And I've stared at the sky in Milwaukee

And hoped that my father would finally call me

And it's just these things that I'm thinking for hours

And I'm picking my hair out in clumps in the shower

- Halsey, '929'

Chapter 4: Rosalie

Number 53. Arlington Grove was a welcome reprieve after the hellishness of school. I sighed as I slowly began to peel my wet socks off. I never used to find school so hard.

Well, I used to have a family.

Oh, Mum, I miss you so much . . .

My breath caught in my chest.

No, Rosalie. Don't think about that. Don't think about the crash or the blood or the glass, piercing your skin, piercing your heart . . . Don't think about the funeral; about the coffin covered in white roses, the mournful singers, Lenny's accusing glares . . . Don't think about Richie-

My head shot up. His name was like an electric shock, jolting me out of self-pity. I had tried not to think about him. Tried to put his betrayal out of my mind. But now, I couldn't. Because, oh God, I really missed my older brother. I missed his long blond hair and his rougish grin. I missed him charging around the garden and his playful holler. I even missed him bringing home a new girl every other night . . .

My breathing stuttered as I lost myself in memories.

I remember him pulling me aside the day of the funeral and gently kissing my cheek.

"I'm sorry, Rose." He said unhappily. "But I can't stay. I can't do it."

"Richie . . ."

"No, I'm going. I'm sorry. But I can't stay. You're the stronger one of both of us, right? I can't bear it, Rose, I really can't bear it . . . I've got to go."

"Okay." I whispered. "If that's what you need, I can't stop you. Where are you going?"

He was silent.

"Richie, where are you going?"

"Military school." He said at last. "It's in Texas."

I swallowed. Texas. He couldn't have possibly found a school any further away from me.

"When?" I whispered.

Richie wouldn't look me in the eye. "Now." He mumbled.

"Now? You mean . . . today?" I was surprised. I knew Richie was desperate to get out of here, but I at least thought he'd let the sun rise again before he scarpered.

"Yes. I'm going now." Richard took a deep breath. "Right now."

"Before . . . you're going before the funeral?!"

The look in his eyes said it all.

My heart shattered into a million little pieces.

"Rosie, I'm sorry." He pleaded. "Nothing has to change between us . . ."

Yeah, right. As if anything could ever be the same again.

I almost laughed, the betrayal was so fucking funny.

I could feel all the tiny pieces of me blowing away in the wind.

"Save it." I hissed. "You're a coward."

He recoiled as if I'd slapped him.

"You don't love Mum at all. You never loved her."

"Of course I did, Rose - that's why I can't do this. I loved her too much." He sighed. "Please, I know it's an awful thing to do, but can't you see that you're so much stronger than me? I can't do it, I just can't do it."

"I hate you." I said coldly.

"I know." He replied quietly. "I hate me too."

I glared at him.

Richie ran a hand through his hair. He checked his watch. "Look, Rosie, I've got to go now. Give me a hug?"

"In your dreams." I spat.

"Rose-"

I walked away.

I guess a small part of me never thought he'd actually leave.

"Ah, young Rosalie." The vicar approached me. He smiled at me sadly. "I think we're ready to begin."

I nodded, catatonic.

"Are you alright, my dear?" The vicar asked gently.

I nodded again. Clearly, I was not. I moved away from the vicar and followed Lenny into the Church, dreamlike.

I felt like the tiniest wind would fly me to heaven.

My phone pinged. My train is about to leave. Please say goodbye?

I ignored it.

Another ping. Rosie, please?

Ping. I'm begging you.

Ping. I won't be able to see you for months.

Ping, ping, ping.

I typed with shaking hands.

Never talk to me again as long as you live.

I closed my eyes.

He never did.

I raised my hand and pressed it shakily on the point where he'd kissed me goodbye. My cheek was wet, sore and salty. Oh, God. I didn't just lose my mother that day.

I lost my brother, too.

As much as I had hated him on that last day, I needed Richie. He was the last family I had left. And now he was gone. Everyone was gone.

I walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil, trying to take my mind off things. Whenever I was sad, Mum used to make me a cup of jasmine tea. Victor didn't have any tea, but he certainly had a lot of coffee and believe me, I needed that caffeine hit.

I searched for a mug. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was large, cavernous and kind of empty. It reminded me of a derelict castle, in a way. The house was stone and riddled with ivy. The windows were old and had metal frames. All the doors were thick, solid oak. The room I'd chosen even had a four-poster bed. And the whole place was freezing cold.

I stirred my coffee, lost in thought. Rain trickled slowly down the windows. Rain, again - ugh. Stupid Forks. But at least it was more of a drizzle than a downpour. Although, I did have a certain fondness for downpours. I mean, if you're going to do something, you may as well do it properly, right? Drizzle was a bit of a half-hearted excuse for rain. I snorted to myself. If there was a mindreader around, they'd think I was boring or crazy - or perhaps both. Luckily for me, mindreaders didn't exis-

"Rose."

I spun on my heel at lightning-speed, my heart nearly pounding right out of my chest. I swear that all the oxygen in the room dissolved into nothing.

Because standing in front of me was a tired, haggard man.

Standing in front of me was a man I hadn't seen for thirteen years.

Standing in front of me was my dad.

"Hello." I whispered. I felt like a cornered rabbit.

For a moment, we both just stared.

Then, I turned away again. Victor didn't have the rights to see the myriad of emotions on my face.

"Rose . . . how are you?" Victor asked clumsily. If his voice was anything to go by, my father was feeling just as lost and awkward as me.

"It's Rosalie." I said in a cracked voice that wasn't my own.

"Okay, then. Rosalie, how are you?"

Slowly, I turned around again.

My dad looked at me. I looked at him. His mouth opened. Closed. He ran a hand though his patchy grey-brown hair. I fidgeted.

"You're so beautiful." My father whispered eventually.

I said nothing, but red-hot anger bubbled in my chest.

"I got us takeaway. Indian." He held an assortment of steaming dishes.

My stomach plummeted. This was the first time I'd seen my dad since I was three and he'd got Indian takeaway. He didn't know a thing about me.

Well, duh! He didn't know my FACE, let alone food preferences! But somehow, this felt like a bad omen. Everyone knows I can't stand spicy food . . .

"Do you . . . do you want to get some plates out?" Victor asked awkwardly, setting the food down on the table. "I can see you found your way around just fine."

I said nothing.

"We could catch up over dinner?"

Sparks ignited in my chest.

"Rosalie?"

It was too much.

I slammed the takeaway out of his hands. "Fuck that!" I hissed. "You can't just - how dare you walk in here and act like you've known me all my life!"

"Why . . . what's the matter?" Victor asked bewilderldy. He blinked at the curry sauce seeping thickly over the floor. "Are you okay?"

Did he really just . . . ?

I felt any connection I thought we might have once had break away.

The words spilled out of me like an avalanche. "I took your surname. I asked Mum everything I could about you. I wondered about you everyday. I hoped, begged and prayed that you'd call. But you never did. Not even once. I checked the post every year for birthday and Christmas cards that never arrived. I kept my old email address alive for seven years in case you somehow knew it and cared. I cared so much. But you! It took you until my mother died and I was forced on you to see me! And even then you still didn't!"

Victor sucked a breath in. "I can explain-"

"Go on, then! This better be good! I've been waiting thirteen years for it!" I spat.

The man who called himself my father could say nothing.

My chest was a cold, hollow chasm.

"I thought so." I said flatly.

I turned away from his stupid face and marched halfway upstairs, then I turned around. But only to hiss, "Oh, and by the way? I hate your guts."

AN: Hi! Thank you so much for reading! I love the character of Rosalie and really enjoy reading and writing about her. I think she's got so much depth that isn't explored in the books or films. I'm so excited/impatient to write about her and Emmett, but I'm not quite there yet, unfortunately. If you have any ideas for what you'd like to happen next or any thoughts/opinions on the story, please leave a review! I would really like to know what you all think of it :)