I do not own Twilight.
Sorry it's taken me forever to update. I've been pretty busy lately, and so I haven't had much time to write and I'd rather spend a couple of days sans-update than give you a shitty, half-assed one.
Although, this is kind of a filler.
I'm hoping to write more tomorrow, so I should have the next few chapters up by Friday.
Thank you all for continuing with my story. It means the world to me :)
College
Rosalie is judgmental and ruthless and tells it how it is, but does it in a way where you feel better about yourself in the end.
I think that's what drew me to her in the first place. I've never had a friend like that, or, really, anyone in my life like that. I'm always so used to walking on eggs shells and making sure I don't step on the wrong toes to really express my feelings. But, with Rosalie, I can.
Especially when she is drunk.
It's the tail end of our freshmen year of college, and finals are in full swing. Well, really, final projects. Final exam period starts in two weeks.
Rose throws an arm in the air. Unfortunately, it's the same arm that is holding her drink and it all comes splashing from the glass as I quickly move my laptop away from the splash zone.
"Another week gone!" she yells and then laughs, plopping back against the headrest I put on the floor of my dorm room. I glare over at her as the clear liquid spills on the floor.
"Sorry," she giggles, but finally relaxes back with a grin.
"Do you remember Tim?" she asks out of nowhere, taking another sip from her glass. Really, it's a gulp.
"Yeah," I say, staring at the screen again, waiting for my grade to pop up out of nowhere.
Tim is the "guy of the month," as Rose refers to them.
"Well, I'm done with him." She snorts out another peel of laughter. "Him—Tim," she rhymes and I roll my eyes as she collapses in on herself. Really, it's only seven o'clock on a Friday evening. She has community service early in the morning for her honors seminar.
She sighs and lies back.
"Why can't I find a guy who is hot and interesting?"
I bite back the retort that it's because she goes for the easy ones at parties.
"Like your boyfriend!" she cries, pressing her hand over her chest and making a pouting face synonymous with cherishment. "Why haven't I met him yet?"
I freeze, but thankfully she's too drunk to notice.
Edward's visited here before, but I've never wanted to introduce him to Rosalie. I know she would see through the guise just as quickly as she has seen through mine. Judgmental, ruthless, and tells-it-how-it-is Rose would come out, full swing, and I honestly don't know how Edward would react to such criticism.
"Show me another picture!" she presses, putting down her drink and dropping her chin into her hands. The smirk on her face belies the light in her eyes.
I sigh, but fumble to reach for my cell phone which is on the bed behind me. There's a strange twisting in my stomach as I swipe through my camera roll, and I realize that I am subconsciously trying to pick a picture that show cases him how I see him; not as the angry, bottled-up, battered teenager the world sees. It's stupid, really, because most pictures I have of him are with a smile on his face, or at the baseball field, or at another stupid party, but I know I'm searching his eyes in each one. Those brilliantly emerald eyes that can tell a million stories.
"Fuck, come on, Bella," she wails, impatient and finally I land on one that Alice had taken and sent to me from our Senior year—before she decided I was scum on the bottom of her shoe.
It's a simple one.
Standing behind me by the bonfire, his arms wrapped around my waist, his chin dropped and resting on my shoulder. The baseball cap he always wears pulled just far enough down his forehead that it doesn't hide his eyes; his bronze hair just long enough that it curls out around his ears and beneath the front of the cap. It is a similar length, now; he knows I like it this way, and he likes when I have something to grab onto.
"Hot as fuck," Rosalie is saying by my ear as she looks over my shoulder. "Does he have any friends that look like that? Or a brother, maybe?"
I laugh once, not daring to mention Emmett as I glance over the picture.
One side of his mouth is turned up and he's looking just past my head. I think he had found something Jacob had said funny. I can't remember right now, because all I can do is stare at the expression on his face.
And it's stupid, but I can already feel the tears tracking down my cheeks.
"Oh, shit," Rose is saying, reaching over to pull a napkin from her small pile where her pizza crust lies. She hands it to me. "Sorry, girl. I didn't know it would upset you."
"You miss him?" she asks and the answer to that is obvious: yes. I always miss him. Even when he's with me, I miss him. But it's something more; something more delicate and troublesome than loneliness.
I shrug with one shoulder and press the button on the side of my phone, staring until the image fades away into the black of the lock screen.
I wipe the back of my hand across my cheek, ignoring the outstretched napkin.
"I don't know." I push out a puff of air between my lips. "It's just…sometimes I feel, like, maybe we aren't good for each other, you know?"
Rosalie doesn't answer, but bites her bottom lip and I know she wants more information, but she knows if she pushes, I'll shut down. It's been like that for a while now.
His expression from the picture races through my mind and I know I'm going to be searching the rest of my pictures in my camera roll for the same expression. And I know that I will find it in every single one. It's a strange mix of happiness, jealousy, and fear. Like he's on the lookout for anyone who is going to offend me, anyone who is going to try to steal me away from him.
And fear that I will willingly go if they come.
It's an expression that keeps him on high alert and, I think, keeps him from true happiness. Keeps him from true happiness with me.
Ruthless.
Rosalie is ruthless.
Should I be like that, too?