A/N: Basically the same as last time, except now it's longer and hopefully better. It's filled with a bit of angst and I've mentioned some uncomfortable subjects, so if that's not your thing, then I suggest that you should stop reading…

Next chapter will be up Wednesday or Thursday. LOTS of big Emmett hugs to those who can guess how he will meet Rose in a future chapter…? ;)

Chapter One: Airplanes and Seattle.

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We started drowning
Not like we'd sink any further
But I let my heart go
It's somewhere down at the bottom
But I'll get a new one,
Come back for the hope that you've stolen

Paramore – Monster

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A couple of weeks later, Rose sat on an airplane to Seattle with her parents in the seats beside her. Her step-father Eric sat next to the aisle. He had demanded to sit there, in his usual manner, and neither Rose nor her mother had cared enough to complain. She had learned the hard way that it didn't matter what she said, because in his eyes, she was not worth more than garbage. And that was exactly what she felt about him, too.

Lillian, her mother, sat in the middle seat with a magazine in her hand. A page with receipts was open and she was busy coping one of what looked like fat drenched broccoli. Good luck with forcing me to eat that, Rose thought to herself. She sat in the seat next to the window, but she had pulled down the screen so that no sunlight was visible. At least there would be no sun in Seattle. She didn't like sun – she couldn't wear sweaters then.

"Rosie, what do you want to eat?" Lillian asked with her sickly sweet voice, the one she used when she tried to persuade Rose. She, however, didn't hear anything except the loud music blasting in her headphones. That probably was a good thing, because she loathed when anyone called her Rosie. Her iPod was mostly filled with lovely rock songs. Her mother thought of those songs as less lovely. Apparently, some therapist had said that only cruel, wicked people listened to rock. Ever since then, Lillian had tried to keep her away from her iPod – and lost that fight.

Rose glanced towards the middle seat, where she saw her mother waving at her. She didn't bother to take off her headset. Suddenly she felt a tug on her hair and she no longer heard her music.

"Rosalie Courtney Hale! I've been trying to talk to you, but you didn't notice." I didn't care – there's a difference. One requires me actually bothering to speak to you.

"What do you want?" Rose said rudely, but her mother chose to ignore her tone. That was how it mostly was when they spoke to each other: one of them yelling and the other one ignoring it. Or both of them yelling, which was the more common alternative.

"What do you want to eat for lunch? Here's the menu, and hurry up, because the staff is coming soon." Rose didn't feel like eating, and definitely not eating airplane food. The oh-so- wide selection of sandwiches and who-the-hell-knew-what weren't exactly appealing. How anyone could eat such disgusting food, with so many calories, was a mystery to Rose and she tried to keep the disgust from showing on her face. Po-po-po-pokerface, she laughed bitterly in her head.

She met Eric's eyes and knew that she definitely had to eat something. Or else one hell of a public scene would be caused. Randomly, she flipped open the menu. After looking at it carefully and holding back a sigh, the choice lay between a spinach pie (containing disgustingly many carbohydrates) and an apple. Rose would attempt to go with the latter.

The flight attendant came with the food cart and Lillian looked expectantly at her daughter who looked like she would rather be somewhere else.

"I'll have an apple and some soda water," Rose said quickly.

"It's a seven hour trip!" Her mother gasped and looked shocked. "My daughter will have one spinach pie and some chocolate, please."

Rose felt her temper starting to rise. It was so typical of her mother to do something like that! The same thing happened, over and over again: she would pretend like anyone else's decisions would matter, but if she didn't agree with that decision, she immediately had to change it. The worst part was that Rose couldn't even argue when Eric was there. And her mother knew that very well and abused that fact.

Rose pulled up her headset again with angry moves. She clicked shuffle on her iPod and a Paramore song begun to play. Monster – one of her favorite songs.

And the world faded away. She took small bites of her pie while sneaking glances at her parents. The h ot chocolate was in the cup holder, completely untouched. In the seat next to the aisle, Eric was eating a sandwich like Rose imagined a starved wolf would eat his prey.
Lillian and Eric had met three years ago and ever since the first time she had met him, Rose felt a strong hatred towards him. When things between him and her mother became serious, that hatred only intensified. And now they were married – since one year ago – and Rose was not there at the wedding.

She felt his eyes on her and took another small bite. That had to be at least thirty calories, she moaned silently in her head. Too many. The hot chocolate remained untouched. Rose struggled to eat the pie as quickly as she could and flew up from her chair when she was finished. Finally! She internally cheered.

"I have to go to the toilet. Let me go!" She ordered Eric, who stared at her threateningly.

"Honey…" Her mother said without looking up from her computer. She was a fashion designer and currently busy with her new project. So busy, that when Rose (purposely) hissed at her, she told Eric to let Rose go so that she could work in peace.

There was no queue to the toilets and Rose stumbled inside one and locked it. She caught a sight of her reflection in the mirror and paused. Two dull blue eyes stared back at her, almost as if they were accusing her. Your fault, Rose… Her blonde hair was in a messy ponytail and she tugged her hand through it and sighed quietly. When she could no longer stand the guilty blue eyes in the mirror, she turned away and pushed away all her thoughts as she faced the toilet.

"What have you been doing?" Her mother asked carefully when she came back. Rose rolled her eyes. Lillian was always suspicious, and when she wasn't, she was either angry or worried. She shook her head and told her mother that she had fallen asleep. Sarcastic, of course – Lillian wasn't stupid, she just insisted in ignoring what was right in front of her.

Her mother snorted. Then why the Hell did you ask, if you know better anyway? Rose ignored Lillian and pulled on her headset. Sweet music. As Rose closed her eyes to pretend to sleep, she felt her mother lean in towards her. She almost laughed when she realized that Lillian was sniffing her.

And they call me a freak show? She thought bitterly before she let music take over her mind.

The rest of the trip took forever. Or at least Rose felt like it did. She had pretended to sleep until they landed a few minutes ago, although she was more than aware of her surroundings. She saw how Eric drowned shot after shot; she saw how Lillian worked on her newest fashion designs; and lastly, she saw how her mother had collected all their bags since Eric was too drunk to do that. That wasn't any news.

The insulting comments from Eric weren't either anything new. Rose couldn't bring herself to be angry at her mother for not doing anything against it – she was already so used to it that it no longer mattered. The seven hours of pretending to sleep hadn't done anything to brighten her mood either.

Lillian chose to drown herself in her work. She worked with fashion designing of models and the reason why they could move so much was that she didn't have a specific office. Eric, on the other hadn't, didn't have to work because of the money his parents had left him. He was well known and respected in society – everybody who was in real-estate business or an authority knew who Eric Hale was.

They had to wait for the bags a while and Rose watched Eric as he glared at one of the security guards. Here it goes...

"Hey, bitch," Eric stopped a female employee. "Speed this thing up, now!" The employee looked startled and started to make her way through the crowd to the security guards.

Rose looked at her mother. Of course, Lillian hadn't noticed anything, or at least so she pretended. She was too busy sending her client a text message. If it even was a client… Rose looked away and increased the volume of her music and listened to it while they got the luggage and found a cab that would take them to their new apartment. The reason why they always found good apartments each time they moved was, of course, money. She suspected that she didn't want to know the details of that.

"Fifteenth Oak Street, please," Lillian said. (A/N: I made that address up). Rose found herself briefly wondering what it would look like, but then pushed the thought away. She told herself not to even think about it. They would be moving within a few weeks, since Rose would have her first appointment with a therapist in a few days. It was always the same.

The apartment wasn't too bad. The walls were white and the furniture few but classy. Rose simply observed, avoiding all conscious thought or feeling altogether. Her room was OK – white and just as simple as her previous ones. That was also one theory that a therapist had told her mother. Patients liked it nice and simple. What a joke. She thought about painting her room's walls black, but knew that they wouldn't stay long enough for her to do that. She had actually never painted the walls of her room – and black seemed… like it would tease her mother, so it seemed fun. There's one surprise that you'll just love, Lillian, Rose grinned.

Rose lay down on her bed (with white sheets, what a shocker!) and took out a box of sleeping pills from her pocket. That was another one of her secret obsessions. They kept the nightmares away, mostly… But lately she had to take higher doses. Before all thought vanished from her head and she fell asleep, she vaguely heard glass crashing from downstairs. Eric – who else? It was always Eric.

Payback is a bitch, Eric, and one day I will make you see that. And with that she dozed off to a restless sleep.

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The first days in the new house were uneventful. Eric was nowhere to be seen, like usual, and Rose had to admit that she felt a little relieved. Lillian was either sitting at home – waiting for Rose to accept her offer of mother-daughter activities – or she was out somewhere.

Rose guessed that her mother was simply out in cafés or such and watched peoples clothes. Lillian had tried to take Rose to a tour to explore the town, but she had stubbornly refused. She had shrugged each time her mother asked her, until Lillian eventually gave up. Rose knew that her mother felt disappointed by her lack of enthusiasm. What a shocker. And she had to admit… she didn't care. It didn't matter to her whether Lillian was disappointed or not.

Each morning, she made a breakfast for Rose. Of course, Rose didn't appreciate that at all, especially since both times she had made some fat-filled pancakes or something similar. Probably using more sugar that in stood in the recipe. Rose ate about half of it and while her mother chattered on about interesting clothes on someone in the streets, she thought about how she wasn't planning on keeping it in her stomach. Pancakes – euw!

Lillian suggested many things the two of them could do during the day. "Mother and daughter activities," She had called it. Rose almost felt guilty for the bad thoughts she thought then. Key word: almost. She had stopped seeing Lillian as her mother a long time ago. Was it before... it... or after? Rose could not even remember, it meant so little to her.

The fourth day, Lillian told Rose that she was going out but would pick her up for her therapist appointment at four o clock.

Rosalie groaned as she glanced at her alarm clock. It was two-twenty a.m. and she only took one sleeping pill yesterday – which resulted in a horrible nightmare… a horrible memory. She struggled not to think of the nightmare that woke her up, but parts of it flashed in front of her eyes.

A desperate cry cut through the air. Fingers stained with blood pulling frantically on the car door. A horrified, frozen face realizing it was locked. Every second that passed mattered. Desperate fingers were pulling on the car door. Over and over again, but it didn't move an inch. Screaming, repeatedly, without being able to control it... One coherent thought through the panic; let me survive this. A loud crash came from the back of the car. Trying to turn around but fail as strong arms were in the way. It was useless... It was too late. It all was. Her prayer had been useless. It was her fault.

No... NO! Rose trembled as she wished for the nightmare to go away. STOP! She shook violently as she stared at her (depressingly white) walls. It was over. It wasn't happening. She breathed deeply and found herself wishing that she could cry. Just once – let her pain out. But she had not cried then, and she did not cry now.

When Rose became conscious in the morning, she was both exhausted and scared. She mostly took many sleeping pills and that kept the nightmares away. She had not known that the nightmares still were this powerful even though two years had passed. The flashbacks and nightmares had continued throughout the night, each one worse than the previous.

She sighed, changed her clothes and walked out to the kitchen. It didn't come as a surprise when she found a note from her mother on the kitchen table.

Rosalie,
I hope you will have a great day today! I made you some breakfast, it's in the refrigerator. I'm going outside to discover what Seattle has to offer. Be ready at 4 pm, I'll pick you up then.
With love,
Lillian.

A smile spread over Rose's face –finally she was alone. No food, no expectations… Lillian always gave up after spending a few days with her. It was much easier to be alone. No stupid expectations. When she was alone, she could do anything. Eric had of course gone to work the first day and he still hadn't appeared at the new house – he was probably spending the night at a woman's house. At least that was what Rose imagined each time he didn't come home. The other option was that he was in some alley, too drunk to remember his own name. Neither of the options would be news.

Rose walked up and down the house, not sure of what she wanted to do first. She could listen to music, go back to bed, or read a book. She decided that she would do all of them. After all, she had a lot of time on her hands.

She looked at the food on the kitchen table. There was some bread, an apple, butter and cheese. She grabbed a slice of bread, the apple and a piece of cheese before she walked out of the house. Out there, she crept over to one of the neighbor's garbage can and threw the food. A minute later, she was inside of her house, and once again wondered what she wanted to do first. Music, she decided quickly.

The next few hours flew by quickly. She flipped through the TV channels; stared at magazines; took a long shower; brushed her hair a hundred times; and eventually only sat on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The next thing she knew, it was time to leave and a honk from a car was heard from outside. Twice. That had to be Lillian, Rose snorted. Only her mother would be lazy enough to do a thing like that.

She glanced out the kitchen window, and indeed, Lillian's blue Volvo stood parked outside the house. Rose sighed, thinking of how the story would repeat itself again. She would go to that therapist, who would want to talk about her problems. Then she would get pissed by something and make a scene. She would scream, curse and fight with Lillian and eventually Eric when he came 'home'. Then they would move to a new place. Lillian would deny that anything was wrong and Eric would glare at Rose and call her a bitch.

It was sort of a…tradition. "We're just… starting over. Experiencing new things," Lillian would explain to their new neighbors and the few people she met during each move. On the question why her new friends never met Rose, she always said, "Ah, my daughter, she's going through some teenage rebelliousness."

Sure, Mom! That's what happened the past two years. Not the fact that you think your daughter is a psycho. Add a friendly smile to that and some more lies, and you had Lillian in a nutshell.

Rose sighed again as stepped out of the house and locked the front door after her.

The car ride was quiet for a while. Occasionally, Lillian commented the weather or how much time they'd be there in. Rose remained silent and stared through the car window. Noting out there seemed to be able to catch her interest, but neither did anything inside of the car – staring outside was a better option then.

After a while, Lillian began her interrogations. Rose had expected this and prepared for it. "What did you do today? Did you eat? Have fun? Oh, look at that beautiful architecture! Isn't it magnificent, Rosalie? Do you see how green everything is? Oh, that dog is so cute!" Yes – I ate (cough) and I had fun today. Sure – the houses were nice. Yeah – it was green. Uh-huh – it was a very cute dog.

Lillian shot out a bunch of new questions. "Mhhhm," Rose muttered to her ramble but not paying any attention. Eventually she stopped responding at all and stared straight ahead. It wasn't worth making an effort. Lillian didn't notice her lack of interest. She was used to that, too, but refused to acknowledge it as it would make her acknowledge that something was wrong with her daughter. Rose rolled her eyes.

"We're here!" Lillian squealed, trying to conceal her nervous voice. "I'll wait for you in the car, I have some work left to do…"

"Okay," Rose mumbled and went out of the car, already dreading the familiar process. She walked through a small lobby until she came to a reception. It was a small desk and a young woman, maybe in her twenties, sat at the desk. Rose glanced at her and immediately realized three things.

1.) The woman had no sense of fashion at all. Hadn't anyone told her that a red sweater did not match with red pants?

2.) The nametag on her chest said that her name was Martha. Wow, this started to feel like kindergarten – nametags. Since when were nametags back in fashion? Wait, erase that – when had they ever been in fashion?

3.) Miss "my parents gave me a horrible name which made me lose all my fashion sense" was staring at Rose. It wasn't even a normal stare, it was a creepy stare.

Great…

"My name is Rosalie Hale, I have an appointment." Rose hissed with a glare of her own. She considered it as one of her specialties – making people feel uncomfortable. If she was good at anything, it was at being a bitch, or so she thought.

Martha typed something into her computer. In a mocking voice, she told Rose, "Mr. Hudson, your therapist, is in the fifth room to the left." Rose swore she heard her mutter, "hope he can shrink you, bitch" after her, when she left to find Mr. Hudson's room.

There it was! Mr. Hudson, educated therapist, Seattle Therapy Center. She knocked on his door. A deep voice – a bit scary – told her to come inside. Rose opened the door and almost backed right out when she stared at the man supposed to be Mr. Hudson. Was this a joke…?

"Ah," He said while poking on his thick glasses. He sounded like a freaking zombie. "Your name is Rosalie Hale," he stated. He was so old he could have been her grandfather (if she would've had one), and his appearance… He should've been in an elderly home instead of working, Rose thought in shock. This old man was going to be her therapist! Not to mention his clothes, this was a pair of jogging pants and a bright pink sweater. Didn't ANYBODY at this place have a fashion sense? Rose thought exasperated.

"That's me," Rose said, while biting back a bitchy comment. Oh really? I did not know what my name was, thanks for telling me! The man started to tell her about him and how he became a therapist, adding occasional "ah" sounds.

"What should we, ah, talk about, Rosalie?"

"I don't know." She knew that she was rude. She had meant to be rude – it made no difference to her that this man was hundred years or so. She leaned towards the back of the uncomfortable chair she sat on.

Here it comes, Rose thought sarcastically, ah. "Ah. I see. I suppose you are used to therapists asking questions." She didn't respond to his statement, and altogether ignored him. "Ah. Do you want me to do that too, Miss Hale?" Rose almost snorted, this man was a freak. But she didn't snort – it would have meant that she cared.

"So what is your, ah, problem?" Mr. Hudson asked bluntly. "A girl like you should be, ah, out with boys instead of sitting in an office like this."

Excuse me…? Rose flew up from the chair and threw the door open, and not even bothering to look back, she sprinted across the room and out to the parking lot. What a jerk! It was her fault, she thought, it was her fault that she wasn't out with boys. And it was her mother's fault –and mistake – that she thought that this could actually work out.

Rose immediately yelled at her mother as she stepped out of the car. "What the Hell is wrong with you," She screamed.

"Oh, my poor daughter is a freeeeeeak," Rose squealed loudly (loud enough that the other people in the crowded parking lot would look up) and imitated Lillian's voice. "Let's fix her, she's such a problem child and I'm too embarrassed to admit it! What is WRONG with you! I want to get out of here, this place is terrible! I hate it. I HATE YOU."

Lillian gasped and, oh what a shocker, glanced nervously around her to see if anyone had heard Rose. "ROSALIE, you stop that RIGHT NOW," Lillian screamed back, grabbed her and threw her into the car. She roared the engine and drove off much faster than the traffic rules allowed.

"Rose," Lillian begun, "This can't continue. You can't keep behaving like this in public. Now you've screwed it up, see, now we have to move! And even if that's not what you want, well, that's your fault." Rose glared daggers at her. My fault, my fault… You wanted this, Rosie; it's your fault, bitch! Tears started to well up in her eyes and she blinked before they could spill.

"You should have thought of that before you made a scene in front of everyone!" Lillian exclaimed.

Rose didn't fight back. She didn't tell her mother that all she cared about was what other people thought about them. No, she was silent and stared out through the window.

"You can say whatever you want, but I've already decided that we will be moving. And I hope that you won't ruin everything this time."

The argument was over and that was how, one week later, they found themselves in the small town Forks, a few hours car ride from Seattle. However, it wasn't only a town – it was a small town. She thought about how Lillian wouldn't last a second there. Neither would Rose. Both of them hated small towns. For Rose, small towns reminded her about the incident. For Lillian, small towns reminded her of how her daughter had ruined their good reputation and her life.

It was the night before their move and Rose heard footsteps outside of her bedroom door. They sounded like Eric's loud steps. True enough, he opened her door and stalked in. "Listen to me," He hissed quietly. He leaned towards her in her bed, until he was uncomfortably close, so close that he could spit in her face.

"Here is what you will do. No complaints or you know what will happen." Eric continued, "We are moving to Forks tomorrow. When we are there, you will be on your best behavior. Lillian cannot suspect anything, or else… You'll go to school, to your therapist, and tell your mother about your progress." She gulped loudly, eyes open wide and staring at Eric's menacing face.

"Yes, school. I've already registered you to Forks High School and you will attend. Understood? Lillian thinks you wanted this. Well, Rosie, you always get what you want, don't you. And now you want to be less of a freak and stay in the same place for a year." Eric growled and she nodded. Yes, she understood. She knew that she had to do what he said, or the consequences would be… not nice. She knew him enough to know that he always followed through his threats.

Eric walked out of her room, leaving her trembling in her bed. She glared after him, with tears glistening in her eyes. A realization stuck her. I wished to live, but that was the wrong thing to wish for. I should have wished for a quick death – for my live Hell to be over. Not even then did she cry, as she realized this. Not one teardrop.

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A/N: Oooh, click there.. I know you want to... (click review). xoxo, see you in the next chapter. :D