Chapter Summary: This is big. Rosalie asked me to trust her and I did, with my life, and, well, even more than that. But then why won't she trust me? I can't hurt her! Why won't she trust me with just three little words, but no. After this special moment we shared, why couldn't she ...
I have never been more hurt in all my life.
Chapter is lemon-scented.
Alone, again.
I thought on Rosalie's parting words. She said 'marked improvement' because if I were dead then there'd be hell to pay. But what would ever make her think that I would just up and die?
... I mean, besides all the times she found me almost dead.
Okay, don't look at me like that.
But 'marked improvement.' Could I just magically see again? It was pitch black inside my head, so I had no idea if it were night or day. And I couldn't move a muscle.
Luckily I could talk still ...
... Hm. I don't know if Rosalie liked me talking all that much. The way she gripped my head – firmly! – to silence me, so she could lecture me about how she wanted things to be. Hmmphf! Like I was some rag-doll she could do anything she wanted to.
Not that she couldn't in the first place, but still!
And not that I didn't want her to when she left me instead, the taste of her kiss still on my lips...
Oh! Why wouldn't she do what she wanted to me ... with me ... on me? I mean, was I begging her to? Well, ... yes! But did she?
No. She always ... just ... didn't ... quite ... have her way with me.
If Rosalie were trying to drive my crazy, she was doing a damn-fine job of it, and that's all I have to say!
It was that damn sense of righteousness she had. 'This isn't right,' she said, just as she was about to have me, and, worse, when I threw myself at her – I mean: I practically threw myself at her – she runs away, and how does that make a girl feel, I ask you! You throw yourself at somebody and they run away!
Was I gawky? Yes.
Was I stupid? Yes.
Was I ugly? Well, ... yes!
I was everything wrong, giving her every reason in the world to reject me. I mean, if she wanted to set me down, just one withering look from her, and it'd be over.
But the thing is: she didn't! That's what so frustrating about it all!
I mean, she'd tease me, she'd scold me, but never so much as to crush me ... I mean, crush me in her estimation. I may feel different at times (like: a lot of the time when she's on her royal high horse), but she didn't! She didn't actually purposely belittle me.
And she kept sending me these mixed signals, she'd want the best for me, and then she'd want me, then she'd tear herself away from me. It wasn't like she were toying with me, but it was like she actually wanted me.
And when I woke to me savaging her last night, she held me to her. She held me together even as I was falling apart. I mean, how do you explain that?
Because I can't.
I mean, ... I love her. I love her so much it hurts, but ... she lets me say I love her, she even scolds me when I don't! ... but she doesn't say it back to me.
Not once.
I mean ...
Okay, ... I don't know if I can go on here. I love her; she wants me, and she wants me to be good, and she says I deserve better than her, so she won't say she loves me back? Is that why? Is that the reason?
I mean ... this is so stupid! I deserve better than her? Where the hell does she get that idea? I mean: I could say that to her about me!
God! She can be so stubborn at times, I swear!
But if I did say she deserved better than me, I'm afraid she just might actually take my words to heart and say, 'You know, Bella, you're right. I do deserve better than you – way better than you! – I can't believe I would even entertain the thought of you and me ever ...'
And then she would burst out laughing, her laughter full of relief now that she saw how stupid she was even to consider me, even to have ever wanted me.
That's where I sat right now, on this bed, paralyzed, blind, and Rosalie was out there, somewhere, because I sent her out, and maybe, like I said so many nights before, maybe she'd meet Mr. Right. Mr. Perfectly Handsome Gentleman Vampire, and they'd fly off into the night, and leave me behind, because now she was done with me, and how long would I last without her?
The fire would eventually die.
And then so would I.
An abandoned cabin in the woods? Who'd ever come out to here in the middle of February after a big snowstorm just to offer a friendly 'hi' to the neighbors who weren't there anymore?
But Rosalie was there when I was having a little pity party that wasn't as private as I thought it was.
Let's not repeat that embarrassing moment, huh? Yeah.
But 'marked improvement.'
Sit ups?
I was sitting up, propped up by my pillow against the headboard.
Push ups?
Ugh. I always did terribly in sports-like activities in school. I was always the last one picked for any team in any sport that the girls played. The only sport I excelled in was 'sitting in the corner,' or 'the girl they looked at as they whispered to each other behind my back.'
And I said I wasn't going to have a pity party. Remember that, Bella? I screamed at myself.
I sighed.
At least I could breathe. God! Not breathing? I couldn't think of anything more utterly terrifying than not being able to breathe, but, worse, then not wanting to: just to sleep and give into the terrible tiredness as it stole away my life, Rosalie fighting so hard to beat my heart that wouldn't beat anymore on its own.
But that's exactly what she did.
Why did she need me so much?
I just couldn't get my head around it. With the crook of her finger, she had Royce King II, the richest playboy in Rochester, New York, at her feet, and then, when that soured, and Royce left her for dead, the Cullens turned her into a vampire, so she could be forever attached to that heartstoppingly pretty-boy, Edward Cullen.
That didn't work out, either.
So, but then ... me? Really?
It just didn't make any kind of sense at all.
And she saw herself as such a logical, structured person, ... well: being.
And I'm so not that. Everything I do was just all over the place. I mean: I wanted structure, too! I would fuss over Pa, making sure he did his job. Men, I swear! How do they even function without women in their lives telling them what to do all day? They'd be totally lost without us!
I felt a sudden pang: I wonder how Pa is getting on without me now?
And me: I liked my quiet time, my reading time, my time alone to my thoughts...
... but now I wanted them with Her.
But the times we're together we get into these screaming fights sometimes! It's like throwing dynamite into a blazing fire! Just the slightest thing sets me or her off, and then: BOOM!
Why is that? I thought love was supposed to be ... well, lovely, but all we did was fight and fight and fight, all she did was shout at me, and all I did was shout back, and sometimes I cried ...
... and sometimes she held me.
And when she did that, when she held me, nothing else mattered, not the anger and the shouting and the bitterness that tore at my heart ... All of it just went away ...
When she held me in her arms.
Couldn't she feel that, like I did? She kept trying to pretend that she didn't.
But she did.
... or did I just want her to?
When she held me, everything was clear, and when she was away, the doubt crept in and ate away at my soul. When she was here, I was alive, on fire, in pain, in tears, hurting, held.
And when she was away, nothing.
And she said I wasn't boring.
And she said everything else was.
I thought about that. She said I wasn't boring, and everything else was.
Should I be more interesting for her?
Eheh. That's funny. Me, Bella Swan, girl next door, totally invisible. I couldn't imagine anybody more boring than me. But everything I did drove Rosalie into a fever pitch. It was like ...
I don't know what it was like. And that scares me. If I don't know what in me drove her so crazy, or made her so kind, then how could I know how to be to ...
I don't know how to put it: how could I be what so fascinated her?
Yes, that's it. From day one, she was fascinated by me.
Because, okay, Edward was first, and she hated that. She hated that. She was so jealous of her world and how it should be, and I just walked right into it and told them all this is my town and we play by my rules, and they all just stood around gawking while I ran everything around me: Pa, and then, when they arrived, them.
And that drove Rosalie crazy! She's the boss, and she couldn't stand somebody else bossing anybody else around, particularly not her!
Ha! Take that, Rosalie Hale!
Huh.
I never thought of it that way.
And now that she's the boss, she's just so comfortable being bossy, cooing over me to get well, regain my feet, so that what? We can fight again?
Why do we always have to fight?
Except, as Rosalie says, when I'm dead.
I sighed.
I wish I wouldn't die all the time. It was annoying for Rosalie, and she had enough troubles in her, well, her unlife, hating herself as she did. I wish I were somebody that she could rely on, something that she could lean on when she felt weak.
She had said she has no one to talk to now.
It must be really ... lonely, being her. I can't imagine. I want to be left alone, but she was a stunning socialite. Now look at her, even before she carried me off, she was stuck in Podunk, Nowhere, USA, and before that, hiding out all day, and coming out at night when everybody's gone to bed, except the criminal element. Imagine the fall: from Miss New York to Miss Death, lurking in the shadows, and nobody to talk to except Edward, and that must have been a trip, trying to have a conversation with Mr. Broody who plainly despised her, or Dr. Cullen and his wife, who only had eyes for each other and just pity for her.
Ugh!
Nobody in the world now for Rosalie Hale, except me.
How hard can you fall, you know?
I wish I could be better for her, than just being me.
But that's the thing: I'm not better than me. I'm just me. So all I could do is be me!
That, right there, was so darn frustrating!
I was everything wrong for her. I wasn't her Mr. Right. I wasn't even her Mr. Wrong.
I was little Miss Wrong.
How could she want that?
I sighed.
How could she want me?
But the thing is, ... she did.
I closed my eyes around the inky blackness. It would help if I could just understand. I mean, I wasn't a big, powerful, rich man, dressed to the nines, who would give her lots of children to mother. I was ...
I was the total opposite. I couldn't offer her any of that. I couldn't offer her anything, in fact.
The only thing I could offer her was me.
And she wanted that – me – so badly. Even more than I wanted her.
And I just don't get it. I mean, like: why?
Why?
Was it because she could coo over me? Is it because I didn't say the dashing, noble things, but the unexpected? Was it because I could bring nothing to the table? not money, not children, not manly ... manliness, but just little me that she could boss and push around ... and push me off whenever she felt like it?
I could threaten her with nothing ... except...
Except when I got into her head, which she never let me do.
And except when I got into her heart, which she would never, ever, let me do.
So even though I had my moxie, it was still safe for her. She could set me down over her knee if I spoke out of turn, or she could just run away whenever it got uncomfortable for her, but she always knew she could come back to find me dead, haha, or lost or just waiting for her, pining for her, because she had the whole world to go out to when she wanted to avoid me, but me?
Me?
Rosalie was my whole world now. It was just her, me, and this little one-room cabin, and that was my entire existence.
Pathetic.
That's what I am: pathetic! And when I think I hit rock-bottom, this happens, and I can't move, and I can't see.
All I can offer is me, but the irony here is there's not even that much of me to offer!
I mean, really! Who would take a blind, paralyzed, ... plain ...
I stopped myself.
This wasn't helping.
This wasn't helping, and the thing was, Rosalie said she would take me...
If I were markedly better, that is, and, you know, not dead and stuff.
I think ... this time ... I could maybe manage the 'not dead and stuff.' But I keep coming back to what does 'markedly better' mean?
I frowned.
It meant nothing. If I could get up from bed and make my own peanut butter sandwich, Rosalie could still say, 'Oh, that's not good enough, Bella,' and be displeased with my progress.
I can't even wiggle my toes, for goodness sake!
I tried to wiggle my toes to confirm just that.
And almost screamed.
My toes didn't wiggle, per se, but I felt the slightest of movement of my toenail against the sheet.
Damn.
I mean: hot damn!
I mean: wow! My toe almost wiggled!
I almost peed myself in my excitement!
THIS was progress! This was amazing! I could, well: almost, move my toes again!
Well, maybe one of them...
Well, maybe just jerk my foot a hair's-breath, but still!
I furrowed my brow in concentration focusing my attention on my feet, trying to move my toes again...
... Nothing.
Come on! Come on! COME ON! I shouted to my feet.
... Nothing!
I tried again.
Nothing.
I tried again, really hard, holding my breath, concentrating everything on my feet.
Nothing.
"Damn it!" I shouted in frustration. "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"
I tried again.
Please! I begged. Please, o God! Please-o-please-o-please!
scrtch...
"YES!" I squealed.
Just the slightest of movement, but it was there again! I swear!
Beads of sweat started to form on my forehead, and I worked at it for a while. It got harder and harder as I went, not easier, but I was determined beyond all measure now, and not because of Rosalie's ... 'incentive.' No.
Not at all.
No, it was now this: I could get better! I was getting better! I could recover!
Exhausted, tired, head aching, I took a break from the toesies.
My legs hurt from all the tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing as I tried to coax even just the slightest movement from them.
I was propped up a little bit, my hands on my lap.
Hm.
Okay, I thought to myself.
I tried to move my finger.
"Oh! YES!" I shouted.
My index finger had just twitched, just the slightest bit.
Okay, then! I thought. Let's try my hands for a while.
...
The door BANGED open. My vision wasn't clearing, but I could now see a formless blob of grey limned by a formless block of light from the doorframe.
"Rosalie!" I shouted happily, wanting to share the good news.
"YAAAAARRRRRRRRAH!" she screamed so loudly the rafters shook, dust settling on my face.
What?
Something was wrong with her voice. It was monstrous. Possessed.
But before I could even form that thought, or be surprised, stone-cold hands grabbed me by the throat and flung me across the cabin.
KWAM! My body, a rag doll, flew onto the big, oak table. The table won. I didn't. I lay there, face planted against hard wood, my hips screaming in agony.
"Ow?" I whimpered.
Rosalie was on me in an instant. Was it even her? Yes, it was. No, it wasn't. It was a monster with her shape and feel and scent. She ripped my pjs off my back, the pjs digging into me before giving then ripping away.
"Rosalie, what ..." I said.
"Shut up!" She rammed her body into mine as she screamed. "Shut up! Shut up, you little, fucking CUNT!"
She kicked open my legs and started to thrust viciously into me, over and over.
"AAAAAARRRRHH!" she screamed, and I heard ripping again. Suddenly, there was nothing between us, as she had ripped away her jeans, and I felt her cold, smooth skin, not caressing mine, but sliding against it with an urgency that spoke of an imperative that overrode everything, even reason.
Her mind was gone, totally, and what was left was her body driven by impulse, by desire.
But then I felt something else, between her legs, bumping against my nethers, then lengthening, rubbing along my lips and poking its way into me.
"Is that ..." I gasped.
Rosalie raised her fist and smashed it into my jaw. The force of the blow was so powerful that her fist smashed right through the solid oak table.
Half my face was now mush. I knew that was supposed to hurt, intellectually, but I couldn't feel anything at all.
Shock, I thought. There was so much pain from the blow, from everything, that I was overwhelmed by it all and felt nothing, my body just closing in on itself, trying to protect itself for just one more precious moment.
I tasted wet iron and could not feel my face anymore. I felt a wetness, like water, pooling under my face on the shattered table.
Then – RAM! – a sharp bite of pain as Rosalie thrust into me, a tearing, and Rosalie was in me, fucking me furiously. I don't know how. I don't know why, but she had a ... thing, and she was fucking me with hard, brutal thrusts. I gurgled through my shattered jaw, drowning in my own blood, stopping up my windpipe and trickling into my lungs as Rosalie pounded into me, rutting without reason.
The blood misted about me. I could smell it; I could taste it.
And it drove Rosalie into a frenzy.
"Bear! My! Child!" She shrieked as she fucked me. "BEAR MY CHILD! AAAAAAAAAAIIIIEEEE!"
And the last thing I did see, and I did see clearly now, was me, standing outside of me, looking at a battered, bruised and bleeding rag-doll being ravaged by the most beautiful monster in the world.
Then Rosalie bent down over me and bit into the mush that was my jaw, sucking at my jaw as she came, shuddering, into my lifeless, still form.
And then ...
And then ...
Nothing.
There was a corpse on the table, being sucked dry, and I went away.
But there was no more me.
I was dead now.
...
"BLEARGH!" COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!
I was ripped out of that moment to this one: me, vomiting noisily onto my chest.
Bad to worse? I didn't know anymore. I couldn't measure where I sat in the world anymore in a state of misery, being pulled back and forth so fast my head felt like it was spinning as the world stood still.
Death to life, and then: death to life.
I was so utterly lost as I puked all over myself.
The door banged open.
"Bella!" Rosalie's voice chided from the door, full of disappointment, "I told you that you had to be better, not to ..."
"Get out! Get out! GET OUT!" I screamed.
Silence. Then, softly: "... Okay."
The door closed, just as softly.
Was Rosalie inside or outside? I couldn't tell. My vision hadn't returned. I could now 'see,' just a little bit, maybe, I don't know. Maybe I saw the space when the door opened, maybe my mind painted that picture in emptiness that my sightless eyes no longer filled.
I didn't know. I didn't care.
I just screamed and screamed in anger and fear and rage ...
... and confusion and bitterness ... and ...
... and ... oh, God! ... Oh, God! In sadness.
That what it was: it was sadness. The sadness of Rosalie coming back, but not Rosalie, but a monster that threw me about, used me, and then discarded me.
But worse: ...
The sadness of Rosalie coming back, and me screaming at her to get out ...
... and her leaving.
Why did she leave when I needed her so badly?
I screamed and I screamed and I screamed, a wail of no words, just the sound of despair.
And then my throat hurt, and I was sobbing, not screaming, just crying, the hot puke all over my front making me feel dirty and small.
And then, after a while, I stopped crying, just an occasional sob, just an occasional gasp shaking my whole body, threatening to topple me from my seated position. Would I fall and hit the floor – clunk! – and break my head open?
Wouldn't that just be rich? The icing on the cake!
I swallowed hard, snot and puke easing down my throat, making me want to puke again.
God! Whatever it was going down the second time was terrible!
What did I eat?
Why can't I remember ... what Rosalie fed me?
I sniffled.
"Rosalie?"
Rosalie was quiet for a moment. I couldn't even hear her breathing, then, softly, "Yes, Bella?"
"I thought I told you to get out!" I said loudly, angrily.
"I am out," she said.
"Oh," I said.
I pondered this.
Then I asked, "Why can I hear you like you're right next to me, then?"
"Because I am," she said.
I took in a sharp breath. "You are?"
"Bella," Rosalie tsked, "I'm outside, okay? My back is against the wall, all right? God!"
She sounded annoyed.
My lips quivered, and I took in a shuddering breath.
"Rosalie, I'm scared," I said.
Rosalie was quiet. "I know, baby," she whispered, her soft voice clear, pure, sweet, and ... caring.
This was the different Rosalie, not the monster, but that didn't make me feel better.
Okay, maybe it did... but just a little bit.
"Why did you do it?" I asked in a small voice.
"Do what?" she asked.
"You know!" I shouted, angry and afraid again. "You KNOW! YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID!"
I was screaming now, but I couldn't stop myself. The realities, life and death, whirling around each other so furiously, that I could no longer tell which was which. Was this the dream? Was I still dead now and in hell, covered in my own puke? I couldn't tell anymore.
"Yes, I know what I did," Rosalie said dejectedly.
I gasped. "You ... you do?"
"Yes." Bitter.
I blinked rapidly, fresh tears falling now on my salt-tracked cheeks.
"Everything," Rosalie continued. "I did everything wrong. That's what I did. I did every, single thing wrong. All of ..."
"No!" I shouted. "Don't you play me, Rosalie Hale!"
"I'm not!" she shouted right back.
And there was the difference between her shout and mine: when she shouted, the rafters shook.
And she said she had her back to me, too.
I swallowed. "Rosalie," I said, "did you come in here and ... and ..."
I gulped.
"Baby," Rosalie said, "I came in, you were vomiting on yourself."
"No!" I said, not at all satisfied, "before! Did you come in before!"
"Before when?" Rosalie snapped back, peeved.
"Before!" I said. "Did you come in and ..." I gulped, then I took a deep breath and steeled myself. "Did you come in and th-throw me on the t-table and ... and ..."
"What?" Rosalie said, surprised. "Baby! No! I didn't do any such thing!"
"Y-you ... didn't?" I asked.
"No," she said, "I didn't."
I took in a long, ragged breath. "Rosalie," I whispered, "I'm scared."
"Yeah," Rosalie said sadly, "me, too."
It was quiet for a while.
"Can I come in?"
I pondered this.
I was scared. She knew this.
She was scared.
But she was doing something despite her fear, unlike me, who was just wallowing in terror.
"Yes," I whispered.
Not a sound.
But the door was open now.
"I'm at the door, baby," Rosalie said.
"I... I know," I said.
"You can see me," Rosalie stated.
"N-not really," I said, "I can see ... maybe a little light from the doorway ... and maybe a little less where you are standing."
Rosalie remained by the doorway. "May I come in?" she asked again.
"Okay," I said.
The door closed. My world became dark again.
"Is it okay if I clean you up just a little ..." Rosalie offered, then, just the slightest hint of wryness entered her voice, "or, perhaps, much more than just a little?"
"I ..." I said, then biting my lip, I capitulated. "Yes, please," I whispered.
It was like this. Rosalie was inside. She could clean me up, or she could do whatever she wanted to do to me, with or without asking. I didn't have to make it difficult for her, too, now, did I?
Rosalie picked me up out of the bed as easily as you'd pick up a leaf up off the ground in Fall.
I gasped at her touch: cool, cold, electric.
Solid.
"'Sokay, baby," Rosalie whispered reassuringly, "I've got you."
"Yes," I whispered into her shoulder, "you do."
Rosalie set me down into the basin, resting my head gently on the rim she had made just for silly me and my stupid clumsiness and ripped my shirt right down the middle of my back, gathering the puke into a ball.
"Bad dream?" she inquired gently.
"Yes," I whispered. "The worst."
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. "I gather I was the bugbear, yes?"
I gulped. "The thing is ..." then I started as Rosalie poured water over me. I took a shuddering breath.
"Hold your breath," Rosalie warned, then poured warm water over my face.
Cleansing me.
I realize, now, looking back on my life – my life before now – that I was a dirty, grimy, little shit. I was basically a guy: a guy on horseback out on the plains, weatherbeaten and ... ugly. Just plain, little stick-figure me.
I had never been so clean in all my life until Rosalie took over ... everything about me.
"The thing is ..." I continued after the interruption, "is that all my dreams are real, Rosalie. They all come true!"
Rosalie was quiet for a moment, stopping her fussing over me. "They may contain insights, Bella," she allowed, "but they're fantastic and fanciful. Name one that 'came true.'"
I answered her right away: "I dreamed you tickled me, and then you did." I said. "I dreamed you were covered in blood, screaming and crying on a rock you crushed, and that's what happened."
Rosalie was quiet.
"I dreamed the Vultur... the Vul..." I paused.
"The Volturi," Rosalie supplied.
"I dreamed they came for us," I finished.
"They haven't," Rosalie countered.
"But, okay, Rosalie, so what?" I snarled, "How did I know about them? How did I know they'd come, like you said they would if ... no: when they find out, huh?"
Rosalie was silent at this.
"And now this," I said sadly.
"I hurt you," Rosalie said.
I swallowed. "You ... you ... you raped me, Rosalie."
She said nothing.
"You threw me on the table, and ... you called me a ... a c-cunt and ..."
Rosalie gasped.
"And you ... you had a ... thing and you ... raped me and you ... and you said, ... I said 'is that ...' and then you punched me in the jaw so hard it ... the whole side of my face was gone. And then you screamed 'bear my child!' and you swelled inside me and came like ... like ... like you were possessed. There was ... I couldn't ..."
I stopped.
I hated myself. I hated being so weak and defenseless. I hated myself for turning her into this monster.
I hated myself for telling her this now: hurting her as I knew it did.
Rosalie sat beside me, still as a stone.
Then, the slightest touch of a feather, her fingertips on my upper arm.
My whole body jerked as if shocked.
It was.
"I am ... so sorry!" Rosalie whispered.
I gulped.
I wish I could see her.
"What does ... 'cunt' mean, Rosalie?" I asked.
Rosalie's arm slid under me and pulled my head into her bosom.
She held me like that for a long time.
"It's what I am," she whispered. I heard her voice in her chest. "I am a fucking cunt."
"That's what you called me," I said.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't. I wouldn't. I will never call you that, Bella."
"What does it mean?" I asked into her chest.
Rosalie sighed.
...
Bed.
"I'm sorry," I whispered sadly.
"Sh, sh, sh," Rosalie shushed me; consolation in her voice. "Just rest, baby, please?" she said. "Can you do that?"
I thought about that.
"It's just that ..." I said.
For the first time, I felt Rosalie's smirk.
My eyes shifted to her, accusing.
"'It's just that,' ...?" The lilt in her voice was obvious now.
I gulped. "I'm better," I said.
Rosalie chuckled. "No, you're not."
I bit my lip. She found this funny. I didn't.
"And ..." I said, ignoring her jab, "... you promised."
"I did nothing of the sort," her tone turned surly in a heartbeat. I bet she was angry for being called out. "And, Miss Swan, if you recall that, you also recall the serious implications of me finding you worse. Which you are."
"... Finding me dead, Rosalie," I corrected her, "which I'm not."
"Oh!" Rosalie retorted hotly, "because finding you covered in vomit, screaming and in shock is so much better? Please!"
"Well, it is!" I answered back.
Rosalie fumed.
Then she relented. "I can't believe you're even letting me touch you at all, after that dream you had!"
She was touching me, in fact. We were in bed, like we always were now, she, cradling me in her arms, her leg gathering my legs into her. I was cocooned in Rosalie Hale.
And, no: I wasn't complaining, either.
"It was just a dream," I answered her.
Rosalie was silent.
That was ...
This gave me pause: her silence.
"Please tell me it was just a dream, Rosalie," I begged.
Rosalie didn't answer, but pulled me tightly into her, so tightly I feared I'd be crushed.
Breathing in my hair, she said softly, "How can you discern everything I say to you, and everything I don't, and just wrap it up into one horrible nightmare of truth?"
I gasped, her tight grasp holding my chest so tightly it was just a wisp of air that escaped. "It's true?"
"No," Rosalie said, "it's worse than that, Bella."
I breathed little tiny sips of air.
"Every time," Rosalie said. "Every time I go out to hunt, or to ... whatever, go into to town to buy something for you, or ... to hunt ... I said that already."
Rosalie had a distracted air.
"Bella," she asked, "do you know what masturbation is?"
I bit my lip. "No," I said simply, but inside I felt small bitter self-loathing at my complete lack of sophistication.
"It, ..." Rosalie began.
But then she stopped.
"I went to Esme soon after I ... became this, the day after Edward rejected me in the most uncivil way possible. And I confessed to her my ... fury!" Rosalie spat furiously. "... my anger and frustration, and ... I had all these images of Royce and what he had done to me, and what I would be doing to him, and ..."
She paused, I felt her jaw working. After a moment, she continued softly, more restrained.
"And it was all bottled up inside me, and I didn't know how to let it out without exposing us in a very public fashion."
"So," she said, "Esme ... told me. She said that if I kept this all bottled up inside me that it would drive me to hysteria, and that maybe I needed an outlet whilst so confined. So she showed me."
Rosalie was quiet again.
"She showed you ...?" I prompted carefully.
"Yes," Rosalie said.
But she said no more.
"D-.." I began.
"Every time," she whispered sadly. "Every time I go out now, I ... think of you, and I ..."
She breathed in my hair, even breaths, in and out, in and out, and she held me into her.
"... And I masturbate, you know?" she checked.
I bit my lip.
"And every time, right at that moment of release, after I come out of it, there you are, I see you, beneath me, your dead eyes staring vacantly at me, accusing, reproachful, and I ... Bella, there's nothing I can do, do you understand me? Nothing! You're ... in my arms one moment, cooing, humming with pleasure, and the next moment, you're dead, the blood drained completely from you, or your pelvis and ribcage all smashed to paste, and I can't stop it, don't you see? I can't stop what I don't even know what's happening! And this happens every single time that I ..."
Rosalie stopped, a thoughtful silence surrounded her.
"My dream," I said.
"Yes, your dream," she answered quietly.
"So," I cleared my throat softly, "if we ever ..."
"Baby," Rosalie interrupted, "let's face reality here. At the rate we're going, 'ever' is never going to happen. You're willing until the moment is upon you, then you're just so scared and so serious, and I ... I'm just so ... just too ... dangerous."
She said that last bit bitterly.
'Bit bitterly,' I thought to myself. Funny joke, how my words ran together like that.
Except that it wasn't funny, this moment. It was sad.
"You're just too dangerous, ..." I said, echoing her, but, in my heart, not agreeing at all. Then I added: "Dangerous, ... and scared, Rosalie. You're scared, too."
"Yes," she said.
I sighed, then took a huge breath ... and sighed again.
"D'ya remember I said I'd die if you ... you know ... wouldn't ... you know ..." I gulped. "And now you're not." I blinked rapidly, but, damn it! not rapidly enough to blink away the single tear as it fell. "An..and now you say you never will? D'ya remember that, Rosalie?"
"Yes, Bella, I remember," she said.
"Well, ..." I said. "Here I am, an' ..." I sniffled. I breathed in a ragged breath. "I guess I may as well die now, because you ..."
I couldn't go on.
Rosalie shifted a little on the bed, but I was just as secure in her arms as I ever was. "... Bella, I can't even ... after your dream, I'm surprised you're even letting me touch you, much less you wanting me to fuck you, for God's sake!"
"Can you please not say that word?" I said.
"Yes," she said without hesitation.
"'Yes'?" I said, confused. No fight from her? When she fought me on everything else?
"Yes," she said, just as certainly as she said it the first time.
"Starting now?" I confirmed.
"Yes," she said.
"Thank you," I said humbly.
"You are welcome, Bella." Rosalie paused. "So, ... but why are you letting me hold you now? Why do you want me after your dream revealed to you what I really am?"
"It didn't," I said. Obviously! I thought fiercely. "That was a monster. That wasn't even you at all. It couldn't be. You're not like that. Ever."
Some of the intensity of my feelings on the matter came out in my voice, I noticed.
Rosalie sighed into my hair. "You only know what you see of me; that is: what I show you. It's all a façade, sweetie, a thin veneer covering over what? The real me: the monster inside."
"No monster is holding me now!" I countered angrily.
Rosalie kissed the back of my head softly. "Yes, she is, you just can't see her."
"Or anything at all, even," I answered her bitterly.
"Or anything at all," Rosalie agreed.
We were silent.
"So, ..." I gulped, "what? You're just gonna hold me until I die of a... of a broken heart now, is that it?"
It was so quiet, everything: Rosalie, the night, everything but the turmoil inside me, churning away in my stomach.
"I know death," Rosalie said. "I have killed, ... murdered, seven men, and, now, more than one hundred animals. Every one of them, I've felt their hearts slow and stop. You are in no danger of dying, Bella Swan, and your fragile little heart can bear this and mend itself."
I sobbed, truly despondent.
Rosalie laughed softly, but it wasn't cruel, it was sad. "The only danger to your life is me, but then, the only time you choose to die, paradoxically, seems to be when I leave you."
"So, you're not gonna leave me?" I asked.
"No," she said.
"I didn't die this time," I reminded her.
"You didn't," she agreed, but there was nothing in her. She was just agreeing to anything I said.
"This is just great!" I cried. "Y-you'll just hold me until I fall asleep, won't you! And then when I wake up tomorrow, you can laugh at me and say 'Ha, ha! I told you so!' because you know everything! Even my heart that you say will mend, but it won't!"
My chin was quivering and my chest was so tight, trying to hold all my pent-up emotion in.
"Yes," Rosalie agreed listlessly.
I sobbed, heartbroken.
"Or," she said.
My heart just about skipped a beat at her one word.
Rosalie sighed. Then she did something. She pulled her arm out from under me, letting me go, then she slid over the top of me, landing on the bed in front of me.
Rosalie was facing me now. I could feel her breath against my face.
"Or?" I breathed.
Rosalie her hands up to my face, cradling my cheeks. "I can stay here, all night, with you, and watch you sleep, and watch you die inside, even as your little heart continues to beat, as I say it will..."
I waited for her to say what the 'or' was.
"Or?" I prompted.
I could feel Rosalie smile wistfully.
"You win, Bella," Rosalie said regretfully.
I tried to control my breathing, but I couldn't stop my heart from beating so hard in my chest.
"You win," she said.
Rosalie's hand eased to the back of my head, and I felt her lean in.
My little heart was going thump-thump! thump-thump! And I felt my whole body tense up. And it was right there, her lips almost touching mine, that Rosalie chuckled softly.
"And here we are, again!" she sighed angrily.
"I'm sorry!" I said.
"You want this, you don't want this!" Rosalie groused. "Which is it, Bella?"
"I..."
But I couldn't go on, the lump in my throat was so big, I couldn't even breathe around it, so I just made little gasping and choking sounds.
Rosalie ... I could feel her watching me. She tsked angrily, but then I felt her relent. She pulled me into her chest and kissed the top of my head gently.
"It's okay, baby," she said, her voice consoling.
"But it's not!" I wailed bitterly. "I hate this! I hate this! I want you so much, but as soon as you get close, I get all scared and serious! Why!"
Rosalie breathed gently, I felt her chest rising and falling against me, and I heard the air moving her her chest, a powerful bellows, so very tightly controlled.
"Because it is scary, and it is serious," Rosalie said. "It's your first time, and nothing is more scary or more serious than that, isn't it so, sweetie? And ... my first time ... well ..."
I felt Rosalie's head turn, just slightly. Her right hand held my head firmly against her chest, but her left hand went up and down my back, a steady, assured rub that gently, but firmly, forced the tenseness out of my body.
"My first time was my only experience, and it was harsh, brutal, ... and fatal." Rosalie rubbed my back more as she thought over what, I don't know. "So, I'm not the ... ha, ha, ha!" She laughed bitterly. "I was about to say 'I'm not the best guide in this,' but that would be an outright lie! I'm actually the worst person you could hope for in this moment."
"But it is you that I hope for!" I whispered into her chest.
"But it is me you hope for," Rosalie admitted, and this admission was a mixture of wonder and regret.
"Don't you get that, Rosalie?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
"Then, ..." I drew in a ragged breath, "then do something, now, for God's sake, Rosalie Hale."
It was quiet in the cabin for a long moment.
Then she did something.
She pulled me up to her, face to face, tilted my head back, and she kissed me. Hard.
"Bella, ..." Rosalie begin.
"Rosalie, please!" I said.
"Bella," Rosalie said, undeterred. "It's just sex. That's all it is. It's just sex. Do you want that?"
"Yes," I said.
I gulped. I just said 'yes' to the 's'-word. My heart was racing as if I had just run for my life for hours and hours.
And I am not a runner-... person.
"Even if it means your death?" Rosalie asked. "You saw this in your dream, what happens when we..."
"Yes," I interrupted her. "I want this. I want you, and I want this. I'd rather die now than just go on and live tomorrow and ... and ... not ..."
I gulped.
"Sh, baby," Rosalie whispered and gently kissed my forehead, "Sh, sh, sh. Okay. Okay."
Rosalie held me and sighed.
Then she kissed me as she held me.
And I kissed her back.
Her hand left my back and came to rest on the top button of my flannel top.
And I tensed right up.
Rosalie broke the kiss and sighed.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I wailed.
Rosalie was quiet for a moment.
"Bella," she said gravely, "I'm going to ask you to do something that is counter to everything I want you to do. I'm going to ask you to trust me, okay?"
"Okay," I said forlornly.
"... because if you don't trust me, it will be like this right now, and what's the point of that, hm? Please trust me, okay?" she pleaded.
"Okay," I said again.
Rosalie took my face in both her hands. "Do you want this?" she asked.
"Yes," I whispered.
I couldn't see her – I couldn't see anything – but if I could've looked away now, I would have. I was ashamed at myself, wanting this and being scared at the same time, like a stupid, little girl.
"I do, too," she said.
I blinked, surprised. "You do?"
"God, yes!" Rosalie said. "Bella, yes, I do."
"You ... do?" I asked again, incredulously.
I mean, this was Rosalie Hale, and who was I? Nobody, and she ...
Rosalie kissed me, softly, seriously, and all thoughts went out of my head, except for this one: Rosalie wants this, too! I couldn't wrap my head around it.
"I do," she said.
Rosalie shifted so that she was resting on top of me. She broke the kiss again, and I could feel her eyes watching me gravely as she looked down at me, her hair brushed against my cheek, a feather touch.
She leaned in again, kissed me lightly on the lips, then leaned back up.
"Bella," she said, "you have to tell me at any point if I'm hurting you, okay? Or if you want me to stop, hm?"
I bit my lip. "Okay," I said out loud, but inside I thought, This is really happening! And I prayed that I wouldn't embarrass myself by doing something wrong or something stupid. I prayed that it would happen and that it would be good and that maybe she wouldn't kill me and it would be the next morning and we'd be talking like true friends, best friends, and she'd even magically come up with coffee somehow, maybe, even.
That last thought made me smile a very private smile: me and Rosalie, the morning after, chatting over coffee like best, best friends.
I liked that thought.
"I like your smile," Rosalie whispered. And that made me smile so hard that my cheeks started to hurt.
"Me, too," I said smiling, then added quickly. "I mean, I like it when you smile, too. God, Rosalie, you're so beautiful when you're happy."
"Like when does that ever happen?" Rosalie demanded dryly.
I stuck out my tongue as I felt her hands reach to my flannel shirt and begin to unbutton me. "Like ... now? I hope?" I dared.
"Brave girl!" Rosalie cooed, and she kissed me. "Brave, brave girl!"
And I felt a little proud that she thought I was brave, and I felt a little annoyed that she thought I was a girl, and I hoped that maybe that was how people Back East talked, and wasn't meant to be demeaning.
I bit my lip. This moment was so precious, so ... precarious, that I didn't want a sharp reply from me to ruin it. I smiled bravely, for her, but my lips were quivering.
Rosalie kissed my smiling lips. "My brave, brave girl!" she repeated as she pulled off my top, first one arm – I drew in a shocked breath – and then the other.
"Are you ready, sweetheart?" she asked, solicitously.
"Can you please stop just talking and just ... just take me, okay?" I burst out, my nervousness finally got the better of me.
I instantly regretted my outburst.
Rosalie chuckled easily, however. "Yes, my 'just, just' princess, I can."
"Excuse m-...mmmmrpph!" My outrage was smothered by Rosalie's kiss, and she laughed on my lips as her face pressed itself against mine.
She kissed me hard this time, a hard, demanding kiss, that left no room for my reproaches, and then, when she felt my anger weaken, she kissed me several more times, quick pecks on the lips, then, careful, on each eyelid.
"You are just so damnably cute, Bella Swan!" she exclaimed happily.
"Hmmphf! Now I'm a cute princess, huh?" I muttered, unforgiving.
"Yes," Rosalie said slyly.
"Well, I ... aaaaahhhh?"
Rosalie didn't let me finish my retort. Her hand had come up and had cupped my breast.
"Hm?" Rosalie asked. "What was that, sweetie?"
I didn't get to answer that, either, because she pressed her lips to mine again, firmly, silencing any protest I may have had.
If I had any. Her hand on my breast set my whole body aflame, and it was taut with the need of feeling her touch, and her lips pressed to mine made my mind go completely blank.
I was in Rosalie's thrall. Her princess comments be damned! She was the princess, and I was her handmaid – no, her slave! – and I was damned happy with that arrangement...
... as long as she kept doing to me what she was doing.
Rosalie kissed me again. "Did you say something?" she asked coquettishly.
"Please," I whispered.
"Hmmmm," she hummed, pleased. "I like that. So damn cute, everything about you!"
I liked that, too.
"And I want to see, to touch, all of you, sweetie," she purred. There was a wanting, dangerous possessive edge to her voice that frightened me a little bit, even as it excited me. Rosalie shifted off of me, resting by my side. Her hand left my breast and started a slow, languorous trip ... South.
But then, I drew in a sharp breath. Rosalie's hand stopped.
"Sorry," I bit off quickly. My tongue touched my upper lip. "It's just that ... I'm just a little bit ticklish..."
I felt heat on my cheeks.
"Oh?" Rosalie asked, the surprise in her voice mocking. "Really? I hadn't noticed!"
I bit my lip hard now, embarrassed.
But Rosalie had more practical concerns. "Sweetie, can you lift up your hips? I want to slide these off." She tugged gently at the waistband of my pajama bottoms.
"Uh, ..." I said. I tried.
"Sorry," I whispered, ashamed again. My hips were dead things to me. I could feel them, but I couldn't move them. "I ..."
Rosalie kissed me lightly; there was understanding in her kiss. "Sh, sh, I know, sweetie, I was just asking if you could. No blame, okay?"
I swallowed. "Okay."
Here I was, inexperienced, doing everything wrong, and paralyzed, too. No blame, she said, but I felt terrible for not getting it right.
"Sh, sh," Rosalie repeated and kissed me again.
As easy as you please, she snaked her left hand under my hips, and, – ... ooh! – under the waistband of my pjs, and with her right hand she tugged both my panties and my pjs down to my thighs.
I gasped at the suddenness of it.
"Okay?" she checked.
"Okay," I gasped. "Just don't stop, okay? Just don't stop!"
"Eheh," Rosalie chuckled lightly, a wicked touch to it that warmed my insides, then she added: "O dear, o dear, o dear!" she tsked, very pleased. "I do believe I won't!"
"You'd better nnnnnawwwwtttt-..ooh!" I gasped.
For, you see, Rosalie had taken me by the shoulder and rotated me into her. Rosalie brought my hand and guided it up over her shoulder so that it rested on the back of her neck.
"Trust me?" she asked.
"Yes," I bit off.
"Good girl!" she cooed. "So brave, and so beautiful, you know? You are so brave and beautiful, Bella!"
I drew in a ragged breath and a tear started to form in my eye. Rosalie kissed it away, then she tilted my head back, nudging me with her chin and her nose, and kissed me fully, but gently on the lips. I gasped into her mouth, because she had reached down and gripped my thigh in her hand and was easing my leg over hers.
"Mmmmmmmm!" she hummed into my mouth. "You taste so God-damn sweet, Bella! You are driving me absolutely wild with desire!"
"Y-you," I breathed out, "you sure sound like y-you can ..." I swallowed, trying to say it right, "...that you can handle it, th-though..."
She sounded completely in control, of me, of herself, of everything. It was both scary, the absolute power she had, and ... well, reassuring. She said to trust her, and, well, her being on top of everything, including herself, made trusting her ... easy.
"And you can't?" she asked, amused.
"Please, Rosalie," I whimpered, "I am on fire!"
I didn't know what I could handle or what! I hope I said something that made sense, but what I said was true: my body was burning up, everywhere where our bodies touched was painful in a way that I can't describe, and everywhere where our bodies didn't hurt much worse with the lack of her touch.
Rosalie brought her hand to my back and rubbed it firmly and gently.
"Yes, you are, sweetie," she said, "you are so God-damn hot it's burning me up, too!"
She kissed me again, and I felt a little bit of that fire in the passion of her kiss, and I moaned into her mouth, and her, feeling me weaken and surrender to her kiss, hummed into mine.
I just about lost my mind at her pleased, possessive hum. She owned me, and it drove me crazy with wanting her to own me completely. I was hers, and that only made me want to be hers ... more!
I think I forgot to breathe, for when Rosalie broke the kiss, I was gasping like a drowning girl. Rosalie brought her hand up to my cheek.
"I'm going to take you now, Bella," she whispered.
My heart went into overdrive, wanting this, scared of what this meant: her taking me.
Wanting this.
"Hm?" she demanded.
"Urk," was about the most intelligent thing that came out of my mouth in reply. My throat worked by nothing else came.
Rosalie kissed me again, softly.
"Open your mouth, honey," Rosalie said, then: "Trust me."
Obediently, scared, just a little, I opened my mouth.
Rosalie put one finger, her index finger, and then her middle finger, into my mouth.
"Uhn?" I breathed around her fingers.
Rosalie, cradling my head in her left hand, kissed me on my forehead.
"Suck, sweetie, hm? Suck my fingers," she ordered.
I closed my mouth around two rose popsicles, but so, so different than that. They were cold, yes, but they were perfectly smooth, they didn't stick to my tongue, and ... 'sweet'? Popsicles were sweet and fruity: cherry-flavored, but Rosalie's fingers...?
I sucked, and if I died, right now, I would have died content. Rosalie's fingers were lightness and air and contentment, and solid as marble. My words, so, so poor at describing how amazingly soothing sucking on Rosalie's fingers were.
"Oh," Rosalie sighed, "My good, good girl! My baby! My sweet baby girl!"
As I sucked contently, I felt the passion in Rosalie rise: her chest heaved against mine, labored breaths as she panted, and this made me ... serene? I was so happy pleasuring Rosalie in this very simple act.
I did not know it could be like this. It didn't feel like ... 'sex.'
It felt like we were making love. It felt like love-making.
A tear welled up and slid across my nose. Rosalie captured it at the bridge with her lips.
"Ah!" she sighed, and, "Oh, God!" she groaned.
I sniffled, but softly, trying not to break her mood, but she noticed, and chuckled lightly at silly me.
"My sweet, sweet girl!" she sighed, and pulled her fingers from my mouth.
I whined piteously at the withdrawal. So unfair! I thought, but she quickly traced my lips with her thumb, then pushed that in.
This was different, shorter, broader than her dainty fingers, and I expected a different taste to her thumb, but no? yes? I couldn't tell if there were a subtle difference or if it were all in my mind.
I didn't get to taste the nuance, because her thumb quickly withdrew, almost as fast as it went it, as if she were only offering a taste. As if she were only teasing me with her thumb.
I wanted to be angry with this, but that thought evaporated when she scooted down just a hair and replaced her digits with her mouth. Her lips pressed to mine and her tongue traced my lips.
I moaned into her mouth, opening to her, sucking, seeking her tongue
"Hm, hm!" she laughed into me as her tongue accepted and probed into my mouth.
Bliss! coursed through me as I tasted Rosalie, not subtle anymore, like her fingers were, but the powerful taste of Rosalie Hale coursing into my mouth as I sucked at her tongue and then sliding down my throat and into my belly where a little fire, already started, exploded into a full-on flame of pure ... okay, ... lust.
I lusted after her. God, it hurt how much I wanted her, ... needed her.
As her tongue graced my mouth, and God damn her for knowing how badly I needed this! her fingertips traced their way down my side. I squealed into her mouth and squirmed as her ticklish fingertips drove me beyond distraction, and she laughed again, a proud, possessive laugh, as her hand continued and then reached its destination ... Down There.
I drew in a sharp breath as Rosalie's hand cupped my mons.
"Hmmmmm!" Rosalie hummed into my mouth, then she withdrew from the kiss. She rubbed me delicately there until her middle finger was resting, nestled between my lips.
I bit my lips and whimpered.
"Mm, Bella," Rosalie purred, "you are so God-damn wet down there."
I blushed, ashamed.
"Nono!" Rosalie said quickly, then kissed me, hard and quick. "It ..." She kissed me again. "I like this," she reassured me. "It means you're ready, baby." She rubbed me gently down there, light strokes between my legs, and I whimpered again, so aroused that I didn't know what to do with myself. "Are you ready, sweetie?" she asked.
"Nnn!" I whined, not knowing what she was asking, because, really, I don't think I even knew my name anymore!
"Oh, my baby!" Rosalie sang, and she kissed me. "Oh, my baby!"
She kissed me again.
"Sweetie," she said seriously, "you're going to come to a point, okay, when it feels like you're falling, okay? But I've got you the whole time, okay? When you feel this, just let go and trust me, okay? Trust me, Bella. I've got you; I'll hold you the whole time, okay?"
"Please!" I whimpered. "Please! Please! Please! Please! Please! Please!"
"Yes, sweetie, okay," she said through my whined 'pleases!' and then she kissed me, pressing me to her, hard, and she began rubbing me more powerfully, less gently, down there.
I was squealing into her mouth as she hummed into mine.
And I felt her hips shift a little bit.
And I felt her hold me to her a little bit more tightly.
And I felt my body opening up, inside, to her, just a little bit more.
And I felt her hand rubbing me, rhythmically, a little bit faster, a little bit harder.
And then...
And then...
And then her wet little thumb rubbed a certain spot above my slit, and it seemed like my whole being focused on where her thumb was rubbing, and then everything just exploded from that point, from a very concentrated point in the center of my being to radiate out like a wild-fire exploding outward, consuming my whole body.
And I felt ...
And I felt it ...
I felt it inside me, a letting go, and then I felt as if I had suddenly stumbled over the edge of a cliff and I was falling, and I was screaming into Rosalie's mouth, and I was falling, and my whole body tensed up so tightly I felt my muscles trying to snap free of my bones!
And that's when it hit me hard, a tremendous rushing, and then my whole body just relaxed as I seemed to be carried away. I screamed 'aaahhhh' into Rosalie's mouth as she held me through it all.
And then I peed.
All over the place, like a fountain, no: like a geyser, just exploding everywhere!
God damn it!
Boom. It felt like the end of the world inside me.
Then...
Then...
Then... nothing.
It was just me and her, her hand on the back of my head relaxed, letting me fall back onto the bed, the back of my head resting in her hand, me gasping for breath, desperately sucking in air like I had just been cut from the hangman's noose at the last second of life.
I lay there panting, exhausted, my whole body jelly: totally relaxed, but also totally spent.
"Oh, my sweet Bella!" Rosalie exclaimed, so happy. "That was ... wow! That was a big one, wasn't it, baby!"
She leaned over me, her hair brushing my face as she kissed me lightly on the cheek.
I panted, gasping, totally overcome.
"Oh, my baby!" Rosalie said, kissing me again. "Oh, sweetie, that's it. Rest now. You're okay. You're okay now, sweetie!"
She said it ... like ...
She said it like she was almost proud of me, but ...
Her hand ... you know, the hand that was Down There ... had pulled itself away and was now drenched with my pee, rested on my hip bone.
God! I was so ashamed! I wanted to turn away from her, but I couldn't.
Peeing on Rosalie Hale as she ...
I couldn't finish the thought.
I felt concern coming from Rosalie. "Baby, you're okay?" she checked.
"I ..." I gasped, and purposefully slowed my breathing. "I'm sorry," I whispered.
Rosalie was quiet for a moment. "You're ... 'sorry'?" I felt her blink in surprise. "For what?"
"Rosalie," I said, bitter now that she was making me spell it out. "I ... I peed all over you! I ... I just couldn't ..." I gulped. "I'm sorry."
"You ..." Rosalie was quiet again. "Baby," she said gently, "there is nothing to be sorry about! You didn't pee all over me, okay?"
"Excuse me," I said, miffed that she was telling me about what I did, "I know when I pee, okay? And I did ... and I'm sorry, okay?"
I wanted to turn my head away, but my chin only moved less than an eighth of an inch.
Yay. Progress.
"Won't happen again," I said bitterly, and added to myself: 'Because you'll never want to ... touch me again after this, that's for sure!' The bitterness in my voice didn't match even half the bitterness of my thoughts.
"Baby," Rosalie said gently, "may I say something?"
I sighed.
She took that as a 'yes.'
Rosalie moved her dirty hand, and touched me ... there. I gasped. "Your pee comes from here: your urethra." Her index finger pointed into me, lightly. "But when you orgasmed, you ejaculated, copiously, yes, from here." Her finger traced downward and pointed into me, lower.
"Nnn!" I whined, shocked, still very sensitive there.
"'Nnn,' indeed!" Rosalie replied lightly.
She removed her hand and rested it again on my hip.
"You didn't pee," she asserted.
"I ..." My eyebrows clouded, trying to absorb what she said, "I didn't?"
"Trust me on this one," she said, and kissed me lightly on the cheek.
I blinked. "I have to trust you on everything from now on, don't I?" I asked softly.
Rosalie breathed beside me. "No," she said, sadness creeping into her voice.
God! Ouch! What had I just done? I just asked her a question, is all! But I knew it wasn't just a question: I was asking something from her 'from now on,' and that meant forever to her. And that was too much to ask.
"But I want to," I said.
"I know," she said sadly.
"Rosalie," I said quickly.
But then I stopped.
Why did she have to be sad now, when she had done this for me so selflessly, all of this, and all I wanted was for her to be happy?
And for her to hold me.
That's all I wanted!
Why did she have to be sad?
"I love you," I whispered sadly, and two tears slid out of my eyes.
"Ah, ah!" Rosalie said quickly, kissing a tear away as it slid down my cheek, "none of that now, sweetie!" Her voice was all bossy and business-like, and she was back in command, but I wondered if 'none of that' meant my crying or me telling her I love her.
Rosalie picked me up from the bed, pulling off the soiled sheet with us as she carried me to the center of the cabin with the chamber pot. I heard her ball up sheet and toss it, and I heard the wet thump of it as it hit the floor somewhere far from us.
"You need to pee, for real now," Rosalie said, "then drink up to rehydrate, then you need to rest and recover, young lady! You've had a very, very long day, and I can't believe I let you talk me into all this in the first place!"
Rosalie sounded scold-y, but I was scared that she was scolding herself, too, for, ... you know ... me ... and that ... the 's'-word-thing.
"Rosalie," I said, "thank you for 'all that.'"
"Hm, yes," she said.
"No, I really, really mean it! Thank you. I ..." I gulped. "It was special." I said, trying to reach through to her.
"Pee now, Bella," Rosalie commanded firmly.
"Was it special for you?" I whispered, not letting it go.
Two more tears fell.
Rosalie was quiet, holding me.
"Yes, baby, it was very, very special for me," Rosalie admitted softly, whispering this sweetest nothing, this sweetest everything, into my ear.
And that's when I started bawling. I was crying hard. Her words hit me so hard, a sucker-punch to the gut, that I couldn't keep it in anymore. I was so scared this meant nothing to her, or worse, that this was all just a big mistake that she would never forgive herself for and never want to do with me again, or never even go near me again, that the pressure built up and up and her words just were such a huge relief I thought I might actually die from the sudden release.
"That's good!" I screamed through my tears, "'cause, 'cause it's ... 'cause I'm g-glad it was special for you, too, 'cause ... 'cause ... 'cause ..." and I wailed.
"Oh, baby!" Rosalie exclaimed, and she dropped my legs – my toes just barely scraped the floor – and she hugged me into her. "Oh, baby!" she cried. "Of course it was special to me! It was very special for me, don't you know that? Couldn't you tell?"
I cried so hard into her shoulder, because, no: I couldn't tell, and that just about killed me.
And then I peed.
Down her leg.
Joy.
And I thought I was crying hard before.
"Oh, my baby!" Rosalie consoled me. "It's okay. Just let it out. Just let it all out."
I, literally, let it all out.
I hope she didn't mind.
She didn't seem to.
...
Bed. Well, first, clean up the pee, clean up the me. Get me dressed. Blow the nose. Drink water. New sheet. Rosalie did all of this as she held me to her side.
So much for me 'helping.' Maybe if she had a gun handy, she could give it to me so I could shoot myself in the head when I got my hands working again. That would help. Save her a lot of trouble.
Where were we? Yeah: bed.
Rosalie laid me down gently into the bed then snuggled up behind me.
"I didn't die," I said listlessly.
"You didn't die," she agreed.
"You didn't kill me," I pointed out.
"I didn't kill you," Rosalie agreed again.
It was quiet.
"A good day," Rosalie remarked, emotionlessly.
"Ha!" I laughed sadly.
Rosalie kissed me on the top of the head.
"A very good day," she added and sighed softly into my hair.
We were quiet.
"Did you see this comin'?" I asked softly into the darkness.
Rosalie pondered this. "I believe the term is 'never in a million years!'" She mimicked the whiny, shocked, scared, terrified little voice of mine when I said that to her, three million years ago tonight when she told me I had to take off my clothes and sleep naked if I were to sleep with her.
Or was that last night? ... or the night before?
The days and nights kind of blurred together, what with me dying and all. So hard to keep track of!
But she said she didn't see this coming!
Rosalie was, really, a big dummy if she didn't see this coming!
"Oh," I remarked. That's all I could think to say.
"Did you?" Rosalie asked back.
"Never in a million years," I said.
Rosalie held me tightly. "Ah," she remarked softly.
Somehow, her 'ah' sounded so much more thoughtful than my stupid 'oh' did.
"Do you ... regret it?" Rosalie asked cautiously.
"Rosalie! No! No!" I shouted. "Never! I ... it was ... it was special. It was better than I could have ever imagined! It was ... it was special." I finished weakly. "Thank you," I whispered.
"Sh, sh, sh," Rosalie whispered, then kissed me again, lightly, on the top of my head.
"Did you ...?"
"Yes."
Rosalie's answer to my half-formed question was quick and sure. Nothing like my answer. Nothing like my question back to her.
She was so entirely opposite to me that it hurt. She was so perfectly ... perfect. Gracious. Beautiful. Strong. Caring. Kind. She was everything I could never dream to coming even close to.
She wasn't a evil vampire, as she claimed. No, she was an angel, a God-sent angel.
Rosalie sighed again, reading my mind, I'm sure, and finding fault all over the place with my logic.
I was too tired to care, however. She was right again: I need to rest.
Rosalie held me in her arms. "Now the struggle," she murmured.
"'The struggle'?" I asked lazily. She had no sign of struggle or conflict in her voice.
"Yes," she said. "Every night, my right hand holds your shoulder." She squeezed my left shoulder gently, resting her her hand on the bed. "And I tell myself, 'No, Rosalie, her slip is fine where it is. Leave your hand here. You don't need to inch your hand down at all."
I gasped, wakened suddenly, for her hand began to creep down, just an inch, but it eased itself very gently, and very naturally, shifting toward my breast.
Her hand, however, didn't proceed further, instead it obeyed the command of her iron will and returned to my shoulder, gripping it firmly.
"And my left hand," Rosalie continued, unabated. "My bad, bad, left hand!" she scolded herself, her left hand atop my hip, her left arm encircling my waist. "It doesn't need to adjust your leggings, no! It doesn't need to move your panties, not at all! They are fine where they are, you bad left hand!"
Her hand ... the fingers on her left hand touched then traced the waistband of my pj bottoms. I thought I was sleepy. Ha! What a joke!
My heart was thudding away in my chest, and my breath came in short, sharp, little gasps.
"And all night I tell myself this," she said, "that I don't need to do this, that maybe this time you'll just sleep through the night, and maybe I can just keep my God-damned hands to my God-damned self!"
"On me," I added, correcting her.
"Yes," she said, her voice strained.
"And do you?" I asked. "Do you keep your hands to yourself?"
"Yes," she said, but it sounded like a guilty admission.
"Because I attack you anyway, right?" I demanded. "Every night, so you don't have to ... do that. I do." I said, ashamed.
"Bella," Rosalie said, "no. This is all on me, okay?"
"What I do when I sleep is on ... you?" I demanded.
"Yes," she said, "I could ..."
"You could what?" I demanded now, more angrily.
Rosalie didn't say anything.
"You're caught in a trap, Rosalie Hale," I said, and thought: a trap of your own design.
Rosalie refused to answer, but I guess I didn't ask her a question.
"And now ... tonight?" I said, and added: "what's left of it, that is."
"Worse," she said.
"Worse?" I asked.
"Bella," she sighed, "now that I've had you thus, I want you so much more. God, do I want you so much more!"
Good! I thought, and that thought coursed through my whole body with a vindictive glee.
If she wants me so much more now, by golly, ... the thought of her wanting me like this, now that I've experienced this, and knowing what it is, and knowong that she wants this as much as me, if that were possible, made my little heart speed up in anticipation that maybe we might be able to do this... soon.
"Then ..." I said. "Well, why don't you?"
"Because I do what I ought, not what I want," Rosalie said tiredly.
"Uh ... huh," I answered this as neutrally as I could.
My whole being was crying out: BULLSHIT! however.
Rosalie doing what she 'ought,' ... like any good ever came out of that!
I mulled over our night, trying to figure out how to get past her 'ought'-ness.
An idea suddenly came to me.
"Rosalie," I said, "you called me 'princess,' ... again!" I growled. I took a calming breath. "Why?"
"Eheh," Rosalie laughed softly. "Because you, my dear, always get your way," and she booped me on the nose. Just like that.
"Ha!" I barked, surprised. "I always get my way? Excuse me?"
"Excuse you?" Rosalie echoed sarcastically.
"Look," I said, "I'm not the drop-dead beauty here with magical powers that can turn a tree into matchsticks, Miss Oh-you-get-everything-you-want! It's more like you get whatever you want whenever you want it, and don't tell me you didn't want this, neither, because you said you did and so there!"
I huffed, angrily. Her saying I got whatever I wanted when it was plain-as-day that whatever she says goes, no ifs, and, nor buts about it!
"Yes, it's true ..." Rosalie started cautiously.
"Seeeeee?" I said, my insistent voice overriding hers.
"... that I can get whatever I want, whenever I want it ..."
"SEEEEEEEE?" I yelled.
"...but to what end is all this might I have?" she asked.
"Huh?" I said.
Maybe if she said her words in plain English for plain people, like me, I'd understand.
"Everything I can do gives me no pleasure," Rosalie mused.
"Excuse me?" I said. She seemed to get a lot of pleasure just now.
"... Because I can do anything, and it costs me nothing. I want something; I can have it. Where is the pleasure in that?"
"So you got no pleasure out of tonight?" I asked in a small voice.
"Not that, silly!" she said warmly, almost playfully, and booped me on the nose, ... again.
I don't know about this nose-booping thing.
"Not that!" I said hotly, blushing. "I mean," I added, "maybe that, too, but ... saving my life. You got no ... 'pleasure'" I emphasized the word, "out of that?"
Rosalie was quiet.
"So, you can do whatever you want," I said, "and that's bad, why?"
"Because ..." Rosalie began to explain.
"I'm not done yet! Lemme finish!" I shouted.
I did not need a lecture from her now.
I took a couple of calming breaths; I had gotten hot under the collar somehow.
"I mean," I said slowly, "what woman in the world wouldn't want what you have?"
"Me," Rosalie said.
"Still not done yet!" I glowered.
I fumed.
Rosalie waited.
"Well?" she said.
I hissed at her. "Pfft! Excuse me, Miss Beautiful with scary powers that you can get anything you want with, but for plain, old me who got picked on and laughed behind my back because I could ride a horse better'm I could bat my eyelashes at the boys or wear a pretty dress, I sure as shootin' would've loved to have anything I want whenever I wanted just so's people would leave me alone!"
"No, you wouldn't," Rosalie replied sadly after she waited a moment for me to finish.
I was still seething.
"And you!" I snarled. "You waste it all on your high-handedness. 'Oh, I won't do this and I won't do that!' Always making your life miserable and making sure everybody else's is, too!"
After a moment, Rosalie asked softly: "Why all this sudden anger, Bella?"
I gulped. "Because ... this," I said. "The o-one time y-you let your guard down and you're happy, Rosalie, you're truly happy! and we have this moment together, this special moment, and ... g-guess what? It made me so happy, too, and now you say you 'struggle' every night ... for how long now, when... when I would've been happy t-to..."
I swallowed. "When," I whispered, "this is what I wanted, too? But you say you won't do this, because it's what you want and you say it's bad, just because you want it? Well, guess what, Rosalie Hale? I want it, too, and b-by denying yourself me, y-you have made me so, so sad right now, I swear! So sad!"
"Bella," Rosalie said carefully.
I grimaced. It didn't sound like an apology was coming.
"I want you so much," she continued, "all the time, but if I ..."
She paused, mulling over her words, and continued more slowly, "... but if I give in to what I want, you will be dead, Bella. And that will be it. Don't you realize this?"
Her voice had an air of finality to it.
"No," I sighed, "and I'm not buying it, Rosalie Hale!" I muttered angrily.
"I don't care if you're buying 'it,' or not," Rosalie retorted, "as I'm not selling anything. I'm just stating what is."
Why did this have to get so serious? I thought sadly. Maybe because it was Rosalie Hale, I thought to myself bitterly. ... or maybe because it was us, and it would always be serious.
I hated that thought.
"No, Rosalie Hale," I said, "I wasn't finished, and what did I tell you about interrupting me?"
Rosalie was silent. I could feel her visibly holding her tongue.
But she was letting me have my say, ... and that was something, I have to admit.
"You are tryin' to sell me a bill of goods," I said. "But I'm not buying them. You're trying to say, 'oh, I'll kill you,' but I know exactly what that means! ... and you do, too! It means, oh! you just opened up to me just now, just a little bit, and you're scared of what that may possibly mean for you and your cold, dead heart! Well, guess what? I'm scared, too, but I'm a little bit angry that you just get to go back to the way things were with you all nice and safe in your horrible little life of self-loathing and you get to hurt me when you do by giving me this moment, which I loved, by the way, but then taking it right back! You can't keep doing this, Rosalie Hale! Particularly not you, Miss Taking Responsibility for herself! Take responsibility for this moment, for how you really feel, for a change, and quit this ..."
I broke off, swallowing hard.
"I am taking responsibility for myself, Bella," Rosalie said, her voice tight. "I have to. I don't have the liberty to ..."
"You know what I really, really, really need right now?" I sniffled, interrupting her tirade.
Rosalie stopped, and that gave me the courage to press forward. "What I really need right now is for you to hold me," I said.
"But I am holding you, Bella," Rosalie complained.
"No!" I said, "I need you to hold me, Rosalie. I don't need you to talk, or to tell me how you're taking responsibility, because you're the responsible one here, okay? I get that, okay? But I don't need that now. I don't want that now. I just need you to hold me ... and... and to love me, is all."
Rosalie drew in her breath sharply.
"Bella, ..." Rosalie said.
"No," I said, "NO! Just hold me and love me, or try to pretend that you do! Can you do that?"
Rosalie held me in silence, then she whispered. "No, Bella, I can't pretend that. That's ... that's not right."
"But you said all you were is pretense!" I complained bitterly. "Why can't you pretend just this one, little thing, please?"
"Because I can't hurt you like that, Bella," Rosalie said sadly.
"T-too late, Rosalie Hale," I sobbed.
Rosalie said nothing.
I cried. I cried as Rosalie held me, and tiredness caught up to me, everything that happened today, and the emotional impact of it just wearied me to my bones! As I was falling off to sleep, I thought: the one time. The one time I needed her to lie to me, to tell me she loved me, just ... just for me, just this once, and she couldn't bring herself to do it, because of her God-damned principles or something.
Rosalie Hale was the worst.
Rosalie, sadly: "It's been a long day, baby."
I screamed. I screamed my head off, I was crying so hard.
If I were a 'princess,' why didn't she say, 'I love you,' instead of that? Why couldn't I make her with some royal command or an imperious look?
Unless, of course, I weren't a princess, in which case I knew what that made me, really: scum, just nothing, a nobody. A girl who had hopes for ... something, I don't know, anything, and had to watch them all get crushed.
"It's been a really, really long day, sweetie," Rosalie said tiredly, resignation weighing down her voice. "Get some rest, okay?"
I took a shuddering breath, and I slept.
A/N: cough-cough. Excuse me a moment.
(geophf goes into a closet, bloodcurdling screams are heard within. geophf returns)
I tried. I really tried for a happy ending to this happy little chapter, but no: Rosalie had to be all Rosalie, and Bella couldn't let it go, her heart all broken to bits now.
I just want to shake them, probably half as much as you are screaming right now and wanting to shake me.
Joy.
The good news is ...? It gets worse from here.
ps ... on a personal note from this author: So, a funny thing happened on my jog yesterday morning (2016-07-11), I had a heart attack and am now writing in the hospital waiting on an angiogram/stent and possible surgery. I'm actually 'the lucky one' of both sides of my family: most my uncles did not live past their heart attacks and strokes. So, so much left to write here, but ... well, enjoy reading each chapter, and treat each one as the last one going forward.