A/N: Sorry for such a long delay. Here is the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it. Remember to review and let me know how you feel!
Trigger warning: explicit discussion of SA/rape, trauma, self-harm, etc.
Chapter 15 – The Past (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. Emmett had it on a sports channel with an announcer that was nearly screaming into my ears, and then Jasper prodded in and switched to the news updating us all about the situation in Seattle. When one channel paused for a commercial break, the screen would flash to another channel to hear a different news anchor reporting the same statements and statistics in an equally terrified voice as the previous one.
More dead bodies. More missing people. More theories on serial killers, gang activity, and secret Russian attacks. Not a single theory came close to the current thought in the Cullen household. An army of newborn vampires ravaging the human population in Seattle.
Jasper turns suddenly, his dark eyes meeting mine. We stare at each other for a shocking moment before he hits the remote with the pad of his finger and leaves the room.
A small shiver crawls down my spine, remember just how deadly Jasper can look when he isn't playing human.
"More tea?" Edward offers, glancing at the mostly empty mug on the table. Edward's fingers were gently massaging at the base of my skull, his chest vibrating with quiet hums of the melody he wrote 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 our discussion yesterday.
"No thanks."
"Would you please let Carlisle give you some medicine?" Alice asks, her eyes wide.
I squeeze my eyes closed, trying harder to push my neck against Edward's fingers. I'd forced myself to swallow three cups of Esme's peppermint 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 hisses her name, effectively cutting off my melody and quieting Alice's persuasion.
Alice glares at him with such contempt that it makes my stomach prickle with nervousness. I wasn't fighting with Alice or with Edward, for once. I wanted them to be on good terms with each other too.
"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.
Alice mutters something under her breath that I can't hear, and Edward growls in response as 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, sorry that I couldn't do the simplest thing like take an Advil that Carlisle would be happy to offer me.
"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. 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 too it.
"Enough, Alice."
"Arguing isn't good for any headache, last I heard." Emmett voices, throwing an annoyed glance at Edward and then Alice. "She doesn't want medicine, she doesn't want tea. . . It's fine."
I want to thank Emmett for his interjecting, but the light was making my eyes hurt and it's all I can do to just squeeze them shut again.
"Bella, how about a bath?" Alice pips. "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 can feel the weight of my guilt heavy on my body. I spy Alice sitting by herself again, wishing I hadn't snapped at her, and that Edward hadn't on my behalf.
I sigh, frustrated now. Nothing was helping my headache. Not tea, not massages. I couldn't even attempt a nap with this level of pain. What difference would a bath make to me if nothing else would help? At least Alice would be happy. . .
"Fine." I hiss, swabbing Edward's hand away from me. He looks murderously at Alice as I sit up, dizzy from laying across him for hours now. "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 everyone eyeing 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 agree. She's certainly not Esme – who I'm sure isn't home right now – and she's absolutely not Alice – who is much to preppy, loud, and cheerful. I'm about to nod quickly, but my brain actually comprehends the words and I hesitate.
Rosalie? Of all the people in the Cullen family who would volunteer. . . Rosalie?
Rosalie was terrifying in every sense. Cold, menacing, incredibly beautiful Rosalie. 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 and cold to me. 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. I never understood Rosalie's behavior, and that hadn't changed in the last few weeks. But now, the cold and terrifying Rosalie Cullen was offering me her help despite others being fully available and capable to aid me.
"Well?" Rosalie's voice cuts through the silence, reminding me that I hadn't responded to her offer.
I nod, slowly and carefully. Unsure, but curious of Rosalie's offer. I stand slowly, much dizzier now 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. "Alice can help you."
I glance at Alice, seeing her lips puckered in a sour sort of way. But she doesn't say anything to agree with Edward.
"I'm fine." I mutter, taking a small step toward my much 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. Her tone was neither cold, nor warm. She doesn't wait for a response or even look at me, instead she 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.
"Why are you helping me?" I ask her timidly, my nails pressing deep into my palms. My palms were covered in small, crescent scabs from 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."
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.
Emmett was asking me for information earlier – information I might have been able to provide if I was emotionally capable of it. He wanted to know what happened that day. How long it had been after Edward left. How long until Jacob showed up. What he said to me. I hid my face in my arms, by body trembling until he gave up and left me alone.
"I'm sorry." I mumble to her. Her back was turned to me as she turns 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 would be from Rosalie, I suppose. I lick my dry lips, wincing as my tongue slips over small divots where my teeth had bitten through the skin.
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.
"I know."
She doesn't say another word. She just reaches out for me, pulling my clothes from my body. I could do little but sit there as she worked too quickly for me to understand. Within moments, she was holding out her hand, encouraging me to slip into the tub. I take her hand, needing every ounce of support to offers me. Everything in my body protests.
"You'd think some of these would be healed by now." Rosalie shakes her head in disbelief, starting at the bruises covering my arm. They were light in color now, but clearly visible against my pale skin.
I grimace, pressing my lips tighter together. It seemed the world wanted to torment me further by not allowing my body to heal.
I step over the edging of the tub and Rosalie helps me sit down against the marble tub. It was cold, just barely warmed by the water pooling over my limbs. The water is hot. Much hotter than Esme or Alice ever set it for me. I resist the strong urge to reach over and turn the hot tap to the hottest setting it can go to.
Rosalie rolls her pants up, sitting on the ledge of the tub. The loud sound of the water pouring from the faucet drowns out my struggled breaths. I was already so tired. The headache and associated 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 falling over my hair. It's incredibly hot against my skull. "You're a pathetic liar."
I close my eyes, leaning my head against the tub. The cold was hitting just the right spot at the base of my neck. Rosalie continues pouring water over me without a word. I don't open my eyes when I feel her fingers massaging my head. Her fingers are the opposite of gentle and a part of my screams 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, nearly wishing that it would kill me.
Too soon, Rosalie announces that she's done. 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." My voice is pleading. I turn to her, scanning her face for some mercy. "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 and that maybe Rosalie might push my head under until I can't help but breathe the water in and breathe out the thoughts in my head.
Rosalie eyes me apprehensively. "What do you want, Bella?" her voice makes me shiver.
"I want to be clean." My voice is so low 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 soup 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 into anything. The second I think it, I regret my thought. I suddenly feel incredibly selfish.
Rosalie is unaware of my thoughts, but 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 feel dizzy even sitting but I don't complain or move.
Rosalie moves lower, washing my shoulder with just as much vigor as my hair. My back and ribs are sore, but she is unforgiving as she covers every bruise, every cut, and every fracture with soap over and over again. When the water begins to cool, Rosalie adjusts the taps until steam steadily rises from the tub again. When her hands are unable to spread soap spuds over my skin anymore, she refills her cupped hands with soap. I sink deeper into the water, hoping my skin would just burn off.
Finally, 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. My body is trembling against the warmed marble. I'm so unbelievably tired.
"I just . . ." I whisper, my voice wavering. Where was I leading with the words I was saying? My mind was entirely blank. I 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 hiss at her with a bout of courage that I didn't realize I was capable of.
I need more. I need more water, more soap. Rosalie rises gracefully from the edge of the tub, reaching for a towel hanging. She drapes it over my shoulders, and I move to shake it off, but Rosalie's hands remain on my shoulders, holding it down.
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 my hair. I lean into her embrace. Alice is much too gentle with me. Esme is afraid to hurt me. Edward barely touches me. Rosalie's touch is nice. It's harsh.
"I was raped when I was human." 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. I had vague memories of Edward telling me about his family. "He. . . he just said it's what almost happened to me in Port Angeles . . . I guess, what happened now."
I had forgotten he even told me that until now. I peer up at Rosalie, curiously. Her eyes were distant, her mind not with me anymore.
"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?" My voice is incredulous, and loud. I cringe, hating myself for causing my head to pound more furiously. Rosalie and I had never exactly had a conversation before. I wasn't sure what to expect with a nonchalant voice like hers.
Was she not jealous of me? That would make sense. I never truly understood why she would be jealous of me. She was exceptional – in every way.
"He promised he wouldn't say anything about my feelings." Rosalie says, her voice amused. She breathes in quietly, sighing. "I'm surprised he didn't tell you more about me."
"He doesn't like to tell your stories. He said it's like betraying confidences, because he hears so much . . . More than just the parts you mean for him to know." I mumble, thinking back to the conversation Edward and I had many, many months ago. Hiking to the meadow together for the first time seemed like many lifetimes ago.
Rosalie is quiet for a moment. "I probably ought to give him more credit. He's really quite decent, isn't he?" Then she laughs, the sound like soft bells. "He can only hope. I'm much too set in my ways."
I don't respond. Rosalie's fingers are still running through my hair, untangling every little knot. Each gentle yank increases the pressure of my skull, but the feeling of her hands is so comforting I can't bring myself to ask her to stop.
"I thought of nothing else in the beginning." Her voice was distant, but not like Edward's was. Not cold. "Human memories fade, but I remember with exquisite detail. I clung to it. . . in the beginning, I could not think of anything else. So, I remember this night when so many of my other memories have faded as if they never happened."
Rosalie's voice is quiet, distant. Her fingers are brushing through my hair as she talks.
"I was with Vera, my friend. I had been at her house visiting. It was dark in the streets when I'd left her house that night. The lamps were already on, but they did little to remove how dark it truly was. I had stayed too long and I should have stayed the night, but that would have been considered improper at the time. Things were different back then, Bella. I was newly engaged, she was married. It was inappropriate."
"It was cold, too. My wedding was just a week away. I was worrying about the weather as I was going home." She pauses with a quiet sigh. "I was so worried about what the weather would be like on my wedding day. Because that is what my life was – pearls, clothes, weddings, social status. . . It was a different time." She sighs again, sounding as if she isn't here with me now.
"I was just a few streets from my house when I heard them. A group of men were standing in the shadows of a broken streetlamp, laughing. They were drinking. In that moment, 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. My fiancé was with them.
"'Rose!' he yelled at me, calling me over. His friends have laughed drunkenly, stupidly. 'Here's my Rose.' he'd said.
"He was laughing with them, sounding just like a drunk. I'd never seen him drink before. A toast, now and then, at a party. 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, not hesitated or wavering, as she pauses in her story. My body was quivering – knowing what was going to happen, remembering that something eerily similar had happened to me.
"He had a new friend – a friend of a friend, actually. He had come from Atlanta and Royce wanted to show me off to him, like I was a prize. Which, honestly, I was. I knew I was. He knew I was. That's what it was like, Bella. In that time, a prize of a beautiful wife was all one coveted. I was coveted."
Nails bite my palms. So was I. A prize. For what, I did not know. But he was gloating in victory for evading Edward and Alice. For finding the gaping holes in my protective details. I had no idea what even motivated him to search for the gaps.
"I never realized it, but my parents used me to climb the social ladder. My mother spent every dime making sure I had the most beautiful clothes. She imported the best make-up, not that I really needed it. She would spend hours on my hair just to have me run an errand for her or go walk in the park. But I loved every moment of it. I loved being adored and envied. Royce loved it too. He dotted 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."
Rosalie pauses again and I can feel my heart thumping unevenly in my chest. Her hands stop against my head, and I realize that all my hair is perfectly straightened out. But, only a second later, 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 dark-haired. He looked me over like I was nothing more than an item he wanted to purchase in the store. I realize now that many men look at me like that, before. Now, even. But they're scared now, even if they don't know why." She laughs quietly, angelically. "Monsters don't know fear well, Bella, and I revel in making them feel it."
Her words make me shiver.
"'It's hard to tell,' he says, smirking. 'She's all covered up.'
"They laughed, Royce, like the rest. Suddenly, Royce ripped my jacket from my shoulders, propping the brass buttons off. They scattered all over the street. The jacket was a gift from him. Each button more expensive than a meal for a family at the time."
Rosalie pauses again, sighing. "I won't make you listen to the rest. It's gruesome, I'm sure you know."
I am frozen under her touch. My hand slips to my hip, touching the place where I'd been injected with Rohypnol. Rosalie didn't get drugged. She didn't get to let the darkness consume her and swipe away her memories.
"They left me in the street. They were still laughing as they stumbled away. They thought I was dead. They were teasing Royce, telling him he would have to find a new bride before the wedding. He laughed and said he needed to learn some patience first." Rosalie laughs again. "As if that was his problem. . ."
I wondered, then, if I'd ever be able to talk about that turbid day with a light airy voice mixed with gentle laughs. Would it take over a century? Would I ever live to that age? Would Edward love me enough to turn me? Would I offer myself the patience to try to live?
I shove those thoughts away, feeling my chest clench in an unpleasant way.
"I waited in the road to die. It was cold, though there was so much pain that I was surprised I even noticed the cold. It was late, too, and no one had been on the streets for a while. 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."
Rosalie sighs again. "Then, Carlisle found me. He smelled the blood and come to investigate. I remember being 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 saw it as pathetic that they didn't bask in their beauty the way I did. I thought I died when he pulled me from the ground and ran with me – because of the speed – it felt like I was flying. 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, telling me 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 did not care for what Carlisle was telling me. I was infuriated with Edward for his disapproval of Carlisle's choice to pick me, and his disapproval with me. It angered me. After all the mistreatment I had faced that night, it only continued."
"But it also pleased me that Edward seemed to understand what happened, even if it was humiliating for him and Carlisle to know. It pleased me that Edward knew Royce was guilty. That Edward uttered his name with such contempt."
Rosalie is quiet for a few moments more, sighing quietly behind me. I stare at the edge of the white marble, biting 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. More beautiful than Esme who I had been 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 normal."
She falls silent, and I shake my head. It wasn't my beauty.
Maybe it was in Port Angeles. Or maybe, for them, it had been boredom quenched with drinks and the promise of a lonely girl. But this was different. This was a monster using me as strategy to seek out Edward. This was him preying on my weakness to get at the people I loved.
"Is that it then?" I whisper when Rosalie is quiet. My voice is shaking, 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." Rosalie sighs. "I should stop now. Edward is getting angry with me for telling you this. He might march in here now 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 Rosalie 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 like Carlisle had saved her? Jacob Black saved me. I didn't hate him at the time. My anger with him was 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. I'm so focused on how softly her hands work with mine, so much differently than before when she was taking my clothes off and scrubbing at my skin.
"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 I was sitting in.
"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, you know."
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, for ignoring your one request."
"He's trying." I mumble stubbornly. But she's right – because I was angry. I was furious that he wouldn't stop hunting for a man who promised his death. But mostly I was just scared.
"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.
"What?" I look at her, my heart aching.
"That's what you keep saying, isn't it?" She stares at me, a knowing grimace on her lips. Then she says, "It's a cop-out."
"What is?" I hiss, frustration boiling through me.
The last person I expected to be laying the blame on thick was Rosalie, someone who had been through what I went through. My mind stops, though, because I know if she hadn't told me her story, I would have expected Rosalie to be the first one to blame me. Rosalie had been nothing but cold and distant since I'd come from the hospital. Why should this shower change that?
"Your body knows what happened, Bella, even if your mind chose to forget."
"Thanks for that." I snap, glaring at the bruises on my thighs. Yes, my skin certainly documented the experience well.
Rosalie's finger touches my chin, lifting my eyes to meet hers. "I don't mean the bruises." She whispers, her voice soft. "Have you noticed you don't have an appetite anymore? Or that you can't stand to be near a bed?"
"I'm scared of medicine." I whisper, shivering. Whether it was from the cold or memories, I did not know. "And I can't sleep. I know what I'm going through."
Rosalie offers me a small smile. "Did you know you're always holding your wrist?" Rosalie touches the plastic bag around my cast, taking it off slowly. "Whenever you're on the verge of panic, or if something surprises you."
"So?' My voice comes out stronger than I expected, mainly because I hadn't noticed I did that. I touch my cast now, feeling the rough exterior of the plaster.
"Did you know you're afraid of books?"
"No, I'm not."
Rosalie smiles again, her face soft. "You don't have to know it consciously, Bella. But you don't like to be near them. You glare at the shelves in Carlisle's office. It's why Carlisle read to you the other night – to see if you'd fear the story, too, or if it was just the presence of a physical book that freaked you out."
I swallow thickly, refusing to meet Rosalie's gaze. A small part of me feels used and manipulated by Carlisle. His reading to me felt experimental, instead of a comforting and loving action I had previously considered it. What else he been doing to me without my knowledge?
"The rest of them may not call you out on it, but I'm not afraid to break you. You're not that fragile." Rosalie tells me firmly. "This is PTSD, Bella."
"I know." I didn't know, though. I had no idea what she was talking about. My mind was still thinking about how I hadn't touched a book in a long time. But why? Why did my chest instantly hurt when I thought of them?
"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."
"I can't."
Her tone is almost as cold as it has been with me in the months before. She is very quiet then. She doesn't talk for a long time, and I start counting seconds to make the time go faster. I'm at just over a minute before Rosalie speaks again.
"Human minds are much too delicate to do it alone." Rosalie says, sitting herself down on the tub besides me.
"I thought you said I wasn't as fragile as they thought I was." I was a little offended by her words. It was almost as if she was calling me stupid.
Rosalie laughs, shaking her head. "Trust me, you'll understand when my idiot brother finds his brain and changes you. . ." She is quiet, sighing. "Edward touches you like at any moment your whole body might just explode like thin glass. He speaks to you like you might break. Like one wrong word, one octave too low, you might just flop over and die before his eyes. His control isn't that good though, and loses it 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 run through my mind, and I'm briefly wondering 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 the other day when he snapped at me about my lack of eating before leaving the house. And he has done it at least a half dozen times since. And 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 bet you're scared. . . Esme was talking 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." Rosalie murmurs. "Maybe you're terrified we'll blame you because sick things like this become twisted in minds. Maybe, 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 – not the world around me – and crying.
"Maybe you are fragile. Maybe you will break, but not because you're weak." Rosalie tells me quietly. She brushes a strand of my hair away from my face, and I flinch so hard I almost fall back into the tub. Only Rosalie's arm, wrapping securely around my shoulders, keeps me where I am.
"After it happened, I stayed there in the cold." Rosalie sighs, shaking her head. "I wanted death to claim me. I didn't fight Carlisle – I didn't know what he would do to me, but I didn't care because if he did hurt me more, I'd be that much closer to death. But you didn't give up, Bella. You're strong."
I shake my head, humiliation running through me. She was admiring me for nothing. She didn't know. I gave up. Just like she did.
"I didn't . . ." My voice trails, overtaken by my tears. Edward's voice sounds in my ear, begging me to open my eyes, begging me to fight. "I stopped. . . I'm sorry."
She reaches for me hand, grabbing my wrist almost painfully, making me scream.
"Look at your wrists, Bella." She orders, her voice stern. "Look at the bruises. Look at your fucking cast." She holds my arm up, pushing my casted 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 sob. 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." Rosalie is telling me. "He drugged you because he couldn't fucking rape you because you fought."
My whole body shivers as she talks. My mind repeating her words over and over again. The whispers in my head made me want to vomit.
"If that isn't strength, I don't know what is." Rosalie tells me, her eyes full of pride. "Carlisle had to sedate you in the ER, too, because you fought so damn hard, Bella. You fought."
I cringe, remembering Carlisle's stern voice as he ordered someone to make the darkness claim me. I remember how I let it. How I let the darkness take over in my bedroom and in the hospital because I was so tired.
"I know that's what you struggle with a lot. That you didn't fight enough. . . That you let go of the fight and accepted oblivion." Rosalie smiles, shaking her head. She brushes my hair away from my eyes again. "But every mark on your body is a testament to your strength. A testament to your fight."
"That's not how I see it." I whisper, hiccupping through my tears.
"Well, it's how I see it." Rosalie offers, her voice quiet. "So, once again, I have to confess my jealousy, Bella. That you fought when I didn't. That you have strength that I don't. That Edward saw that in you instantly when he never saw it in me."
"Edward doesn't even touch me anymore. I don't think he sees anything."
"He wants to, trust me. He doesn't know how to anymore, though." Rosalie says. "He's terrified. He blames himself."
My chest hurts so much as Rosalie speaks. I don't know why he would be scared. I don't know what I can do to fix it, either.
"He's a vampire. We hunt – it's who we are. When you can't eat or your nightmares disturb your sleep – he hunts." Rosalie shakes her head. "He's an idiot for ever getting involved with a human knowing he isn't one. But he did, and now he needs to learn how to deal with you."
Her words sting with rejection for me because I'm human. Because I'm not like them, and I may never be. But they're comforting at the same time.
"Bella, he gets absolutely furious if any one of us dare talk to you or remind you of that day. He's trying to protect you and love you, but he's foolish. He wants you to forget, to heal. But he doesn't know how to help you."
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, 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. But 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 not 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, he thinks that's how strong your relationship is. His gift has made him arrogant, even if he doesn't know it."
"What. . . . Do I?" I can't quite make my sentence make sense, and I can't understand how Rosalie possibly understands me but she does.
"Be selfish, Bella." Rosalie says, her voice so firm I cringe. "Take what you need to take without hesitation and do what you need to do without fear."
Rosalie's fingers touch mine, and I'm surprised at how soft they feel. Almost like a loving, motherly touch from Esme.
"Scream at Edward until he listens to you. He damn well needs someone to yell at him at this point. Edward and Carlisle want you to follow their rules –to eat and sleep and shower and take medicine. But if that won't help you, then you have every right to tell them to fuck off. Remember that you have autonomy in this situation and in this house. That not one of us would dare hurt you or try to take that from you. You can fight for yourself without fear of harm coming by our hands." Her eyes harden as she finishes.
Rosalie brushes my hair back from my face, again. Each time she reaches for me, I flinch back, shocked. 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. I'll take you to La Push as often as you need. I will even wrestle Edward down if you need him sitting next to you. Your journey from trauma to 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 want you to have control, Bella."
"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 were 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 to mourn so much – my old life, my death . . . my fiancé. And I was expected to start this new life happily as if I hadn't accepted my death that night. 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. "Maybe you can talk to Esme about it."
"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 stands up, pulling me up 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, Bella." Rosalie's fingers grip my arm as she helps me walk. "No one will hate you, blame you, or leave you for doing just enough to survive. It's all we can do to support you when all you're doing is trying to live for another day."
