go."

"Oh come on, Alison," he said, finishing his drink. He couldn't even get my stupid name right. "I don't bite."

Then he started to tug me off my stool. Before I knew it I was on my feet, then getting yanked through the crowd.

"I said let go, you fucking asshole!" I pulled my arm loose, hard, and it flew up, smacking him in the face and sending him stumbling backward. Now people were looking at us. How had I let this happen? I could feel the shame rising up in me, flushing my face. Everyone was looking at me.

"Okay, okay, what's going on here?" That was Aidan, the bouncer.

"We're just talking at the bar and we go outside and she freaks," he says, pulling at his collar. "Crazy bitch. She hit me."

I was standing there, rubbing my arm, hating myself. I knew if I turned around I'd see that girl again, so weak and screwed up. She'd go to the parking lot, no problem.

"God, this is swelling," he continued whining. What a wuss. If I'd hit him on purpose, well that'd be different. But It was an accident.

"You want me to call the police?" Aidan asked.

I was suddenly so hot. The room tilted, just a bit, and I closed my eyes.

"Oh, man," I heard someone say and suddenly there was a hand enclosing mine, squeezing slightly. "There you are! I'm only fifteen minutes late, honey, no need to cause a commotion."

I opened my eyes to see Jasper standing beside me. Holding my hand. I would have yanked it away, but honestly I thought better of it.

"This doesn't concern you," Aidan said to Jasper.

"it's my fault, though," Jasper replied in that quick, cheesy way of his. "It is. See, I was late. And that makes my sweetums so foul tempered."

"God," I said under my breath.

"Sweetums?" the guys, whose name I never found out, repeated.

"She clocked him," Aidan told Jasper. "Might have to call the cops."

Jasper looked at me, then the boy. "She hit you?

Now he didn't seem so sure, instead pulling at his collar and glancing around. "Not exactly."

"Honey!" Jasper looked at me." Did you really? But she's just a little thing."

"Watch it," I muttered under my breath.

"You want to get arrested?" he said back, just as low. Then back in a cheery mode, he said. "I mean, I've seen her get mad before, but hit somebody? My Alice? She's not even ninety pounds soaking wet."

"Either I call the cops or I don't," Aidan said, "but I got to get back to the door."

"Forget it." The boy told Aidan. "I'm out of here." And the he slunk off, not before I noticed his eye was swelling. Wimp.

"You." Aidan pointed at me. "Go home."

"Done," Jasper said. "And thank you so much for your handling of this situation."

We'd left Aidan there, mulling over whether he was insulted. As soon as we were outside, I yanked my hand loose from Jasper's and started down the stairs to the pay phone.

"What, no thank-you?" he asked me.

"I can take care of myself," I told him. "I'm not some weak woman who needs to be saved."

"Obviously," he said, "you just almost got arrested for assault."

I kept walking.

"And," he continued, darting ahead of me and walking backward. "I saved your butt. So you, Alice, should be a little more grateful. Are you drunk?"

"No," I snapped. "I'm fine. I just want to call for a ride and get home, okay? I had a really shitty night."

He dropped back beside me, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Really."

"Yes."

We were at the phone now. I reached into my pocket: no change. My head hurt, I was deadly thirsty, and now I was stuck. I put my hand over my eyes and took a few good, deep breaths to steady myself.

Don't cry, for God's sake, I told myself. This isn't you. Not anymore. Breathe.

But it wasn't working. Nothing was working tonight.

"Come on," he said quietly. "Tell me what's wrong."

"No," I sniffled and hated the way it sounded. Weak. "Go away."

"Alice," he replied. "Tell me."

I shook my head. How did I know this would be any different? The story could have been the same, easily: me, drunk, in a deserted place. Someone there, reaching out for me. It had happened before. Who could blame me for my cold heart?

And that did it. I was crying, so angry at myself, but I couldn't stop. The only time I ever allowed myself to be this weak was at home, in my closet, staring up at those stores with my father's voice filling my ears. I wished so much that he was here. He said it himself, in the song: he'd let me down. But still.

"Alice," Jasper said quietly. He wasn't touching me, but his voice was very close and very soft. "It's okay. Don't cry."

Later, it would take me a minute to remember how exactly it happened. If I turned around and moved forward first, or he did. I just knew we didn't meet halfway. It was just a short distance. And maybe it didn't matter so much whether he took the step or I did. All I knew was that he was there.