Alice struggles up the stairs, haphazardly trying to keep a heavily intoxicated, cowboy-costumed Jasper from falling.
Luckily for her, he's still able to walk a bit. He stumbles and lands sitting against the banister with a groan.
She considers taking off her silver Jeffrey Campbell platform heels; but, shoes or no shoes, there's no way she'll be able to drag him anywhere he isn't already going.
There haven't been many times in Alice's life that she's wished she were a six-foot-five, two-hundred-something-pound offensive lineman like Emmett. Right now it would really come in handy.
"Hey, come on, we're almost there," she coaxes, trying to keep her voice down so that she doesn't wake Carlisle or Esme.
It's just past four in the morning, so Carlisle should be getting up for work soon. As much as he'd be able to help, this isn't the best first impression for Jasper. Alice would rather not explain why and how the love of her life is lying on the floor too drunk to speak.
She's not quite sure if Edward is awake or home yet. She wonders if he stayed over at Bella's place. Rather than risk it and assume he made the fun choice, she avoids turning on the hallway light and waking the perpetually grumpy sleeper. Her lit-up phone screen will have to do the job of lighting their path.
"Jasper," she shakes his shoulder. "Let's go. Three more steps."
He gives a vague nod. She tries to pull him back upright without success. He sort of crawls up the remaining stairs.
When she thinks she's finally in the clear, Edward's bedroom door opens.
Of course, he's here.
He looks half-awake; his reddish hair is messier than usual. His eyes immediately spot Jasper before Alice has a chance to shove him into her room and shut the door.
"What the hell?" he grumbles with a scowl.
"His friends left without him and I don't know his address," she explains in a hushed voice.
"And you brought him home with you? He smells like he just went swimming in a pool of Everclear."
"Go back to sleep."
"And just ignore the fact that a random guy you found a few weeks ago is completely trashed in our home? Carlisle might put up with that, but I don't want him anywhere near us. He's trouble and you know it."
"He's not hurting anybody, so calm down. And he's not random. He's my friend."
"Don't be stupid. He doesn't have friends. Those two left without him because Peter—or whatever his name was—had a ton of pills and he didn't want to get caught by the police."
Seeing Jasper's made his way out of the hall, Alice goes into her room and shuts the door behind her, effectively ending the conversation.
The tall blond lies just in the entryway, crumpled up at the foot of the armchair. He's exceedingly pale and his light lashes contrast against the dull, grey circles under his eyes.
Something in her chest aches. She can't quite pinpoint what she's feeling, so she pushes it aside for now. She removes his hat, jacket, and shoes with careful movements.
It's no easy feat, but she manages to get him onto her bed. She tries to prompt some sort of vision of whether he will be fine for a few minutes and gets a vague blur of them talking together in her room once the sun rises.
She tosses a blanket over him, grabs a pair of leggings and a baby blue cami from her closet, and heads into her bathroom to get cleaned up. She's very tired, but she wouldn't dare fall asleep in makeup.
When she's finished, the clock on her phone reads 5:30. Class registration for winter quarter will be open in a few minutes.
She grabs her laptop off her desk and starts it up. She can review her notes for her technical design final while she waits.
Plopping onto the unoccupied side of her bed, she yawns and stretches. She wishes Jasper told her what he was going to sign up for next quarter so she could get him registered too.
Edward's overreaction in the hallway is bothering her. There's no way Jasper is trouble. She wouldn't see a bright, happy future for herself with him if he were. His presence in her life feels stable and sure, so Edward must be wrong.
Alice finishes up selecting her classes from the catalog and flops down onto the mattress. It feels good to relax after being awake a full twenty-four hours.
She watches Jasper's sleeping form, his chest rising and falling steadily. He doesn't look like he feels good. His expression is worried even though he's resting.
She saw how they would meet, the plentiful opportunities to kiss that they'll have, and that he's going to love her someday, but the in-between of how those things will eventually connect with the present is a mystery.
What if she had it all wrong and she had met him too early? She might not be what he wants or needs right yet. She certainly doesn't know what to do about the present situation they're in once he wakes.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, deciding that she's only overthinking it because she's overly tired.
If one thing in her life is sure, it's that the future—like all good things—will blossom with time.
...
Jasper lies in a cocoon of dark, comfortable warmth, the universe spinning slowly around him.
Something smells floral and sweet.
A delicate, dreamy melody hums from somewhere not far away.
Did he finally die? Overdose? Drink himself to death?
Hangovers never feel like this.
Something—no, someone—is touching his hair and he realizes it's only dark because he's swaddled in an oversized fuzzy blanket.
His mouth is bone dry.
He opens his eyes and pops his head out from under the blanket. He's in a very well-decorated, softly lit bedroom with high ceilings and crisp white walls.
In all his years of drinking until blacking out and waking up in mysterious places, he hasn't found himself someplace like this before. He expected something more along the lines of an old couch or maybe a pile of leaves on someone's lawn.
Who did he go home with?
He rolls over and Alice's petite pixie features greet him. She's wearing something different than the night before. Her short, black hair falls straight around her face and she's washed off her sparkly makeup. She's typing away on her laptop, working on something.
Jasper realizes he's not hungover because he's still drunk. He's having trouble forming words or thinking clearly.
At the very least, he's certain they haven't had sex. From a logistical standpoint, he's pretty sure he's too messed up to do anything presently. Then there's the fact that he's still mostly fully dressed.
Looking around the room, he sees he's sprawled out in the middle of a very pink, very comfortable bed. It feels like memory foam.
The cowboy hat he had on at the party is sitting in a chair by the door. He's not sure where his shoes went.
There's a built-in shelf on the far side of the wall with a collection of books, trinkets, shoes, and handbags on display. A big tropical-looking houseplant of some kind towers in the corner. A floor-to-ceiling window, much like the ones he had seen downstairs at dinner the other night, sits opposite the door.
"Do you want water?" Alice asks, holding out a glass. She's noticed he's awake. He goes to grab it and almost drops it. His coordination is very off.
He nods in thanks and sits up, too.
Big mistake.
He feels like his head just went through a spin-cycle. His vision tilts the opposite way his body does, prompting a wave of nausea.
Alice holds out a small trash bin just in time for the contents of his stomach to decide they want to come up. Her free hand holds back his hair from getting covered in vomit.
He really did a number on himself. It's been a while since he's felt this sick.
She disappears into an ensuite bathroom and comes back a few moments later. "I was watching you and I didn't think you had that many drinks."
"It was after I came back downstairs," he says quietly after taking a gulp of water. "Give me a minute and I'll go."
"Go where?"
He's doubtful she'll ever want to talk to him again after a stint like this. "Away."
"Stay awhile, you don't have to do that." She sounds sincere. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, it's not a big deal. Happens a lot."
"I've noticed. Do you not know your limits?"
"I do. It's not that."
He notices a textbook with graphs and diagrams scattered across the page lying on the bed near Alice's laptop. She must have been studying.
Glancing around the room more in an effort to fight off the building urge to throw up again, he notices a looming stack of unopened delivery packages towering around a door behind her
Jasper lies back down, dizzy and still trying to figure out how to function.
"You kind of scared me," she says, still watching him. A concerned look distorts her usually happy features.
Oh, no. He worried her.
He feels a pang of remorse hit him, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
"I don't understand what happened. Are you going to tell me?" she prompts with gentle curiosity.
He doesn't want to, but she's proven herself to be a decently good listener so far.
"I ran into someone I know from Texas last night. We're not on the best of terms."
"You're going to have to give me a little more because I'm not quite following."
Jasper rolls from his side onto his back, trying to get into some kind of position where he doesn't feel motion sick.
The ceiling, he notices, is trimmed in an ornate, white crown molding and a crystal chandelier lighting fixture hangs in the center of the space.
"She—Maria—and I met when I was still in high school. My friend Peter and I decided to sneak into a college party," Jasper begins. "She was a sophomore from an out-of-town university visiting her boyfriend for the weekend."
Alice nods in acknowledgment. She pulls her legs into her chest and wraps her arms around her shins, settling in.
He continues. "It turned out her boyfriend had like a dozen guys working under him to run and sell prescription drugs. She was helping him find college kids to work the campuses...which is where I fit in."
"You sold drugs?" Alice interrupts. "Sorry, keep going."
"Yeah, for five years. The pay was good, and it was fun being able to get into all the big parties." He sighs. "I messed up, though, and got caught last spring. Some kid OD-ed at a graduation party. No one wanted to call the paramedics because they were scared of being pinned with the blame."
"Right. Of course."
"I tried getting help, but it was already too late. When the university caught wind of what happened, I was expelled and a couple of Maria's other friends were arrested for possession," Jasper recalls. "The only reason why I wasn't charged for that and more was that my parents donated a huge cash sum to the school board and the guy's family to keep things quiet. It was more for their own reputation than mine. We've never been very close, but they stopped talking to me after that."
"Oh. Hm." She looks at him thoughtfully. "So that's why you're mad at her?"
"No, it wasn't her fault. She wasn't keeping me. My parents were even paying my tuition and everything at the time, so I didn't need the money like Peter did. It was just something to do."
Alice frowns a little. "She called the police at the party last night. I saw her on the phone outside after you two came back downstairs."
"She did..?" He didn't make the connection. He knows Maria to have a vindictive streak at times, but she's usually more deliberate in getting back at people.
"Mhm. You said she had a boyfriend?"
"Yeah, Benito. They're still together."
"Did you like Maria?" Alice asks. Jasper can tell she's trying to piece together what he's telling her and what he's still leaving out. "Did you—or do you—have feelings for her?"
He sighs. "We were sleeping together. She would call me over to her place whenever Benito was away. He traveled out of town a lot. And he was in and out of jail a lot."
"You didn't answer my question," she says, her tone light and teasing.
"I thought I loved her," His brows knit together in stress. "I'm not seeing her anymore. The last time was in May and she went all summer without trying to call or text."
"Oh, okay." Her reply is unusually quiet like she's concentrated on thinking something over. "Did you just sell drugs or did you do them too?"
"Both, I guess."
"Do you...um..." she trails off.
The room's still spinning and his skull is still pounding.
She's not finishing her sentence. Is she asking if he still does drugs? It's a valid question considering the circumstances.
"I've been drinking—obviously—but I haven't been taking anything else recently besides Xanax."
"Xanax. Like a prescription? Medication?"
"Yeah."
"Not with alcohol, though."
"Always with alcohol."
"Is that...okay?"
It's definitely not. "I don't know. Probably not with the amount I've been taking."
"Are you trying to kill yourself?" She's not too happy with that answer.
"No, I'm trying to not feel like shit," he admits reluctantly.
Compared to the previous cocktail of random things he would take throughout his former years it's mild. At least, that was the initial hope he had when he switched over.
"How's that working out for you?" She brushes off his curt reply, picking up a strand of his hair and playing with it leisurely. It feels nice, but it would be a lot nicer if he weren't so nauseous.
"Not great, clearly." He didn't come prepared to give a full explanation of his questionably effective coping strategies.
"I don't want to get a vision of you getting hurt or waking up outside again."
She sees the future. That's right.
"I'll try not to."
Momentarily satisfied with his answer, she plops down on the bed next to him, staring up at the ceiling too. "Any other dark secrets you'd like to share while we're on the topic? Or was that everything?"
"I think I've shared enough today," he says exhaustedly. "What about you? Do I get to hear any secrets?"
"No, we're talking about you today, not me. I don't have any secrets."
"None?"
"Well, maybe I can think of one. I'll tell you some other time."
...
Rosalie checks her lipstick in the reflection of her phone screen while she sits alone in the South Lake Union wine bar.
She narrows her eyes at the beigey pink lipstick she picked out earlier in the day at Sephora, wondering if the color is washing her out. Red would have been better with the black top she's wearing.
"Hey, sorry I'm late!" Esme apologizes as she breezes in. She's wearing a classically stylish navy rain jacket, slim-fit trousers cropped at the ankle, and a pair of black booties. Her work bag is a Celine tote in the same golden brown color as her hair. "Traffic is awful right now and my client couldn't decide on a backsplash for the kitchen."
"Don't worry about it." Rosalie waves her hand reassuringly. "Happy hour only just started."
She has all the time in the world. It's not like she has anyone else to see on her day off.
"Have you been here before?" Esme asks. "The bruschetta is amazing!"
The only restaurant Rosalie's been to in the city so far is the Starbucks drive-thru if you can even count that as a restaurant. "No, I'll have to try it."
She used to go out to eat all the time when she lived in New York, but she hasn't been in the mood lately.
"Did you have fun last night?" Esme pauses to order a bottle of wine for the table when the waiter comes around. "I heard you were at the Halloween party."
"From who?" She knows less than ten people in the city. They can't already be gossiping about her.
"Emmett." Esme laughs. "Just so you know, he's been talking about you practically nonstop for the past month. I didn't realize you were the same Rosalie he met hiking. I can ask him to leave you alone if he's bothering you."
"No, it's fine. I'm sure he does it a lot."
Esme tilts her head in thought. "Not really. He's never mentioned anyone specific to me before. It could be that he knows we're friends, though."
"Hm." Rosalie sighs. The waiter comes by to drop off their bottle. She orders some bruschetta for them to share and the fettuccini alfredo dish featured as a special.
"You probably want a break from that stuff, though, right?" Esme continues. "You said you were engaged back in New York?"
"Yeah, my father introduced me to the son of one of his investment firm's shareholders last winter. He proposed in the spring."
"How quick! Have you talked to him since the move?"
"No, definitely not," Rosalie shakes her head and sips on the Cabernet in her glass. "I don't want to see him ever again."
"That bad, huh?"
"Yeah. He seemed like the perfect guy initially. Good-looking, tall, has an amazing job and an expensive penthouse apartment in the city. He even graduated from Harvard business school. We went to a lot of really nice parties together."
Saying it out loud makes her feel stupid. Starting a relationship, getting engaged, and breaking up all within eight months is something that evil stepsisters do in fairytales. She wants to be the princess, not the supporting villain.
Esme uses her fork to pick up a piece of zucchini off the skewered meat and veggie dish she ordered. "Is it okay if I ask what happened?"
Rosalie's stomach does a flip. She's going to be sick.
"I wasn't in love," she half-lies, twirling a noodle on her fork and failing repeatedly to pick it up.
She would have married him even if she wasn't in love. She wouldn't have been happy about it; but, if that had been the worst of it, she would be married now.
Esme nods sympathetically. Rosalie feels like a fraud.
Her new friend has done nothing but offer her unconditional kindness and support, and she's blatantly misleading her into thinking she's some kind of romantic at heart who couldn't go through with a multi-million-dollar marriage proposal because of some idiotic feelings of true love.
"I was married before I met Carlisle. I was in love, but he wasn't very nice," Esme says.
Rosalie takes a sip of her drink. "What did he do?"
"He would get drunk and hit me," Esme says, her voice low. "We were high school sweethearts. We got married right before starting college, bought a house together...I didn't find out about his temper until after all that. I got pregnant our senior year and couldn't bear the idea of raising a baby with him, so I started applying to jobs out of state. I filed the divorce papers from Seattle."
"I didn't know you have a child."
A flicker of a frown crosses Esme's face. "I don't. Um, the baby didn't make it. There were complications. He was born too premature."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I can't imagine..."
Esme gives her a small smile. She's probably used to that reaction. Based on their previous conversations, this would have all happened about five years ago, so it's not super recent. Rosalie doesn't think that's enough time to get over something like that, though.
"How did you and Carlisle meet?" Rosalie asks, trying to salvage the conversation.
"I was brought into the hospital and he was an on-call ER intern. Given the circumstances, he was very considerate and thoughtful," she says, a funny look on her face as she tucks a lock of golden-brown hair behind her ear. "I was going through pretty a rough time in my life, you could say, and tried jumping off a bridge."
"Shit," Rosalie curses, downing her glass and waving over the waiter to replenish their bottle of wine. "Sorry."
"It's okay, I'm in a really good place now," Esme reassures her. "Bad things happen every day, but it's up to us to decide what we make of it, right? Time moves on whether we want it to or not."
Rosalie can only hope those words are true.
...
Jasper barely walks through the door to the apartment when he hears Rosalie's voice calling out dryly from the couch. "Look who's finally home. I need to borrow your car."
His car. Right. He doesn't have it.
"It's still in the University District. I haven't had a chance to get it yet," he replies.
"Seriously? Fine, I'll go tomorrow. It's getting dark out anyway." She narrows her eyes, giving him a scrutinizing look. "Where were you all day?"
"Friend's house," he answers, grabbing a glass from the kitchen cupboard and filling it with water. "Did Peter and Charlotte make it back?"
"They didn't call you? They said they would."
"Phone's dead."
"What is wrong with you, Jazz? Seriously." Her expression sours even more. "Hey, how much do you pay in rent? I get my first check on Friday, and I can cover your portion."
He swallows a mouthful of water. It's cool and refreshing in his still-parched throat. "I don't pay rent."
"What do you mean you don't pay rent?"
"I don't have a job, contrary to what you may think."
This pisses her off more than she already was. Jasper takes her annoyance as a cue to leave, heading into his room.
Jasper spent the better part of the day in Alice's bed sleeping off the alcohol and hangover, but his head is still pounding. It took him until nearly dinner time to recover enough to catch a ride home.
He hopes, perhaps delusionally, that she doesn't think he's too much of a shit show.
Plugs in his phone to charge, he sits down at his desk with his laptop. There probably isn't anything good left, but he still has to register for winter quarter classes.
He can hear the door to the bathroom slam shut and the shower turn on from the other side of the hallway. He's going to have to wait longer than he anticipated to wash up.
He feels gross. He wants to go back to sleep.
While he could give Rosalie crap about the hour-long showers and general moodiness she continues to exhibit, neither he nor the other two occupants of the apartment are going to say anything. Not when her almost daily crying is so easily heard through the thin walls.
Hopefully, she'll be happier in her new apartment.
After a quick scroll through the course catalog, he finds two required Psychology classes he needs, both scheduled for 8 am. The only history class that will count toward his minor that's available is a course called Early Greece that happens three times a week at 2 pm.
It's not the most ideal schedule, but that's what he gets for waiting so long to choose classes.
His phone lights up once it's charged enough, and he sees two messages from Alice.
The first reads, Text me when you're home. The second is her class schedule for the next quarter. She's taking French 302, Design 403 Fashion in Film, and Management 323 Business Ethics and Social Responsibility.
She'll be on campus bright and early for morning classes all quarter just like him. Perfect.
With that in mind, exhaustedly, he slumps back into bed.
