For just one night, Rosalie wanted to return to a world of beautiful possibilities.
That wasn't too much to ask, was it? It couldn't be, not when everyone else in the city would be blathering false promises about fresh starts. It was utterly ordinary, and that was what made her suffering so cruel, so bitter. Her every ruined dream was comprised of normal things that were a matter of course to all the common, boring folk.
She was told about the party by the man behind the counter, the one who sold her her new dress. It had been the first time the sky was clouded enough for her to take an afternoon trip into town in nearly two weeks. When the conditions were right for her to be seen in public, she always received at least one invitation from someone requesting her presence someplace. She received even more invitations now than she did before everything that mattered to her was taken, when she'd merely been the prettiest girl in Rochester. She always declined them. It was what Carlisle advised her to do.
Rosalie was still young in this life, said the man whose existence could be traced back centuries. It was best to keep away from crowds. It was wisest to limit exposure and avoid temptation. Be unremarkable. Be undetectable. Become a recluse.
She refused to be any of that tonight.
Rosalie was already dressed as she strode, graceful and determined, toward the muffled chatter of the radio forever emanating from behind the closed door at the end of the hall. She paused on the way to primp in a midsize wall mirror. That was one thing this house could use more of—mirrors. She'd hung a couple, including this lovely circular one, when they'd first moved in. There were two in her room, both floor-length, positioned to offer a view of her front and back sides simultaneously.
Her new gown was a shiny coral satin that contrasted brazenly with her pale skin. It was frowned upon to choose colors that accentuated their starkly unnatural complexions, but the effect was nothing short of stunning, and she basked in it. The dress glided all the way down to her ankles, light and flowing over her body like an encasement of pure liquid. The bottom of the skirt was ruffled, the extra fabric forming a fluttering 'V' over her feet. It was fitted at the waist, cinching in and then out with the flair of her hips. The neckline was adorned with shimmering silver and formed two overlapping diamond shapes which rested at the spine of her exposed upper back.
Rosalie rubbed her lips together, debating whether or not to apply more makeup. At least forty minutes had passed since she'd put it on and promptly shifted focus to selecting her jewelry. After a moment's careful evaluation, she decided that wouldn't be necessary. Her mouth was still richly red. The softer texture of the pigment didn't hinder the effect and helped it to appear more effortless. She fluffed her golden, wavy hair, which she'd left to flow freely about her face, and reluctantly turned away with a satisfied pout.
She stepped forward and shoved Edward's door wide open. She hated to ask him this. He was the last person on Earth she wanted to accompany her, but he was her only option.
The radio was blaring. The broadcaster was speaking very quickly and excitedly, narrating some sporting event or other by the sound of it. A baseball game? A horse race? She endeavored to tune it out. It was all meaningless prattle to her.
Edward was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a thick book spread open on his lap. He looked up from the pages, unconcerned. "I'd appreciate it if you'd knock."
Rosalie scoffed. "What nerve! As if you don't intrude upon me constantly."
"As if I wouldn't avoid it like the plague if I had any choice. Say what you came to say, Rosalie, and leave me be."
She wasn't bothered by his dismissive tone. It was no different than what she'd expected. Far more insulting to her was the fact that he was looking her in the eyes, and only in the eyes, neglecting to even spare her beautiful gown a glance.
"Aren't you going to at least look at my new dress?"
"I've seen it. It's been the sole fixation of your thoughts for hours, in fact. You appraised it in your closet for so long, I daresay it's old hat by now."
Rosalie wanted to slap him. She searched for something to throw, to break and shatter. Unfortunately Edward didn't have any mirrors in his room. Not a single one. How did the boy survive? No wonder his hair always appeared so terribly disorganized.
She approached the radio with the intention of inflicting fatal damage. Before Edward could move to intercept her, she reigned in the impulse, twisting the dial to ugly static before shutting it off. Time was of the essence, she had something she wanted badly, and she wasn't going to let petty squabbles stand in her way.
"We're going out."
"No, thank you," Edward said, making a show of returning to his book.
Rosalie snatched the infernal thing and tossed it on the floor. "It's New Years Eve! I've been invited to a party, and I want to attend."
"Yes, I know." He sighed and stood, looking very put out as he did so. He collected the tome and sat it atop a neatly arranged (and alphabetized, by the looks of it?) stack of titles on his overflowing bookcase. "A party, though, Rosalie? There are bound to be loads of humans there, behaving unpredictably and likely indiscreetly. Carlisle wouldn't like it."
"I know," Rosalie spat, somewhat indignantly. Contrary to his attitude, Edward wasn't the only soul on the planet who knew things. "I've decided I don't care. Besides, Esme said not to expect them back for another day at least. Carlisle doesn't ever even have to find out we broke the rules."
"Staging a rebellion already?" Edward smirked. "It took me nearly a decade to become so bold."
Rosalie bristled at the comparison. What she'd heard of his supposed rebellious period repulsed her.
He wasn't taking her seriously, she thought. Why wasn't he listening to her? She didn't know what time it was, but she knew this evening and this opportunity were slipping steadily beyond her grasp. Every minute they spent standing around arguing was one she could have spent surrounded by the swell of live music and twinkling lights, relishing in the kinds of attention she never received at home but always craved from others.
"You don't understand. I need to go. You might be content to sit here and drown out the silence, filling your head with some fictional nonsense about people and places that don't even exist, but I'm not! It kills me, this isolation. It's killing me!"
She didn't know what she expected him to say. Something about the impossibility of her dying a second time, perhaps. She anticipated he would laugh at her, accusing her of melodrama. If she was honest, Rosalie had to admit that, were the situation reversed, she would probably have laughed at him.
Edward didn't laugh. His expression grew very serious, sympathetic even.
"I apologize for being flippant. I didn't realize it was so vital to you. I'm glad, actually, Rosalie, that you're asking me to accompany you. It shows good judgment. If Carlisle were here, I'm confident he would caution against walking into such a precarious situation alone."
That wasn't why she was asking. Edward was the one whose self-control was so pathetic, he'd fed on humans intentionally for years. He was the sole member of the household to have broken all the way down to the root, betraying the very principles that set them apart from savage beasts. Esme sometimes made mistakes, yes, but she never gave up on their diet, never once sunk so low as to turn her back on striving to rise above what nature whipped and prodded them to be.
Rosalie prided herself on the fact that, even as a newborn, even in the heady midst of revenge, she'd managed to almost match Carlisle's inspirational immunity to the blood lust. She didn't need any help controlling her thirst. Especially not from Edward! He was the weakest of them all.
Edward cringed away from her. His hands shot up and hovered ineffectually by his ears, trying, too late, to shield himself from realities he'd rather not face.
Let him hear it, Rosalie thought, unrepentant. It was no less than he deserved. It was only the truth.
"Why are you asking, then?" His voice had gone flat and cold. "What do you care if I go?"
The answer to that was really quite embarrassing, and she struggled to admit it, even to herself. It may have wounded her pride less, actually, to allow him to go on believing she needed assistance managing her thirst. She thought about how it used to be, when she attended parties before she'd been turned. Human memories were supposed to fade, according to the others, but hers hadn't so far. She liked to think she'd kept them with her by sheer force of will alone. She thought of as many memories as she could as often as possible, and the exercise seemed to have prevented them from going misty.
Perhaps she didn't have to admit what she wanted him for. Not out loud anyway.
She recalled herself being asked (and asked and asked!) to join dashing young men on the floor. She thought of accepting clammy hands and being pulled to her feet, of being wrapped in pairs of strong arms and mirroring the steps of her partners. She remembered how it felt to be giddy and dizzy, spinning around again and again, the hot room and the music in her ears an almost heavenly amalgam of sensations.
Edward raised an eyebrow. "You want me to dance with you? Honestly?"
"Well." Rosalie concentrated on how close she was to the men in her memories, the amount of body contact required in hold, incidences where klutzy fools had tread upon her toes. "It's not as though I'll be able to dance with any of the people there."
"Definitely not." Edward turned his head and said nothing further, his expression obnoxiously doubtful.
Rosalie inserted herself back into his line of sight, stepping close enough to eliminate his view of most everything else. She looked him in the eye, glaring, daring him to deny her.
"I need this, Edward. I may not like you, or even respect you, but you are the only one I know in the whole world who can do this for me. I..." She steeled herself. Wrestled with the sour taste on her tongue. "Please."
He seized the bridge of his nose tightly between his fingers.
"All right," he muttered at last. "Give me a moment to change."