CHAPTER TEN

"Please don't," I managed to say once I felt someone coming close. They didn't say anything and I started to sob, but that only made everything hurt so much more.

"Shhh," a soft voice whispered and at that moment I knew it wasn't Royce.

I started to cry harder—out of relief or fright, I didn't really know. I thought he had left me at one point, but then I realized I couldn't even feel anything anymore.

But I did feel myself drift. I couldn't hear, see, say, or touch anything, but I could feel. And I wondered if I was dying. I wondered if my senses were slowly fading until nothing was left.

The moon, the coldness, the pain, the blood—all the images splayed throughout my mind. Being pushed, and being caught. Waiting for death to take me. Waiting in the darkness, never to rest. Then everything began to return.

His voice, the pain, the breeze, and the rescue. At least, I hoped it was a rescue. And then everything came back to me, even Royce.

"Please stop," I managed to choke out, and I felt the breeze subside. This man couldn't be Royce. Royce wouldn't have listened.

I knew he had said something because I could feel his chest move—my head must have been on it. But I didn't really hear him. I didn't know what he wanted. I just wanted the pain to go away.

Maybe he was an angel. I could dream, couldn't I?

I let the angel take me to wherever he wanted to take me. I was done for and I was finished. Soon enough, I couldn't feel, and I knew death was coming closer. I welcomed it for all that I could.

But the reverie only lasted a short while. There was light and it was warm and I felt myself slipping away and the pain begin to dull. That was the closest to heaven I reached because then I felt pain. I felt as if something sharp was cutting me—everywhere, my throat, my wrists, my ankles. The clarity of it all almost killed me. The pain, the aching, was Royce back? I screamed and felt as if I was on fire, as if Royce wanted to kill me once and for all. And I took it.

I begged for him to kill me. I was shouting, telling Royce to please, please kill me now.

Maybe I was in Hell, or going through it. I've done a lot of bad things in my life. I tried to think of them all—for reason, and for trying to keep my sanity. I didn't think the thoughts running through my head at that point were helping either case.

There was one time when I was seven that I pushed Nate onto the dirt for putting mud in my hair. He cried and I laughed at him.

Then there was the time when I told mother that Tom ate the last cookie when I did.

When I was thirteen, I manipulated father to let me stay out late with a boy I met from the farm outside of Rochester.

At sixteen, I refused to marry said boy because I still wanted to flirt, causing my parents—mainly my mother—to be furious with me.

Then, at seventeen, when I had rejected Royce for the first time.

I let him sell (illegal) liquor.

I was disobedient fiancée and caused him to be angry at me.

I resisted him.

I got hurt my him.

I cried.

I never tried to speak up to him.

I hid secrets from my family—especially my brother's.

Vera was my best friend and I became spiteful of her because of everything I had. I knew I wasn't happy.

I didn't tell her what was happening with Royce.

I made myself go back home instead of to Royce's, letting him and his friends find me.

I let them steal me.

I let them leave me for dead.

I deserved it all.

I started to scream and cry and scream and cry. I didn't know how long it lasted, but it felt like forever. Everything hurt, on the inside and outside. Pain meant you weren't dead, and I felt it.

I felt alone. My senses were gone. I didn't see what was happening around me. I couldn't. I was glad. I didn't know how long it lasted, but after a period of time I heard other voices. I couldn't distinguish them, but I knew they were there. The first things that came to mind was Royce and his friends and I started to cry.

Once I could hear and feel again, I started to see. My vision was blurred, but I could see. And I still hurt. It wasn't just physical pain anymore. There was silence from the people before me, and I felt as if I were dying on the inside. Everything hurt.

"I'm sorry," I heard someone say, and felt someone holding my hand. The words 'I'm sorry' couldn't make up for anything, no pain or loss, not really. It was a phrase used by perfect strangers in the time of mourning. Maybe I was dying and he tried to save my life. Maybe it was Royce and he regretted what he had done. Too late.

"I'm sorry, so, so sorry," I kept hearing.

And then I felt the pain begin to lessen. He had done it. He had done a good thing. A good thing, because soon enough, nothing hurt.

It was a beautiful thing, darkness. Everything was at peace and nothing hurt. Nothing could touch me, nothing could harm me. I think that very moment was the most peaceful—most happy—I had ever been.

But being conscious of the darkness, and being able to think, I found myself once more in a depressive state of mind. And I knew I wasn't dead, I knew I wasn't gone.

I saw black, but heard them—angels? No, because by the sound of it, they were angry.

"What were you thinking, Carlisle? Rosalie Hale?" I instantly perked up at the sound of my name, but I didn't feel myself move—I couldn't move. Who was Carlisle?

"I couldn't just let her die. It was too much—too horrible, too much waste," I heard what I assumed Carlisle say. He sounded hurt, like every word out of his mouth killed him. What did he mean he couldn't let me die? Was he the one that found me? Was I alive? "It was too much waste. I couldn't leave her."

"Of course you couldn't," another voice said—it was female.

"I was wandering the city and could pick up her scent from miles away. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw her… If you had seen her the way she was—only a heartless person could have left her to die." My insides began to hurt again. Every second of what happened started to replay in my mind, no matter how much I wanted to forget about them. He had seen me. He probably thought I was revolting—that must have been why their voices were so far away, it was because they didn't want to be near me.

"Last I checked is that we are heartless," a voice I swore I knew started, "people die all the time—"

"She didn't deserve to die, not at the hands of her—of her…"

"Don't you think she's just a little recognizable, though? The King's will have to put up a huge search—not that anyone suspects the fiend," the young one said more forcefully, more angrily.

But after mentioning Royce every memory I thought I would have forgotten when I died came flooding back. I couldn't hear any more, no matter how pleased I was that at least they knew what Royce had done, even if they didn't want me around.

I groaned from where I was lying and sat up, my eyes still shut. I was able to sit up easier than I thought, because all the pain I had felt—how long was I gone?—had almost completely vanished. There was still pain somewhere inside, but there was no pain from the places I had bled from. I knew emotionally, I was unstable.

When I opened my eyes, slowly, there was light. I knew I was in a bright room, and I felt warm.

Then I felt someone close beside me.

I was looking down, so when I was finally able to see, I warily shifted my eyes and saw someone's hand reaching for my arm. Instantly, I pulled back harder than I intended, because I felt myself falling to the floor.

I waited to hit the ground, but someone had caught me—different hands. They tilted me back to my sitting position, and I finally looked up.

He was blonde and I knew I had seen him before. His eyes were light, a topaz colour, and full of concern. It took me by surprise.

He noticed me staring so he said, in the most gentle voice I had ever heard of anyone say, "I'm sorry." How many times had he said that? What was he sorry for?

I continued to stare at him, perplexed, then began to look around the room. There was a woman to the other side of me, the one who had probably caught me before I fell. Was she there the entire time? She had dark hair and soft features, with the same colour eyes and the same concern within them.

"What are you sorry for?" I questioned the blonde man, and pulled back, surprised at my own voice. Before he could answer, I started again, "what happened? Who are you?"

I put my feet down on the floor and stood up. I came up easily—easier than I thought I would—and looked down at my body. I was wearing clothes I had never seen before and there were no scars or cuts or bruises on my arms. My skin was porcelain and clear, like everything that had happened with Royce had been a nightmare, buy I knew it wasn't. Just thinking about it made it all real.

I knew the man could read the emotion on my face, for he told me, "I'll explain everything to you, Rosalie—"

"How do you know who I am?" I said back to him, suddenly defensive. Who were these people? Did they know Royce? Of course they did, they were just talking about them.

"I'll explain—"

"Well then explain!" I shouted to him, still not recognizing my own voice. What I thought would sound rough and hoarse, came out delicate and full of edge.

"I found you on the street, after what happened."

That was all he said, all he had to say, because immediately recognition dawned on me. "You're that doctor, aren't you?" He nodded his head and I waited for him to continue.

"I brought you to my home, to help you. You were so close to death, and you didn't deserve to die," his voice got quieter, as if he were ashamed, and I didn't understand why.

I tried taking everything in and looked back at him. He was tense, but his eyes were calm. His voice was strong yet soft. "So you… saved me. You… fixed me up?"

He nodded.

"Um… thank you, I, uh—yeah, thanks," I stumbled, confused at his insecurity of the situation.

"Except, there's more to it, Rosalie."

I furrowed my brows and stared at him, "What do you mean?" I asked, wary.

He looked behind me and stared at the woman with brown hair. I turned to her and she gave him a soft smile, nodding. I looked back at him and he was staring at the floor.

"What is it?" I expelled harshly, impatient at their hesitance.

"Rosalie, when I found you, you were close to death—too close. You were barely alive. And when I brought you to my home, you were almost gone. To any other doctor in New York, you had no chance of survival." He took a deep breath and I continued to listen. He continued to stare. "I could have let you die, or… I had a choice of letting you live. But letting you live wasn't just putting bandages on your wounds and nursing you to health. It was a much different process."

"I don't understand…"

"I had two choices: let you die as a human, or let you live, but not as a human. Have you ever heard of vampires, Rosalie?"

I nodded, not fully convinced. He continued to just look me in the eyes, and I began to understand what he was saying. I began to shake my head and started to laugh. "No. What are you talking about? What did you do to me?"

"I let you live, but as a vampire."

I exploded right there. "Are you insane?" I began to yell, "what did you do to me? How did you let me live? Why did you let me live? What do you want from me?"

Wordlessly, he turned away and pointed to a mirror from across the room. I walked over to it, not taking my eyes off of him. When I looked at my reflection, I flinched.

I still looked the same, blond and beautiful, but there were slight changes that made a huge impact on my appearance. My skin was paler and my eyes were a fiery red colour, unlike the man and woman's. Despite the different hair and bone structure, we were similar when it came to our skin.

I turned back to the man and walked straight up to him, staring right in his eyes, "What did you do to me?" My voice cracked as I said the words.

"You're a vampire. It was the only way I could let you live."

I survived. I survived Royce's attack, but I didn't even know if I wanted to. Not as… this.

"This can't possibly be real," I said, mostly to myself. I looked down at my hands before looking back at the man and woman. "And who are you?"

"I'm Carlisle, and this is my wife, Esme."

"There was another one, I heard another voice."

The woman, Esme, spoke, "That was our son. He's gone out right now, but you'll get to meet him," she said kindly—too kindly. I didn't know if I wanted to meet him. I didn't know if I wanted to stay. I wanted to go home.

I remembered hearing about vampires in books and on the radio, but that was it. I never gave it much thought, never bothered to. I remembered when Tom read Dracula. He told me that vampires didn't go out in the sunlight, slept in caskets, and transformed into bats. They were terrible creatures, but Tom had been fascinated in them.

"I know it's hard for you to believe, but it's true. It was the only way you could have survived—"

There he went again, talking about survival. He had no idea what happened to me, he just found me on the street.

"Why did you let me live?" I asked him, looking him right in the eyes. I couldn't handle it, everything was coming at me from all angles.

"I couldn't let you die—"

"Who says I didn't want to?" My voice was breaking. He noticed, but he didn't say anything about it.

We were both quiet after that, whether it was because he didn't know what to say or didn't want to say anything, I didn't know. It wasn't until Esme interjected and said, "Rosalie, if you have any questions about this, Carlisle and I would be glad to answer them."

It was kind of ironic how she said she'd be glad to answer any questions I had. It was if she were happy that I was like this and that she actually wanted to help me. They wanted to help me. I scoffed and turned away.

I knew a lot about vampires from Tom alone, but I didn't know how much of it was actually true. But there was one thing about vampires I needed to know. Something seemingly small, but significant.

"When do I die?" I asked no one in particular, staring at a table across the room.

They didn't say anything for a moment, but then Carlisle stepped close to me and said, "You don't."

And I didn't know if I wanted to live that way.

I began to laugh, trying to take everything in, but everything kept itself at bay. "You've got to be kidding me, right? Are you both twisted? Vampires, really? Of all the things you could have told me, you tell me I'm a vampire? Are you both insane?" I started to yell. I saw Esme get closer to Carlisle, both of them watching me.

"Rosalie—"

"Stop saying my name! Stop pretending you know me! Stop pretending like you actually wanted me to live! I heard you! I heard you talk about me! Stop pretending like you thought I wanted to survive! Just… stop it!" I bellowed, and I saw them both flinch. I didn't care. I felt burned out and stared at the ceiling, trying to breathe. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale… it wasn't helping. I felt like crying, but no tears came out.

I was a vampire. I was going to live forever. I was going to be seventeen forever. No—eighteen. It was my birthday… what day was it today? I died on my birthday.

I died on my birthday. I was going to be eighteen forever. I was going to live forever. I was a vampire.

I looked back up at both of them. They still looked calm and concerned—it never stopped. Couldn't they feel anything else? I was getting sick of them already.

"I'm going home. I can't stay here with you." I turned and tried to find the front door, but Carlisle stopped me. He didn't touch me—didn't try to—he stepped in front of me, faster than I could blink.

His eyes were laced with uneasiness, "You can't. You're a newborn vampire, Rosalie. You wouldn't be able to control yourself and your bloodlust around humans—you'd kill them all."

"You're still going on about vampires? Who are you trying to fool?" I was pale because I hadn't eaten in days. That was the only explanation.

But then there were my eyes.

"I know it seems impossible, but it's all true. If you go out there, you could kill the entire town of Rochester. You could kill your family. You wouldn't be able to stop yourself. Right now you need to stay here, away from humans, until you can control your bloodlust," Carlisle told me, ever so gently. If he had one flaw, it would probably be that he was too nice.

I didn't want to believe him—the idea seemed so far-fetched, but I knew after what happened with Royce, I knew I was done for. I felt death, and then I survived, completely unscathed. I knew Carlisle was a doctor and he even said he couldn't have helped me any other way, so why would he lie? He reverberated honesty, but maybe that was what made him a good liar.

Deep down, I knew the answer. I knew what happened, what I was, and who I had become. I just didn't know if I wanted it all to be real.

And if what he was telling me was true, then I couldn't go outside. If I did lose control, I'd kill everyone. I'd kill my family. Did I want to risk his possible lies and hurt everyone around me? I was lost and confused, but mostly lost.

I needed answers.

I turned back to them and noticed Esme was still close by. They were both so quiet that it was as if they were ghosts. For all I knew they could have been, I mean, I was a vampire, wasn't I?

I bit my bottom lip and thought about everything that had happened.

"If… I can't be around humans, how do I survive? Vampires need blood, and they come from humans," I asked him.

"That's true, but the way my family works is we drink the blood of animals. It makes us feel more human. When we can control our bloodlust we like to live amongst humans. It's a very difficult thing to attain, however. Our son has just recently been able to be around humans."

My mouth suddenly felt dry, and my throat began to close. The thought of blood sent something through me and I saw, from the corner of my eye, Carlisle react.

"You're hungry," he said, suddenly at my side again. He moved so fast that it was like he had been beside me the entire time. I flinched. He was close, he was too close.

He wasn't offended though, or he just didn't show it. He beckoned for Esme, and she came close too. Suddenly, I felt claustrophobic. Carlisle backed up then, but Esme remained where she was.

"Rosalie, we're going to get you some blood. Edward should be getting back—Carlisle asked to bring a deer for you," she said so sweetly, smiling. It was like everything that was happening was normal to her. It was like she had that conversation everyday.

I was getting a deer? Edward was getting me a deer—

Edward.

I recognized that name.

As if everything was staged, I heard the door open behind me. I turned and behind me was the bronze haired boy who could pass off for a carpenter—rough and hard with calloused hands. Except this time, he was covered in blood, dried trails from the corner of his mouth. Besides the blood he looked just as i remembered him: suspenders and tousled hair and scathed shoes. His hands were bloody and there was something in his arms. It was a deer—the dead animal. There was barely any blood on it and I could smell it. I knew there was a lot of blood still inside the animal. How did I know that? It smelled so sweet and I didn't know why. Blood wasn't supposed to smell that way.

I tried to think of something else but couldn't. I looked back up at the man. It was Edward from Royce's house. It was Royce's friend, the one who was interested in the illegal liquor. He was one of Royce's friends. Royce's friends attacked me that night. He was one of Royce's friends. It was Edward from Royce's house.

As I looked into his eyes, they flickered from time to time and his mouth set into a thin line. His eyes went hard before filling with fretfulness. He called out for Carlisle, but that was the only thing he said before I went for him, the dead deer falling from his hands.