Bella's hand was still under mine. She didn't seem to mind, so I didn't move.

"I was born in 1915."

She blinked, but stayed silent.

I took a shuddering breath, then pushed forward. "I lived in a different world than you do, Bella. My human world was a much simpler place. It was 1933. I was 19, and I was beautiful. My life was perfect."

Her hand gripped my thumb and squeezed.

"There were things I still wanted. To be married with a nice house and a spouse who kissed me when they came home. A family of my own. Royce King was the most eligible bachelor in town. I barely knew him. But I was young. I was in love with the idea of love."

My mind was running a mile a minute. She was still here, staring at me, eyes big, but her thumb was tracing comforting circles on my own. But for how long? How much could I say before... before it was too much?

I couldn't lie to her, though. I wouldn't. Edward did enough of that for both of us, and I wouldn't turn that around on someone as beautiful and sweet and deserving of all the good things in life as Bella Swan. I would just have to... couch it in delicate language, I supposed.

"My friend, Vera - God, she had it all. They were poor, her and her husband, but they loved each other so much. They had a little boy. And for a long time I thought I was going to have their type of love with Royce... but one day it clicked. Royce would never treasure me like Vera's husband treasured her. I was just... his pretty little status symbol. And I didn't have any love in my heart for him, really, just hope that my life would be like the movies."

"And then it went wrong?"

Bella's voice was small and cautious. Her eyes held nothing but concern - concern that I didn't deserve.

I chuckled grimly. "Then it all went wrong."

I stared at our clasped hands, my skin so painfully white against the warm darkness of hers, and wished I could be warm and pleasant to hold hands with. She must be freezing. But she didn't let go.

"I was walking home after a dress fitting for our wedding," I finally continued in a hushed voice. "It was cold and a bit too late and dark out for comfort. I was dreading speaking with Royce, knowing what I would have to say, what I'd practiced saying as the seamstress pinned me into that godforsaken gown. And then I heard them."

Bella's hand tightened.

"It was Royce and some of his friends, sons of other rich men in town. They were blustering, shouting, laughing, drunk, and stupid. 'Here's my Rose!' Royce shouted, laughing with them, sounding just as stupid. 'You're late. We're cold, you've kept us waiting so long.' I had no idea what they meant, since my father never let me be alone with Royce outside of home. But... I understood pretty quickly after that. They grabbed at me, calling me horrible things like slut, whore, and cunt. They tore at my clothes. And Royce let them."

"Jesus, Rosalie." Her voice sounded thick. I was scared to look at her, so I focused on the pitted stains on the table.

"I remember it all. A horrible side effect of... my condition, really. It's like I'm frozen in panic mode, betrayal hardwired into my brain, all because... well, I'll tell you in a minute. I'm getting ahead of myself.

"They drug me into a side alley, away from anyone who could hear. It was late enough and cold enough that few people were out and about anyway. And if there were police out, they didn't come. Not when I screamed, not when they beat me to shut me up, not when Royce yelled over them, demanding to be the first... and not when they left me in a puddle of my own blood, clothes torn and pulled up to my waist, choking on my own vomit. They left me in the street, thinking I was dead. Believe me, I wanted to be."

I glanced up at her. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and my gut lurched. But I was too far in now. Why did I start with this story?

"They - they left Royce's belt around my neck," I hissed. "The indignancy of it all. Inhumane. Drink doesn't make men do that. Not good men. It was hiding in them all along, under their black ties and cummerbunds and starched shirts. And I got caught in the crossfire."

The waitress was approaching. I could hear her hurried footsteps, smell her now-familiar scent. So I tucked my chin and braced for her cheery -

"Are we ready for dessert?"

Bella started.

"No thank you," I said, nearly a growl, but managed to transform my voice into something approaching pleasant to follow with, "But we are ready for the check."

She dropped it off and confirmed that we could pay on our way out. I grabbed the slip and pen before Bella could, scrawled an inordinate tip on it, and rose. I extended my hand to a surprised Bella Swan.

"Follow me out? I'm getting there, I promise."

Her unshed tears glistened on her cheeks now, but she was hurriedly brushing them away. She took my hand in answer, then followed as I paid for our meal and swept out into the misty gloom.