CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The warm early May air felt soft against my skin as the doors were open, letting it drift across our skin. The movie was starting and the voices dimmed, the engines cut off.

Emmett had told me he wanted to see the movie after he heard of it on the radio Carlisle had in the corner of the living room, beside the piano. He was an avid fan of horror movies, he said, having sneaked into movies such as Frankenstein, Dracula, and Murders in the Rue Morgue years before. He said while becoming a vampire was a scary feat, he wanted to be scared out of his mind. He also told me no movie had ever scared him and that he would be there if I needed to turn away. I rolled my eyes. Yeah right.

Emmett made several off-handed comments as the movie went on, frequently scoffing that "That wasn't scary!" and "That is so fake!". I agreed about what he was saying, but wasn't as vocal about it. I turned and saw through several car windows that Kenneth and Viola were a couple of cars down, Viola clutching her husband's shirt and barely peeking out from his jacket. I turned to Emmett and saw that we weren't even touching. He had not moved.

I was staring at the space between us and I felt his eyes on me. I looked up and he said, "Do you want to hide in my shirt? Close your eyes?"

I furrowed my brows at him and he held up his hands defensively. I smiled and shook my head, subtly trying to scoot closer to him. When I did he put an arm around me and I didn't resist, didn't try to resist.

"Hey, you wanna go on the hood of the car?" he asked, looking eager.

"Why?"

"Better picture!" And without waiting for my answer he opened his car door and held onto my hand, bringing me with him. He climbed up and lifted me close, even though I probably didn't need the help. The hood wasn't that wide as it was long so I was pressed against his leg, his arm around me keeping me from falling. I looked around and noticed a lot of other couples either on the hood or roof of their cars, enamoured by the movie. I turned back to the film, not really there.

As the movie went on and the background music accompanying the film never stopped, I felt Emmett's fingers press against my skin, holding me even closer. I saw that his eyes were wide and his mouth parted and I knew if I called his name that he wouldn't hear me. I watched him for a moment, as the only light coming from the screen lit up his face and the night around us, brightening his features. Even with his mouth hanging open his dimples were prominent alongside his defined cheekbones. It was such an odd combination—both hard and soft intermingled into one. It was endearing.

I must have stared longer than I thought because then he turned to me and a smile replaced his face. "If you're scared my shirt is still available for hiding in," he whispered so suavely, so confidently. I knew underneath his voice was fear.

I ignored him and grabbed his head, turning him back to the screen. I watched along with him, my head resting at his shoulder at one point. I didn't mind the movie much, but I loved the moment. It brought back memories I actually welcomed. I missed the drive-in, I missed going with my father to business trips and sneaking into the drive-in when he thought I was sleeping. Emmett helped me relive my memory, whether he knew it or not. This place, the setting, the entire atmosphere, was still with me. They were brought from my human live into my inhuman life and I knew it was something that would never change, ever.

I smiled at the thought and looked at Emmett from under my lashes. I didn't look too long that time and focused back on the movie.

I watched with interest as one scene started to play and could feel the gruesome part of it. I watched as Lugosi overpowered Karloff with a scalpel in hand and heard him utter the words "There's more than one way to skin a cat". It was slow then, and I felt Emmett pull me closer, his face on my hair, his nose on my temple and his mouth on my cheek. I watched as Lugosi skinned Karloff alive, even though all I saw was a silhouette of the man accompanied by screams.

Soon I heard a scream off the screen, high pitched and saw many of the women were screaming. But there was another high pitched voice too close to me that wasn't my own. I looked up at Emmett and saw him as he screamed before he pulled me up and had me cover the screen, my entire body illuminated by the bright lights, hiding Emmett in the shadow.

"No horror movie I ever saw has showed anything like... like... like that!" Emmett wailed. I felt his hands shake and I continued to watch the movie with interest, my eyes focused, my mouth in a hard line as I tried to understand what was happening.

When the scene was over I felt Emmett's eyes look over my shoulder. I turned to him, my blond hair curtaining his face before he moved it out of the way. When he saw it was safe to look he lowered me to the hood of the car, his arm still around me.

"Are you alright?" I asked, looking down at him.

"Yeah," he said, but sounded anything but convincing.

"None of that's real, you know," I said softly, mostly talking to myself. I looked away from him, but chose not to look at the screen. Instead, I stared at my feet.

"I know."

My eyes came back to his. "Then why are you scared?"

"I'm not... I don't know, it's just that not a single movie I've seen has ever done anything like that!" I raised my brows at him, a smile coming to my lips. "What, Rosalie? And why aren't you scared? Have you ever seen anything like that, have you ever seen blood and heard screaming and being like... like that in a movie before?"

I shook my head. "I can't say I have, Emmett."

He gaped at me. "They why aren't you scared? You have a tough armour, I'll say."

I laughed lightly at how serious he was making the situation.

"Are you laughing at me?" he asked, and I tried to stop by closing my mouth, but my teeth were flashing at him. I could hardly contain myself. "Oh, don't tell me you've seen worse than that." I didn't answer, but my laughter died down. I bit my bottom lip and stared at my hands, lithe and cold against the warm night air. "What movie did you see that was more scary than this? Tell me, because I've seen like every scary movie out there and this is the first time I saw that," he said, trying to persuade me to answer him. Emmett's hand was on my arm and despite the cold skin it still managed to feel warm against me.

I paused for a moment and contemplated whether or not I should say anything. I had no reason not to say anything, honestly. He already knew so much that I had unconsciously unveiled to him, yet I was still hesitant. And at the same time, I was eager to say something, anything to him, of all people.

Sighing, I looked down at my lap and kept my eyes trained on my legs. "It wasn't a movie," I told him, looking up and staring right at him with my lips sealed tight, my eyes half open, half there. "I think I've experienced worse than Karloff." I shrugged my shoulders and his stare was too intense that I had to look away. I shouldn't have told him. I should've screamed and hid in his shirt like the rest of the women here. I shouldn't have been so interested and he shouldn't have asked. He was judging me now. He was probably thinking what a mess I was.

I waited for him to get up and leave, get me in the car and drive back to Virginia. I waited for him to say something, say something hurtful and to walk away.

He did none.

Instead, I felt his hand around my arm pull me close to him and I felt his nose on the top of my head and his lips on the side of my face. I heard him breathe and I smelled his sweet scent. I saw him wrap both arms around me and I didn't feel trap. He didn't say anything at all and that was enough. It was enough and I wanted to stay like that. He didn't have to say anything. And as he held me all the background noise disappeared and all the screaming was forgotten and it had never felt so right. Silence had never been that comforting before.

"I can't find the right words to say, but then again, I was never good this words," he murmured and I felt his lips against the coldness of my skin.

His honesty hurt me. His care destroyed me. I felt completely vulnerable in his arms but I didn't care and it didn't matter. Why did I feel that way about him?

We stayed like that even as the movie ended. We stayed like that even as the cars left the drive-in and were one of the last to leave. We stayed like that, and I didn't mine. When everyone was gone he pulled away and I offered to let Emmett drive, but he just grinned at me and practically shot to the passenger seat. I sighed tiredly—even though I was anything but—and rolled my eyes as I got in, slamming the driver's seat harder than I intended.

I stayed sitting for a second before starting the Buick. "Where to now?" I asked him.

Emmett thought for a moment. "We should go back—I bet they're worried about us," he said slyly, grinning at me. He knew something I didn't and when it dawned on me I stared at him disgustingly.

"Lord, Emmett put your mind somewhere else," I said, driving the car and keeping my eyes in front of me, even though I could see him clearly at the same time.

"Hey, I'm a man, I can't help what runs in this brain of mine."

"Geez," I joked, scoffing, "my bad." I smiled and continued to drive, getting the hang of it easily.

The banter continued even as we stopped at a fueling station. When we pulled out it Emmett's chatter was still endless. My replies were scarce after that though, suddenly tired. I never once did feel sleepy, though. That was an advantage of being a vampire, I guess.

The hours passed idly and I didn't really pay attention to anything he was saying, but that sound of his voice was comforting itself. When I did pay attention to him he was talking about something him and Edward was going to do in town and about school. He remarked that he still didn't know whether or not he wanted to go to university or what he wanted to do with his life.

Live as the dead, I thought to myself. He couldn't have a job in a society of humans, but then again, that's what Carlisle was doing. I stole a quick glance at Emmett and tried to figure out what he was good at. Of everything, he held a lot of street smarts, rather than relying on books. And it wasn't a bad thing. I think it held more usefulness than going by the book.

He tried to get me to talk, but I used the excuse of focusing to not. I knew he didn't believe me, but he didn't push for an answer.

It was hours later when we entered West Virginia in the peak hours of morning when Emmett going restless. He turned to me and asked, "What did you want to do with your life?"

I was confused and thought about it, but still couldn't come up with a solid answer. Instead, I replied with, "What?" My eyes were still on the empty road and we had stopped by another fueling station earlier with Emmett paying, again. How much did he even have?

"When you were human, I mean. What did you want to do?"

Why was he suddenly curious?

I glanced at him quickly. "Oh. I don't know. Well, I do. My mother said I was going to marry someone and become a wife, and that's all I was intended to do with my life, Emmett. What did you want to do?" I asked him.

"I don't know."

I furrowed my brows and looked at him again. "You didn't know? How did you not know?" My fingers clenched the wheel tightly, suddenly angry for some reason.

Emmett shook his head, staring out the window, his legs propped in front of him. I never told him to take them down. It could be cleaned later. "See, that's your problem. You have everything planned. I didn't ask for what your mother wanted you to do, I asked what you wanted to do. You don't do what you want," he accused me.

"Yes I do!" I yelled at him defensively and I involuntarily slammed the brakes, flying forward and hitting my hands on the windshield to try and prevent myself from crashing my body into it. Emmett lurched forward as well and his head turned, colliding with the glass. He didn't break it, fortunately, and stared a little bit longer off into the distance, attention from me gone.

Emmett opened the door and pointed. "See that hill? You would never go up there because you're scared."

"What do you want me to do, roll down it?" I asked him in disbelief.

"No, but that's not a bad idea." He turned to me, smiled, and grabbed my hand. He opened the door and practically carried me to what he was staring at—the top of a hill.

When he placed me down we were right at the top and I could see the car in the distance. I turned to him and he had his arms crossed, waiting.

"I'm not rolling down that," I said a matter of factually.

"You're scared." Emmett was smiling.

"Am not."

"Really?" Emmett was smiling even more.

I resisted the urge to throttle him. "If I do it, will you shut up about it?"

"This isn't about me. This is about you. Can you let go? Forget about your mother and your father and all their rules and do what you want. And I know you want to roll down this hill. You've never done it before, have you? New York doesn't have any hills—it's all city, isn't it? You want to know what it's like, but you're scared. You won't know until you try, so try it."

"But—"

"No buts. Live a little. Have some fun. The drive-in was fun, wasn't it? Well, Rosalie, this is only the beginning." He sounded so sure of himself and so excited at the same time, and I didn't know why.

I watched him carefully and not once did his smile falter. "How many women have you said that to?"

He shrugged. "About five."

"And how many have you meant it to?"

"Just one." He was staring right at me as he said it and I felt something stir deep inside of me. Why did he know the right things to say—that insufferable, idiotic fool?

Emmett stared at me for a long time and I groaned out loud I pushed at him with my hands but he didn't budge. I looked down at the bottom of the hill. It was steep.

He was staring at me with raised brows and I looked at the dusty sky and the rising sun. I walked in a circle before I gave him a look. He waited.

I bit my bottom lip and I knew he was right. So why was I holding back? I wasn't scared. I pursed my lips and my tongue stuck out of the corner of my mouth, curling as I concentrated. Emmett was still.

Then, with one last long fleeting look, I practically threw myself off the hill and rolled down, screaming.

I tumbled down anything but gracefully, hitting my head on the grass too many times to count and screaming at the top of my lungs. My hair whirled around as I went, flying in every direction. Even if I tried to stop myself from rolling, I knew I couldn't—gravity was pulling me down. So with every scream I stumbled, hitting my hips, shoulders, and knees as I went.

When I finally hit the bottom—which took much, much longer than I thought—I was still screaming and only stopped when I needed to breathe. My ear was pressed against the ground and my body was contorted so that my hips were in the air, one of my knees were pressed against the dirt, and the foot of my other leg was solidly rooted against the grass.

I shut my eyes and groaned, feeling the wet dirt seeping alongside my hair and touching my scalp. Gasping, I sat on my knees and felt the top of my head, pulling chunks out as I treaded my fingers through my hair. I looked at it in horror, flicking the dirt away and trying to find where to wip my hands, unsuccessful. Then I realized my knees were getting dirty and I stood, the front bottom half of my legs encased in mud.

My hair was tousled and turned and a tangled mess. I heard laughter and saw Emmett still perched at the top of the hill. I glared at him and he must have saw because his laughter stopped immediately. Then, without warning, he threw himself off the hill too, rolling in a way that looked painful and I wondered if that was how I rolled.

Emmett didn't scream at all, but instead hollered in excitement, exaggerating the fun the hill could provide. He rolled near my feet on his back and looked at me.

"Wasn't that fun?" he asked brightly.

"Uh, no," I replied, annoyed. I almost smiled at the dirt on his cheek and forehead.

He noticed. "Laugh, Rosalie. I know you want to."

"No I don't."

"Are we seriously fighting about this again? Let go, Rosalie. Laugh, no one here is going to stop you."

I smiled and bit my bottom lip to try and stop it, but it still came. Emmett saw and started to laugh and then I did something I really had no experience ever doing: I let go. I laughed out loud. I laughed at the dirt on his face, in his fair, and on the corner of his mouth. I laughed at his stupidity and the situation we were both in.

"Was that so hard?" he asked after the laughter started to die down.

"Maybe not for you, but for me, yes."

"But you did it."

"And my hair's a mess!" I walked over him so I was blocking the sun from hitting his face, holding up a chunk of my hair covered in dirt. Then I pointed to my knees and I knew I shouldn't have done that. His eyes went from my hair and trailed to my shoes, raking in my body in its entirety. His eyes went slow and I wanted to kick him. He seemed to sense that because right when I reeled my left foot back he grabbed my ankle and brought me forward. I yelped as I fell onto him, one leg across him and the other on the other side, making me straddle him. He let go of my ankle, but put his hands on my hips, stopping me from getting up.

"What the hell was that for?" But I didn't even give him a chance to answer because I quickly asked, "And look what you made me do, my hair is all dirty and my clothes... Esme's going to think we went through a hurricane."

"Aw, it's alright," he cooed, mocking me.

I pushed him on his chest, but I knew he couldn't feel it. Not when he was of that stature. Still, I tried. I crossed my arms in front of me and said, "No, it's not alright! Look at me, I look like a mess and hardly fit to go outside, but here I am!" I was frazzled at the very words and living through it only had me only more agitated. "I hope you're proud," I continued, mumbling, "I have to get inside." I looked to the car and tried to stand, but Emmett held me down.

I looked down at him and one of his hands released itself from my hip, lingering on my thigh. Then, he said with deliberate slowness, "You could have mud on your hair, rain on your face, dirt on your hands, scrapes on your knees... and you'd still be the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

I watched him, too stunned to move, with my mouth partly opening, but no words slipping out. We were still and I just watched him, wanting to believe him—my God, you didn't know how much I wanted to believe him—and murmured, "You liar." It was one thing to tell me I was beautiful when I was, and it was another to lie to take advantage of me.

So why was the idea of truths and lies blurring?

"No." He shook his head, his fingers dancing across my wrists, his eyes still on mine. He wasn't hungry. I was surprised he lasted at the drive-in.

I shook my head back at him, my voice nothing more than a whisper against the onslaught of light."Then why do you think I'm beautiful?" I didn't pull away from the feel of his fingertips on his wrists, or even when his hands started to trail up and down my arms, his fingers soft against my cool skin.

His voice was deep and sounded rough as it came out, as if he was nervous. "Because you're smart with music and cars. Because you're confident since you always say what you want. Because you're funny—and you don't even know it sometimes." He smiled at the last part and I brought my hands up, bringing his hands clutching onto mine with me. I delicately removed his hands from mine, suddenly missing the touch. But then I ran a hand through his dark curly hair, playing with it. His eyes glanced up and I kept my stare on his hair, not wanting to face his face.

As I curled a strand around my finger I said, "You have nice hair. And cute dimples.

"That's it?"

No. It wasn't it, it couldn't be it. There was more and I was done lying with myself.

"Let me finish. You're smart with anything to do with life. You're confident since you always say what you want. You're funny—and you even know it sometimes." I looked down at him as I said the last part and he was smiling at me. My fingers were now trailing against the side of his face before stumbling down his neck and resting back at my thigh.

We didn't say anything for a moment before Emmett started to chuckle. He looked at me with bright eyes and said confidently, "And you're stubborn"—my arm instinctively came up and my brows furrowed, but he caught both my wrists and held me there, albeit gently—"but somehow, I always come back to you." He brought my wrists to his mouth and kissed them. I felt his lips place themselves on the bone covered by skin, lingering.

I curled my lips inward, chewing on the bottom with my teeth. "And you're stupid, but somehow I always come back to you," I whispered, my hair covering part of my eyes.

I stared at his lips on my skin, even as he pulled away. He was still holding onto me and I was still straddling him. We locked eyes for a second before that second turned to minutes. My eyes were on his soft and supple lips, my hands not my own anymore.

Then, slowly, he pulled me down from my wrists and I fell into him gently. We weren't far apart, our breaths the on each others skin, the air between us. We stayed like that for a moment and I waited him to move but he didn't. He stayed still and watched me closely. I didn't know how he was able to resist because I was searching for salvation he wasn't giving me.

Unable to take the silence and the stillness, I came forward and pressed my lips onto his. His hands let go of my wrists and I placed the palms of my hands to his chest. I stayed hunched over his straight form lying across the grass and his hands gripped my hips, unable to reach higher. I stayed on my knees and closed my eyes. Despite the persistence reverberating through both of us, he was going slow while I searched for more. One of my hands went behind his head and brought him closer, pressing his lips onto mine. The need was there, but I didn't know if the same could be said for him. Still, I didn't mind, tasting the sweetness of his lips. My legs curved together with his hips tightly as if I were about to fall over and I felt a fire burn inside of me.

When I pulled back and opened my eyes I saw him watching me lazily. I was breathing heavy and he was too, just not as much as I was. I watched him through half-lidded eyes and saw his mouth part. He was quiet for a moment and I waited.

Then, with a voice so baritone and coarse he said, "I think I may be in like with you, Rosalie."

I laughed, my voice rugged and not my own. "And I think I do too."

It was like I was seeing him for the first time.

"Is that okay?" he asked and for a moment I was stunned. He was still cautious, even after what had happened, no matter how scattered his mind could have been. And I felt it—the pain and the swelling inside of me, but it didn't hurt.

Unable to speak, I only nodded, closing my eyes and closing the gap between us once again.