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Rated M (themes)

Notes: continues scenario & characters established in "Curtains". not beta'd.

Idea Completion: You find a box of old photographs in your attic. Who or what is in the photographs? Do the images have personal meaning for you, or are they someone else's? Do they bring up any particular emotions, thoughts, or memories? Write about it.


I should've brought tissues.

For now, the sleeve of my thermal will have to do. I've sneezed about twelve times since Renee sent me into the attic to locate an extra box of Christmas lights she'd purchased last year. One of the sets circling our tree just blew out, and instead of screwing around with each light, she trashed the whole thing.

So here I am, dusty and sneezy. Sounds like two of Snow White's Seven.

But thank God for small favors; at least the light up here works. It's a bare bulb hanging from a chain, very attic-light traditional, and while its light is sparse it allows me to see where I'm going.

The lights are not where my mother said they would be, but upon further inspection I spy them in a far off corner. After opening the box to make sure they are in fact inside, I start to make my way toward the stairs when another, larger box catches my eye. I remember this box from childhood, with its rusted lock and peeling overlay. It's more of a trunk, really, sort of a catch-all for souvenirs and memories.

Kneeling, I tug the neck of my shirt over my nose to prevent further dust inhalation and open the box. There are albums and loose pictures scattered throughout, ticket stubs and middle school awards and preschool paintings. I gingerly pick up one of the albums and start to thumb through it, my heart quickening because I know Rose is in it.

I am at the point in my life where I can think of her without crying, where the memories are as sweet as they are bitter. She's not perfect in my memories, but she's my sister, and I love her now as much as I always have. Still, seeing her in these pictures, her smile so radiant, so Rose, and all the things she loved to do… it's a little hard and Christmas makes me sentimental as it is.

A few tears slip down my face as I look at this abbreviated sampling of her life, mostly from when we were little. The next album is more recent, and when I see a picture of her with Emmett I know I need to put it all away. Their destinies were wrapped up in one another, in ways they'd never imagined, and I choose to believe that wherever they are, they're together.

Unlike my mother, I no longer believe they are of this world or this time.

And that's that.

One picture slips from the album as I set it down, and I hold it up to the light, smiling when I see it. It's a close up of Rose and me, our faces pressed together, at the beach. We were golden that summer, tanned by the sun and glowing from hours spent outside. It's one of the few pictures where our resemblance is apparent and I slide it into my back pocket, keeping it.

***

My parents insist, rather patronizingly, that I invite Edward over for dinner as a "friend", knowing damn well he's more and that I refuse to comment on it.

If they are surprised that he and I are seeing one another, they don't show it, and the meal is mellow and comfortable, with no shortage of conversation.

Edward asks if I want to go for a drive afterwards; I suspect he just wants to get me alone. So I say yes, obviously, and he follows me up the staircase so he can sit and watch while I bundle up for the cold night.

I like when he watches me.

Tonight though he is drawn to the picture on my dresser, the one of Rose and I the summer I was twelve and she was just-fifteen.

I am unprepared for the bitter thump in my chest and I turn away, focusing instead on zipping my coat and wrapping my scarf.

He doesn't say anything for a long time and I wish he would, wish he'd just spit out whatever's on his mind. It hangs between us like a poisonous cloud, this connection, this remembering, and I realize I'm a fool to think we can move past it completely.

Even if I can, he can't.

Eventually I turn to him, and he's leaning against the wall now, the picture back on the dresser.

Watching me.

"What?" I ask, a little harsher than I should.

"You look so much like her," he says quietly.

"How convenient for you," I stand very still, feeling a little frozen.

He frowns, looking at his feet. "It's not like that. The way I feel for her is nothing like how I feel for you."

"Oh, I know. You let me know that from the get-go." I sit on the edge of my bed, putting my fingers to my mouth so I can blow warm air on them.

I wish I had mittens with the fingertips still intact.

Eventually I look up at him and he shakes his head, moving to sit beside me. "I guess I deserve that," he voice trembles as he speaks and it scares me, because I've seen Edward do a lot of things but I've never, ever seen him cry.

"I don't think I was ever as angry as I was back then. I hope I never am again. Even thinking about it hurts," he says, his eyes on his hands.

"Maybe you need to think about it," I say. "Maybe that will help you move on… it helped me. I mean, I'll never get over it, but I can-"

"I went to therapy too, Bella," he interrupted. "I mean I don't like thinking about how I felt during that time. How I acted."

He rests his hand on my thigh, still not looking at me. His hands are somehow very warm, and I wish I could hold them.

"You were like, in love with Rosalie," I whisper.

"No, I had a crush on her. I'm in love with you."

My heart plummets and I sort of gape at him, completely caught off guard. I know our feelings have always run deep, but this… this is not what I was expecting him to say at all.

"I think… you used to love me," he continues, smiling a little.

I chew the inside of my cheek anxiously, nodding. "I think I did, too."

He squeezes my leg and stands up, pulling me along with him. "Ready to go?"

"Mhm."

My heart skips a beat, my stomach flutters. He seems calm now, lighter, like he's happy he got things off his chest or something. I marvel at where we are today, how much things have changed since last we were in Forks together.

"Bella?"

I blink, realize I'm standing still, like a zombie. "Sorry. I'm kind of in shock by what you said," I smile weakly.

"I'm kind of in shock I said it too," he says, coming back and standing really close to me. He reaches out and touches my hair, bringing it to his face so he can sniff it.

"Weirdo," I laugh, hugging him. I realize this is the most secure and comfortable I have ever felt with him. And it feels really good. "I'm a little in love with you too," I whisper, right in his ear.

He kisses me, playfully but also suggestively, like he's telling me without words what he wants to do.