A/N: Hey everyone! A happy little announcement: I finally got a beta! *happy dance* So thank you Glitchedwitch for pre-reading the chapter and working out some little wrinkles in it! As always, enjoy the chapter and I hope you'll let me know what you think in the reviews! Also, I hope you are all doing okay and are safe. Keep self-isolating so we can kick this virus in the butt!
Disclaimer: Some of this chapter was written based on chapter 7 in Eclipse! Not trying to plagiarize, just trying to cognizant of SM's characters.
Chapter 15 – BPOV
Jasper's playing the TV too loud.
That's the only thought that can seem to pass through the pain throbbing at my skull into my brain. The TV has been on for almost an hour, switching constantly between channels from the remote in Jasper's hand. He had it on a sports channel with an announcer that was nearly screaming into my ears, and then the news, which updated us all about the situation in Seattle. More dead bodies; more missing people - no explanation except serial killers and gangs. Jasper switched the channel when my anxiety began to rise, putting it back on the awful announcer. The volume didn't seem to bother anyone else, but it was making my head hurt and my eyes vibrate.
"More tea?" Edward offers, glancing at the mostly empty mug on the table. His fingers were gently massaging the base of my skull, his chest vibrating with quiet hums of the melody he had written me. With the exception of his humming and his current question, he had hardly uttered a word to me, or anyone, all morning; his strange silence was making me nervous after his extended absence yesterday.
"No thanks."
"Would you please let Carlisle give you some medicine?" Alice asks, her eyes so expressive, as if that might convince me to say yes.
I squeeze my eyes closed, trying harder to push my neck against Edward's fingers. I'd forced myself to swallow three cups of Carlisle's tea, but none of it seemed to relieve the pressure in my head. It was as if my entire body was being stuffed into the confines of my skull; or, perhaps, just the incredibly heavy memories of that day all bubbled up together in my brain, threatening to shatter my skull if I didn't do something fast enough. Medicine would not help me right now.
"No."
"Bella," She begins, but Edward growls her name, effectively cutting off my melody and quieting Alice's persuasion.
"She said no." Edward insists menacingly. His fingers stop on my neck, and I resist the urge to moan in disappointment - and to berate him for getting upset with Alice. Alice had only been trying to help.
"I'm sorry." Alice looks dejected as she moves away from me, and I can tell she's upset with Edward. She moves towards the stairs, sitting down with her eyes closed and her head in her hands. Edward growls at her again, the rumbling loud in his chest.
I feel sorry for her – sorry that Edward snapped at her on my behalf, and sorry that I couldn't do the simplest thing, like take an Advil like Carlisle had suggested.
"Don't be mad." I whisper to her, beggingly. She opens her tired eyes, looking at me with a strange expression of sadness. I'm not sure I've ever seen Alice truly sad.
"I'm not. Not at you, anyway." Alice sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. "Edward's just thick-headed."
I'm about to respond, wanting to defend Edward from her sudden attack – because Edward isn't thick headed, just stubborn and protective – but he beats me to it.
"Enough, Alice."
"Arguing isn't good for any headache, last I heard." Jasper voices, throwing an annoyed glance at Edward and then Alice. "She doesn't want medicine, she doesn't want tea. . . That's fine."
I want to thank Jasper for his interjecting, but the light was beginning to make my eyes hurt and all I can do is just squeeze them shut again.
"Bella, how about a bath?" Alice pips. Her voice, bright and enthusiastic, makes me cringe. "I hear those are good for headaches with the warm water and soothing scents and whatnot."
"I'm fine. I just need to sleep and it'll go away." I tell her, aiming to sound firm. I must sound pathetic, because Edward starts massaging my neck again with his cool fingers, pressing deeply into my flesh until it hurts. It doesn't seem to help at all.
I sigh, frustrated now. Nothing was helping my head - not tea, not massages, not even attempted naps. "Fine." I hiss, swiping Edward's hand away from me. He looks murderously at Alice as I sit up, dizzy now from laying across him for hours. "I'll take a bath."
"I'll start the water." Alice jumps into a standing position, ready to skip up the stairs just as Rosalie appears at the top.
"I'll do it, Alice." Rosalie's voice is quiet and cool as she descends the stairs. "Do you mind, Bella?"
"What?" my voice is just a squeak in the quiet room and I feel uncomfortable with every vampire's eyes on me.
"Let me help you." Rosalie tells me, her voice neither soothing nor rude. Her eyes are fierce as she stares at me and I can't help the compulsion I'm feeling to nod in agreement. She's certainly not Esme – who I'm sure isn't home right now, and she's absolutely not Alice, who is much too preppy, loud, and cheerful.
I'm about to nod quickly, but my brain begins to comprehend the words and I hesitate. Rosalie? Of all the people in the Cullen family, Rosalie? She was terrifying in every sense; she was cold, she was menacing, and she was incredibly beautiful. I thought she might have changed after my spectacular run-in with a rapist, but she hadn't. If anything, she was even more distant towards me - with the exception of her one gracious decision to drive me to La Push. She'd leave the room when I came in, turn away when I spoke, and glare when Edward wasn't looking. Edward never said anything about it to me and I never asked, but I simply did not understand Rosalie's behavior. And now the cold and terrifying Rosalie Hale was offering me her help, despite others being fully available and capable to aid me.
Still, I nod slowly and carefully.
I stand slowly, my dizziness intensified, and Edward does too.
"Are you sure you'll be alright with her, Bella?" his eyes were narrowed at me, but the rest of his face was a thick plaque of marble. He was so familiarly distant right now. Rosalie snorts quietly at his words.
"I'm fine." I mutter, taking a small step toward my colder sister. The movement makes my head and stomach churn with the nausea, and I'm sure I'll fall, until Rosalie reaches out to steady me.
"I'll carry you." My heart thumped unevenly as she spoke. She doesn't wait for a response or even look at me, instead she walks over to me and gently picks me up the way Edward has so many times before. In one short breeze, we're in the bathroom and she's gently settling me on the side of the tub.
"Are you okay helping me?" I ask her timidly, my nails pressing deep into my palms. The palm on my left hand was now covered in small, crescent scabs from the habit, surfacing during nightmares and panic attacks.
Rosalie shrugs, grimacing. "Anything to get me out of hunting duty." She remarks quietly. "I'm not much of a tracker, personally."
I stare at her, shock coursing through my veins. Tracking. . . The thought made me even more nauseous. I was going to throw up right in front of the most perfect person on this planet. Jasper was asking me for information earlier – information I could provide if I was emotionally capable of sharing.
"I'm sorry." I mumble to her. Her back was turned to me as she turned the water on, testing the temperature with her fingers. I know she's heard me, but she doesn't respond.
That was as good as it could be from Rosalie, I suppose. I lick my dry lips, wincing as my tongue slips over small divots where my lips have cracked.
When Rosalie is content with the water temperature, she turns to me. Her dark eyes are cold as she looks me up and down.
"You're a mess, Bella." She tells me, shaking her head. I feel a slight pang of pain straight through my gut at her rude words.
She doesn't speak further, she just reaches out for me, pulling my clothes from my body. I could do little as she worked too quickly for me to comprehend. Within moments, she was holding out her hand, encouraging me to stand. I accept her offer, needing every ounce of support and I rise to my feet, causing everything in my body protest.
"You'd think some of these would be healed by now." Rosalie shakes her head in disbelief, staring at the bruises covering my arm. They were light in color now, but clearly visible against my pale skin.
I grimace, pressing my lips tightly together. It seemed the world wanted to torment me further by not allowing my bruises to heal.
I step over the edging of the tub and Rosalie helps me sit down against the marble. It was cold, just barely warmed by the water that pooled over my limbs. The water is hot, much hotter than Esme or Alice ever set it for me. Somehow, though, the water does not seem to be hot enough. I resist the overwhelming urge to reach over and turn the hot tap until it's as high as it can go.
Rosalie rolls her pants up, sitting on the edge of the bath. The loud sound of the water pouring from the faucet drowns out my struggling breaths. I was already so tired, the headache and dizziness seemed to only make it worse.
Rosalie reaches for my arm, wrapping a thin piece of plastic around my plaster cast before dropping my hand from hers.
"Does that hurt?" she asks, eyeing my encased wrist.
Yes. "No."
Rosalie chuckles darkly, pouring a small bucket of water over my head. It felt so nice washing over my hair, the incredible heat on my skull. "You're a pathetic liar."
I close my eyes, now leaning my head against the wall of the tub, the cold hitting just the right spot at the base of my neck. Rosalie continues pouring water over me without a word, and I don't open my eyes when I feel her fingers massaging my head. The appendages are the opposite of gentle, and part of me begs to move away from her hands digging into me; but an even bigger part of me yearns for her to press harder.
Her hands move from my head and a washcloth replaces her fingers. She moves it over my skin, pressing hard against my bruises as she makes her way down my body. She's lighter against my broken ribs, but even still, the pain is stunning over the fracture points and down the bruises that line my back. I sit still, allowing the pain to engulf me, almost wishing that it would kill me.
Too soon, Rosalie announces that she's done, and I'm washed. Her words make me open my eyes for the first time since I closed them. I'm slightly disoriented as she turns the tap off, stopping the flow of water from the pipes.
"No." I nearly pleaded quietly. "I'm not done."
I'm not sure where the pleading comes from, or the depressive thoughts that hope the water will burn my skin off, or that maybe Rosalie might push my head under until I can't help but to breathe the water in.
Rosalie eyes me apprehensively. "What do you want, Bella?" her voice makes me shiver.
"I want to be clean." My voice is so low that I doubt she can even hear me, but then she turns the water on again, even hotter than before. Rosalie reaches for the shampoo bottle, filling her cupped hand until it overflows. She lathers my hair mercilessly until my scalp tingles and burns.
"Again." My voice was a whisper, begging.
He likes beggars.
Maybe Rosalie can pry open my skull with her nails and pour bleach into my brain to make the memories go away. Then Emmett can't force me to tell him anything, and Alice can't guilt me anymore. The second it runs through my head I regret my thought, suddenly feeling incredibly selfish.
Rosalie is unaware of my thoughts and she complies with my begging immediately. She washes my hair for the third time, just as harshly as before. My whole head hurts now and I'm feeling incredibly dizzy even sitting, but I don't complain or move. Her hands move lower, washing my shoulders with just as much vigor as my hair. My back and ribs are sore, but she is unforgiving as she covers every bruise, cut, and fracture with soap over and over again. When the water begins to cool, Rosalie adjusts the taps until steam steadily rises from the tub once again. When her hands are unable to spread soap spuds over my skin any more, she refills her cupped hands with soap. I sink deeper into the water, hoping my skin would just burn off.
Then, after my skin is raw and burning, Rosalie turns the water off.
"No more." She says to me quietly. Her voice is softer than I expected, and my body is shaking against the tub. I'm so unbelievably tired.
"But. . Can . . ." I whisper, my voice wavering. Where was I heading with this? My mind was entirely blank - I just wanted more.
"Bella," Rosalie's cool hand moves against my body, settling firmly on my back. She isn't looking at me. "it's time to get out."
"Would you rather track or help me, Rosalie?" I nearly hiss at her with a sudden bout of courage, one that I didn't realize I was capable of. I need more... I need more water, more soap. Rosalie rises gracefully from her spot on the edge, reaching for a towel hanging nearby. She drapes it over my shoulders and I move to shake it off, but Rosalie's hands rest on my shoulders, holding it in place.
I try to pull away from her again, but it's a pathetic attempt. She's much too strong for me, even if I was fully functional.
Rosalie's hand combs through my hair, pulling at the tangles as she goes. I lean into her embrace. Alice is much too gentle with me, and Esme is afraid to hurt me. Edward barely touches me. Rosalie's touch is nice and harsh.
"I was raped, you know." Rosalie says, matter-of-factly. She says it so nonchalantly that I almost think I've imagined it. She chuckles quietly under her breath, her hands unwavering in my hair. "Did Edward tell you?"
I hesitate, not sure what to say. Rosalie and I had never exactly had a conversation before. I wasn't sure what to expect with a nonchalant voice like hers. "He. . . he just said it's what almost happened to me in Port Angeles . . . I guess, what happened now."
"Is that really all he told you?" she asks softly.
I tried to remember, but everything in my head seemed muddled. "He said you were jealous of me."
Rosalie laughs quietly, and then sighs. "What a liar."
"What?" Was she not jealous of me? That would make sense - I never truly understood why she would be jealous. She was exceptional compared to me.
"He promised he wouldn't say anything." Rosalie says, her voice amused. She breathes in quietly. "I'm surprised he didn't tell you more about me."
"He doesn't like to tell your stories. He doesn't want to betray your confidences. He said he hears so much more than just the parts you mean for him to hear." It was like I was reciting from a book as I think back to the conversation Edward and I had many, many months ago. It was such a different time back then. Things seemed much simpler.
Rosalie is quiet for a moment. "He's really quite decent, isn't he? Or, he was, anyway."
I don't respond. Rosalie's fingers are still running through my hair, untangling every little knot.
"I thought of nothing else in the beginning." Her voice was distant, but not like Edward's was. "Perhaps Edward told you human memories fade, and they do, but I remember that night with extraordinary detail. I clung to it so hard. . . in the beginning, I could not think of anything else; so, I remember that night when so many of my other memories have faded as if they never happened."
Rosalie's voice is quiet, seeming so far away. Her fingers are still brushing through my hair as she speaks.
"It was dark when I'd left my friend Vera's house that night. The lamps were already on, but they did little to remove how dark it truly was. I had stayed at her house too long, though I hadn't realized how late it was. I know now that I should have stayed the night with her, but I wanted to get home."
"It was cold, too. My wedding was just a week away, Bella, and I was worrying about the weather." She pauses with a quiet sigh. "I was so worried about what it would be like on my wedding day. That's how . . naive I was then. So naive. . ." Rosalie sighs again, shaking her head. "I wasn't very far from my home - maybe just a few streets when I heard them - a group of men were standing in the shadows of a broken street lamp, laughing. They were drinking. It was that moment that I had wished I called my father to escort me home; but, again, I had not realized how late it was, and the walk was so short it seemed silly to ask my father.
"'Rose!' he yelled at me, calling me over. His friends had laughed drunkenly... stupidly. 'Here's my Rose.' he said.
"He was laughing with them, sounding just as drunk. I'd never seen him drink before, except for a toast at a party, maybe. He had told me multiple times he disliked champagne, but I never realized he preferred something much stronger, much more potent."
Her fingers are smooth in my hair, no hesitation or wavering.
"He had a new friend," Rosalie scoffs. "If you can call him that. It was more of a . . a friend of a friend.. He had come from Atlanta and Royce wanted to show me off to him, like I was a prize. Which, truly I was. I never realized it, but my parents used me to climb the social ladder, Bella. My mother spent every dime making sure I had the most beautiful clothes, and the best make-up. She would spend hours on my hair just to have me run an errand for her or go walk in the park. I loved every moment of it; I loved being adored and envied. Royce loved it too, he doted on me in public, kissed me where everyone could see it. . . We were young, stupid. . . Eager for popularity and a social standing we didn't understand. Worst of all, I basked in the glory of my beauty. I wanted the social standing and popularity."
Rosalie pauses again and I can feel my heart thumping unevenly in my chest. Her hands stop against my head, and that's when I realize that my hair is perfectly straightened out. Only a second later, however, her hands start moving again.
"He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer to them all. 'What did I tell you, John,' Royce had boasted loudly, 'Isn't she lovelier than all your Georgia peaches?'
"The man named John was tall and light-haired. He looked me over like I was nothing more than an item he wanted to purchase. I realize now that many men looked at me like that before.
"'It's hard to tell,' he says, smirking. 'She's all covered up.'
"They laughed, and so did Royce. Suddenly, Royce ripped my jacket from my shoulders, popping the brass buttons off. They scattered all over the street. I remember thinking that I would berate him for it, later. The jacket was a gift from him, after all."
Rosalie pauses again, sighing. "I won't make you listen to the rest. It's gruesome, as I'm sure you know."
I shiver under her touch. I did know. I knew too well.
"They left me in the street all alone when they were done. They were still laughing as they stumbled away as drunken and stupid as before. They thought I was dead, and they were teasing Royce, telling him he would have to find a new bride before the wedding. He laughed with them and said he needed to learn some patience first. I waited in the road to die.
"It was late and no one was out on the town. It was cold, too, though there was so much pain that I was surprised that I had even noticed the cold. It was starting to snow and I kept wondering why I wasn't dying. I was so impatient for death to come . . . for the pain to end - it was taking so long. Worst of all, Bella, I was still thinking about my wedding. How awful it would be if word got around that I was impure. I just wanted to die."
Rosalie exhales deeply. "Then, Carlisle found me. He had smelled the blood and came to investigate. I was so irritated as he worked over me, trying to save my life. You see, I'd never liked Dr. Cullen, or his wife and her brother. It had upset me that they were all more beautiful than I was. I was jealous of Esme and her perfection. I saw it as pathetic that they didn't bask in their beauty the way I did.
"When Carlisle pulled me from the ground and ran, I thought I had died. The speed was incredible. I was flying. But it was hardly anything to think of over the pain. I was horrified that the pain didn't stop. I felt cheated in my death.
"Edward wasn't happy. I remember hearing them discuss me as I screamed in pain, begging Carlisle to kill me. He held my hand, though, telling me that he was so sorry, promising that it would end soon. He told me about them being vampires and sometimes the pain would diminish enough that I could hear him. . . Sometimes I made myself deaf with my screams. I was infuriated with Edward for his disapproval of Carlisle's choices, and his disapproval with me. It angered me. Though, it pleased me that Edward seemed to understand what happened, even if I was humiliated, that he knew Royce was guilty."
Rosalie is quiet for a few moments, sighing quietly behind me. I stare at the edge of the white bathtub, biting down on my lip.
"Shallow as I was, I felt better when I woke and saw my reflection for the first time. I was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen; even more beautiful than Esme, who I was jealous of." Rosalie's voice is prideful, if not a little humorous. "It took some time before I began to blame the beauty for what happened to me, to truly see the curse of it, to wish that I had been average."
"Is that it then?" I whisper when Rosalie is quiet again, my voice shaking, feeling utterly weak. "He killed you and that's it."
Rosalie makes a noise quietly, something between a bitter laugh and a scoff. "I killed him, Bella." She breathes in deeply, loudly. "My record is almost as clean as Carlisle's. I've never tasted human blood, even if I did murder six humans – if you can really call them human."
My body involuntarily shivers at the thought of six men raping Rosalie. One was brutal. One nearly killed me. Six killed Rosalie.
"I saved Royce for last, hoping that he would hear of his friends' deaths and know that I would be coming for him. I had hoped the fear would make it worse for him, and I think it worked. He was hiding when I found him, and then I got my revenge."
"You killed him?" I always pictured Rosalie to have one of the worst records with her temper, but I never imagined the humans she killed to have deserved it and her control to be so incredible that she never even drank their blood.
"I did. Quite theatrically, too. I wore a wedding dress." Rosalie sighs. "I should stop now, Edward is getting angry with me for telling you this. He might march in here and pull you from me." Rosalie stands up, spinning me around to face her. Her perfect golden hair was tied loosely, allowing small strands to frame her face. I couldn't imagine her bruised, beaten, and left for dead the same way as I was.
Did Rosalie feel the same way that I did after Carlisle saved her? Did she yearn to be clean and free of their touch? Did she want to pour bleach into her skull to clean her memories? Would I be just as heinous as she was if I was about to die and someone saved me? Jacob Black saved me, but I didn't hate him for it. My anger with him stemmed from something entirely different.
"You're cold. Let's get you dressed." Rosalie lifts me from the tub, settling me on the small stool in the corner. Rosalie is quiet as she lifts the towel from my body, helping me into an array of soft cotton clothes. I'm barely paying any attention as she helps me dress, so focused on how softly her hands work with mine... so much differently than before, when she was taking my clothes off.
"I'm sorry." I mumble to her when I'm dressed. Rosalie smiles, helping me stand, it hurts less, likely due to the hot water that I had sat within.
"I'm sorry, too." Rosalie tells me gently. "Neither of us deserved this, did we?"
"What do I do now? I can't exactly kill anyone. . ."
Rosalie sighs, grimacing. "No, you can't. Edward's handling that just fine, I think." She rolls her eyes then. "He can be incredibly stupid."
I feel a stab of anger at her attack on Edward. "He only wants to protect me."
Rosalie smiles. "Don't defend him, Bella. We all know you're angry for what he's doing by ignoring your one request."
"He's trying." I mumble stubbornly.
"I'm not accusing him of not protecting you or not trying to help, I'm just saying he's stupid." Then she sighs. "There's little you can do, Bella, but let time remove the pain and heal your wounds."
"And the memories?"
Rosalie is quiet for a moment before she answers. "I suppose it's a good thing you don't remember it at all, isn't it?" Rosalie says sarcastically. She stares at me, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. Then she says, "The lack of eating, and the nightmares would have nothing to do with it either, I'm sure. Or the aversion to medication."
I swallow thickly, refusing to meet Rosalie's gaze, because yes, they had everything to do with it.
"The rest of them may not call you out on it, but I'm not afraid to break you. You're not that fragile, anyway." Rosalie tells me firmly. "Talking about it helps, you know. There's a reason therapy exists."
"I might get committed." I mutter in response. "I don't know how to explain my vampire boyfriend and his family, or my wolf best friend." I feel a stab of pain at the ease of calling Jake my best friend, knowing now that he may not be that anymore.
Rosalie smirks at my words. "With us, Bella - with Edward."
Her tone is almost as cold as it has been with me in the months before, she is very quiet now. She doesn't speak for a long time and I start counting the seconds to make the time pass faster. I'm at just over a minute before Rosalie speaks again.
"Human minds are much too fragile to do it alone." Rosalie says, sitting herself down on the tub beside the stool where I sat.
"I thought you said I wasn't as fragile as they thought I was." I was a little offended by her words, it seemed almost as if she was calling me stupid.
Rosalie laughs, shaking her head. "Human minds are different, Bella." She is quiet, grimacing then. "Edward touches you like at any moment your whole body might just explode into shards of glass. He speaks to you like you might break, like one wrong word, one octave too low, you might just die before his eyes. His control isn't that great though, and he does break right in front of you. He snaps at you and disappears, he pushes you away only to wish he could hold you again. . . He's trying to fix you without either of you communicating what to fix or how to fix it. You're both much too alike: both wanting to fix it yourself. Independently stubborn in your refusal to be dependent."
It's my turn to stay quiet as the thoughts race through my mind. I briefly wonder if Rosalie is counting the seconds the way I was. She's right – Edward does hold me close before he disappears on me. He did it just the other day when he snapped at me about my lack of eating, before leaving in his fit of anger; and he has done it at least a half dozen times since. She isn't wrong about my lack of communication – otherwise, I might have told Edward about my dreams... and my pains. I might have also told him about the details of the attack that I've kept secret.
Eventually, she takes a deep breath. "I'll bet you're scared. . . Esme was saying, some days after you come home from the hospital, about how you were upset when you woke up, about how you wanted to say goodbye to Alice, at the very least."
I force my gaze away from Rosalie's face, wishing my thick hair was dry and effective at curtaining my face instead of dead and damp on my shoulders.
"You're scared that we're going to leave because we have before when you got hurt. We left you like you were nothing, and you're terrified we'll blame you because sick things like this become twisted. Maybe you're even afraid that we might not fight for you because you couldn't fight for yourself."
Rosalie goes quiet for a moment, and it takes me a second to realize that I'm shaking and crying. She reaches for my hand, grabbing my wrist almost painfully, causing me to sob.
"Look at your wrists, Bella." She growls at me, her voice stern. "Look at the bruises… look at your damn cast." She holds my arm up, pushing my plastered hand towards my eyes.
I pull away from her, and she releases me instantly. I can't help myself as I slide to the floor, hugging my legs to my chest as I cry. Rosalie follows my movements, crouching in front of me.
"He held you down because you fought - he broke your fucking wrist because you damn well fought." She tells me. "He drugged you because he couldn't rape you - because you fought."
My whole body shivers as she talks, and my mind is unable to do anything but repeat her words over and over again.
"Edward doesn't even touch me or look at me anymore."
"He doesn't know how to." Rosalie says. "He wants to, trust me, but he's scared. He wants to protect you so he hunts your attacker, he wants to help you so he gets mad when you don't eat and when you can't sleep. He wants you to talk to him so you don't suffer by yourself, and so he gets furious and leaves when you hide your nightmares or refuse to speak. He gets enraged, Bella, absolutely enraged if any one of us dares to talk to you about that day, about your injuries, or if we push you to a single misplaced breath. He just wants you to forget, and to heal, but he doesn't know how to help you to do that."
I can't respond to her, and she continues.
"He's angry with himself that your story is like ours." Rosalie sighs. "We all have tragic stories, Bella, and he had hoped that you never would. That, despite his arguments for your soul, you'd choose to be with him in this way. Instead, you're being forced into it much like the rest of us – much like Esme and I; perhaps, even, Alice."
I shudder at her words, realizing that she was right, that my past was just as tragic as theirs. I didn't want a tragic human life.
"He's arrogant, though. He doesn't believe he needs our help to help you." Rosalie continues angrily. "He thinks he doesn't need anyone to understand his mate, and he thinks that's how strong your relationship is. His gift has made him arrogant, even if he doesn't know it. Even if it doesn't work on you."
"What. . . . Do I?" I can't quite make my sentence telligible, and I can't understand how Rosalie possibly understands me, yet she does.
"Be selfish, Bella. Take what you need to take without hesitation, and do what you need to do without fear." Rosalie tells me firmly. "Yell at Edward until he listens to you, because he damn well needs someone to yell at him at this point. He wants you to follow his rules, to eat and sleep, shower and take medicine, and tell them what happened in as much detail as it takes to catch the bad guy. If that won't help you, though, then you have every right to tell him to fuck off. Remember that you have autonomy in this situation and in this house, not one of us would dare hurt you or try to take that from you." Her eyes harden as she finishes.
Rosalie brushes my hair back from my face, a motion that shocks me. I never pegged her for physical comfort.
"I'll stand behind you every time, Bella. I'll scream at Edward as much as you need me to. I'll cook whatever you want, and I'll take you to La Push as often as you need. I will even stop Carlisle from forcing his medical jargon down your throat if you need me to. Your health. . . Your healing is entirely up to you and no one knows that as much as I do. No one understands how truly scared you are as much as I do, not even Jasper. I wished Carlisle didn't take my life into his hands, but he did and I don't want that to happen to you."
"I need to eat though." I blubber pathetically, wiping my face. I was already a mess just minutes after my bath. Frustration and anger with myself was coursing through me knowing how fragile I was, just like how Rosalie said I was, and wasn't, at the same time.
"Make your demands and we'll follow it through. You need to eat, but not necessarily when we tell you to and what we tell you to." Rosalie tells me. She hands me a tissue, allowing me to wipe the cool cotton against my matted face. "Cry as long as you need. It's a privilege I never had to allow my body to react physically to pain."
"Was it easier?" I whisper, my voice hoarse with my tears. I weakly lean my head against the wall, my cheeks burning with my drying tears. My stomach was knotted into a million tight ropes that made me want to throw up.
"It had its advantages." Rosalie admits quietly. "I liked being powerful, not needing to fear anyone, but I had so much to mourn – my old life, my death . . . my fiancé, and I was expected to start this new life happily, as if I hadn't been content with just dying on the road. There's also a certain difficulty having all your physical wounds heal without closure and your mental ones as raw as ever."
"Is it better than this?"
Rosalie grimaces, eyeing me. "For me, I cannot say. I didn't experience it like you are." She frowns more, biting her lip. "Talk to Esme about it one day."
"What?" I drop the tissue on the floor, swallowing thickly at Rosalie's words.
Rosalie sighs. "I can't say much. As Edward put it, it's not right to share stories of others, but the death of her son wasn't her only reason to attempt suicide."
Rosalie stood up, pulling me with her gently. It takes a minute for my body to follow – my coordination lacking with my exhaustion. "I need you to understand one thing: no one will hate you, blame you, or leave you for doing just enough to survive."
