Chapter 2 - Comfortably Numb
I don't notice Lauren's note until it hits me in the cheek. I jump, my desk screeching against the linoleum, an ear-shattering shriek that makes the back of my neck prickle. My eyes fly up to the front of the classroom where Mr. Berty is droning on mindlessly. He loves the sound of his own voice so much that he's either ignoring the disruption or didn't hear it in the first place. There are giggles, one of which I recognize as Jess', but I'm otherwise ignored.
I turn to Lauren and hold up the note, giving her a pointed look. "Subtle," I mouth.
"Oops?" she mouths back, but her slender shoulders shake with quiet laughter.
The note is shaped like a crane, a leftover and mostly useless talent from our summers at Camp Kalaloch, where the only thing Lauren learned was how to make origami animals and later, tie a knot in a cherry stem with her tongue.
The latter is a party trick she busts out on the regular, and yet she acts all indignant every time Tyler tells her he has a stem she can suck on.
I know for a fact Lauren revels in his attention, though. She and Tyler have always antagonized each other like that. He makes some sexual comment and she calls him an idiot and then the next thing you know, they're making out. They make it seem shallow, but I've seen the way she looks at him. Hell, I've seen the way he looks at her. His mouth may say one thing, but his eyes tell another story entirely.
If a guy looked at me like that...
Someone has.
The thought is there before I can stop it. I'd always stopped it before, because that someone isn't Roy.
I mentally scramble, slamming the theoretical door in my mind where those kind of thoughts are kept safe. But I still visualize a pair of brilliant blue eyes, and when I turn my head slightly, just barely, I see them - him. Emmett's looking right at me, one side of his mouth pulled up. The other side lifts as our eyes meet, and I whirl back around, my heart pounding hard against my ribs. The sensation jars me, as it always does when I see him. I've never had that rush with Roy, not even at the beginning. I've never had it with anyone. It shakes me that I have it with someone I don't even talk to.
I can feel the weight of Emmett's gaze on me and I have to physically shake my head to try to get rid of the sensation, to try to forget how clear and bright his eyes are. It doesn't work. I'm not sure I want it to.
Roy's eyes are dark, dark brown. I could never make out the pupil from the iris, which always bothered me for some reason, especially at the end. In those last few months, when things really started getting bad, I tried to search for some kind of positive emotion in them. I'd keep my eyes open until just before our lips met, trying to make out the borders. Usually he'd clamp them shut when his face tilted toward mine. I didn't have a chance to find anything there, and when we weren't kissing, we weren't close enough for me to see anything but blackness.
The paper rustles noisily as I unfold the note. Someone shifts in my peripheral. Bella Swan, sitting right in front of Edward, who's next to Emmett. Edward's fingers are curled over the back of her desk, playing with a strand of her hair. When we make eye contact she gives me a small smile, then goes back to her book. I turn my attention back to Lauren's note.
Fiesta at Newton's tonight. You, me, Stan. Do it up?
You have to say yes, Posie.
I resist the urge to groan. We've been partying all summer, hanging out at Tyler's or Roy's or Mike's. Mostly at Mike's, because the Newtons have an impressive stash of alcohol and last spring built a grotto and a water slide to complement their heated pool. The stupid thing shocks my ass every time I slide down, but the guys are obsessed with it. Most important, at least to everyone else, is the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Newton travel all the time. They're busy expanding Newton's Olympic Outfitters down through Oregon and California.
I'd like nothing more than to say no to the invite tonight. Beyond being partied out, the whole Roy thing looms over my head like a black cloud. I still haven't told Lauren and Jess that we broke up and I haven't seen Roy at school today. I don't know what story he told Mike and Tyler yet, so for now, I'm keeping quiet. I'll hear soon enough, that's for sure. And if I go to this party, I'll have to see him, maybe even talk to him. After last night, that's the last thing I want. Just the thought of pretending wears me out.
I read the note again. You have to say yes.
My gaze automatically shifts to the back of the room, where I'd be sitting if I had the choice. Lauren picked these seats for us earlier this week, which is silly since she's so intent on passing notes rather than actually paying attention. Edward catches my eye and he does a small salute, flicking two fingers in my direction. His proximity to Emmett is daunting, and I'm careful not to look too far over and get caught again. I imagine that if I actually sat there, I would probably die from shyness and nerves rather than actually get anything done. I sure as hell wouldn't be learning, but then again, it's not like I'm paying attention now.
Not very becoming for the president of the National Honor Society. I let out a soft snort, smoothing a wrinkle in the paper, and sit up straighter in my seat. It's all about appearances, after all, isn't it? If I've learned nothing else in my seventeen years, I at least know that.
This time a pencil hits my arm and Lauren reclaims my attention. "Well?" she mouths.
Why does she even bother asking?
I know she's not going to let up. If I say no, she'll demand to know why, and I don't want to get into it, not now. God, not ever, but I know that's not an option. And as unappealing as it is to think that I'll have to keep up the act I'm so tired of, agreeing to the party tonight will be easier than explaining what I've done and how I feel. I shrug, then nod once. I'll be there.
I always am.
xoxo
When the last bell rings, I make my way down the crowded hallway to my locker, already dreading what I have to do tonight. Loud voices ring out around me. Someone yells out my name, but I just wave my hand and keep going.
My eyes go automatically to locker 346 as I pass by. Emmett's locker. I've always kept my attraction to him buried deep, but I can rarely resist looking for him at his locker or in the hallway. Just to look. No one's there, though, and even if any of them were - if he was - I wouldn't stop.
It's only a few steps farther to my locker and I lean my forehead against the cool metal, staring down at the lock. It's been mine since freshman year, and I still sometimes forget the combination. I spin the dial until the numbers return to me and the tumbler pops open, letting me in.
"You bitch!" A hand meets my left ass cheek, hard.
"What the fu -" I startle, realizing half a second before I let loose 'the bitch' that Lauren is the one who's just left what will probably be a permanent mark on my backside.
She leans against the locker next to mine, arms crossed. Her tone is teasing, but she's pissed. Her icy blue eyes are fixed, determined. Jess strolls up behind her with an eyebrow cocked in curiosity.
I can tell they're going to give me shit about something, and I have a sinking feeling about what that something might be. Ignoring the sudden pounding in my chest, I keep my voice neutral, dry. I can play unaffected with my eyes closed. "Your little pet names warm my heart, Mallo."
"Don't deflect," Lauren drawls.
A deep, familiar laugh rings out above the din of noise, drowning out Lauren as she continues to yammer on. My gaze slips over her shoulder. Emmett is just a few feet away, and it's like Lauren and Jess disappear altogether. I keep one eye on him while pretending to listen to Lauren. With them serving as unknowing shields, I'm able to blatantly stare without being completely obvious.
Emmett's leaning against 346, talking to Kate Bauer, whose locker is directly next to his. Lucky bitch. He's smiling down at her, dimples on full display, doing that friendly flirty thing that I've seen fluster even old Mrs. Cope. He laughs again, loud, rumbling. My breath catches in my throat.
Shit, I hope that wasn't audible.
Emmett and I have known each other since seventh grade, although we really don't know each other. We barely interact. I mean, Jesus, I can barely look him in the eye without my heart doing all kinds of ridiculous things. I'm sure I come off as a horrible bitch, what with my lack of words and my complete inability to return the smiles he sometimes directs my way. But even from afar, I always feel his warmth. Everything about him seems so genuine and confident – his laugh, his smile, the way he holds himself. That's an aspect of what's always pulled me to him, that he's so unabashedly real.
I don't know what that feels like, not anymore, and a part of me is envious of his ability to do that. There are no pretenses. He is who he is.
As middle and high school hierarchy usually dictates, he's always stayed with his group and I've stayed with mine. I grew up with the kids in the neighborhood, including Edward. After elementary school, our area was rezoned into Forks' proper town limits, but by the time we had blended in with the rest of the town's teenage population in seventh grade, we'd already forged our bond. In a lot of ways, I think the privilege we grew up with separated us from everyone else, so we stayed together. We were bound by our privilege. Lauren loved it, of course, and I think everyone else did, too. It made us different, but not in the negative way that sometimes ostracizes kids. It elevated us.
Of course, as soon as Edward saw Bella the first week of school, none of that mattered. I don't think it ever did to him. He didn't care that she wasn't part of the group he'd grown up with, that they were so different in a lot of ways. He saw people as people, not as the labels they wore, and to him they matched in the ways that mattered.
He and Emmett got close after that, too. Emmett was a part of Bella's group of friends, which also included Alice Brandon and Jasper Whitlock, and her friends became Edward's. He jumped between us and them, and still does to some extent because that's just how he is, an unapologetic floater, but his place in our group has gotten much smaller over the years.
I don't know much about Emmett, just the obvious surface things – that he plays football and lives in a small house on the other side of town. That he's got an infectious laugh and deep dimples. That he smiles more during English than I think Roy has in his entire life. That I wish I knew so much more. But there's a dividing line between us and I've never tried to cross it. My place has always been here, with Jess and Lauren. With Roy.
Of course, my place with Roy was effectively terminated last night. I wonder, looking over at Emmett now, if he and Edward figured out what was going on last night when they drove by, if they know.
I wonder if Emmett cares.
There's a part of me that thinks he might. It's a quieter part, the more secret part that's taken in every smile he's thrown my way, every lingering look over the years. It's the same part that's seen the way his smiled dimmed, just a little, when I'd walk past him on Roy's arm. High school politics aside, it's one of the reasons I've been careful to stay away from him, seeing the flicker of interest in his eyes that mirrors what I feel on the inside.
And now it's one of the reasons I wish I wasn't quite so far from him.
His eyes bounce from Kate to me, and for a second I'm frozen. I can't look away. His eyes are so clear; even from this distance I can see the navy flecks in them. There is probably a kaleidoscope of shades nestled in there, but I'd have to be closer to see. Very close.
I wish I were very close. I wonder if I could be someday.
It's only when his mouth pulls into this slow smile that makes me sluggish and light-headed, like the world is tilting on its axis, that I rip my gaze away. Not before I see Kate's hand settle on his bicep, though.
My hand jerks against my thigh. I have this overwhelming urge to slap hers off of him, like I have a right to.
Edward slides up behind Emmett and grabs him by the back of the neck. I watch out of the corner of my eye as Emmett's shoulders go up and he turns, faking a punch into Edward's side. Kate laughs and kind of rolls her eyes, then turns back to her own locker. I feel a smug little jolt of victory that their conversation has been cut short thanks to Edward Cullen, man of the people.
It's always been a bit of a mystery to me how easily he's able to shift from group to group. I mean, I guess there will always be those people who just get along with everybody, and Edward does it with grace. He's the guy that knows everyone in the school and treats everyone the same. Why can't everyone be like that?
Of course, then high school wouldn't be high school.
"Um, hello?" Jess snaps her fingers in front of my face. I smack her hand away, annoyed, and grab my AP Calc book. Homework already. Joy.
"Um, what?" I shoot back mockingly.
"When were you planning on telling us you and Roy broke up?"
She says it so fucking loudly that it's probably heard all the way in Port Angeles. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don't dare look in fear of what I might see. "Thanks for alerting the entire school to my relationship status, Jess."
"Seriously, why didn't you say something this morning, or you know, call us? Text?" Lauren speaks up, tapping my elbow impatiently.
I shrug. I don't want to tell her that I didn't want to deal because that makes me look like a bitch. And maybe I am. I'm not upset about the demise of the relationship because it wasn't really a relationship anymore anyway. I know I'm supposed to be but, yeah, I'm not. Like Roy pointed out, three years is practically a lifetime in high school terms. So what does that say about me?
Or maybe the better question is, what did it say about our relationship?
"I'm sorry that I didn't give you up-to-the-minute updates on my life. Should I be calling you in the morning so we can coordinate our outfits, too?"
They both roll their eyes, but say nothing to counteract my snide remark. Jess nudges me conspiratorially. "So, who did the breaking up?"
I close my locker with a sigh. I decide to keep it vague. "It doesn't matter."
Lauren stares at me. "Posie, it always matters."
"Maybe when it stops mattering, that's when you know it's over, huh? Or maybe it never really mattered in the first place." I can feel Emmett watching me, can almost feel him listening to what we're saying. I shrug with what I hope looks like finality, so they'll get the hint and drop it. I don't want to talk about this now, not with an audience.
"Right. Okay then," Jess drawls. She and Lauren are looking at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have, but I'm okay with that for now. They've been carrying the conversation. My contribution has been snark and perfunctory nods. "We're headed to the mall. You coming with your besties?"
I shake my head. "I have to stay after and talk to Mr. Medina about the Honor Society." Lauren wrinkles her nose and Jess lets out a disappointed huff, so as a consolation I tack on, "I'll see you at Mike's, though."
"Thatta girl." Lauren walks backward down the hall, both of them blowing kisses at me before they turn and stroll away. She calls back over her shoulder, "Maybe some of those Port Angeles Prep boys will be there. Get back on the horse, huh?"
I can't even talk to some of the people in our school without breaking out in a cold sweat and they're pushing me off on Mike's rich buddies he knows through his cousins in Port Angeles. Typical.
Cradling my books to my chest, I set out toward the science wing to meet Mr. Medina. The crowd of students has thinned out as they catch buses or head for the parking lot. There are low voices behind me; I can feel Emmett there, just a few paces back.
If I were a different person, I would turn and talk to him and break out a flirty smile. As it is, I can't even manage a simple "hi," which is ridiculous.
I fall off to the side, standing outside of Mr. Medina's classroom. He's speaking to a student, so I hover outside the door, not wanting to interrupt. If I'm being honest with myself, I also don't want to miss the last few moments of Emmett walking down the hall.
He meanders past me, walking with a couple of guys from the football team. I'm drawn to this simple thing about him, that he takes his time. I'm always rushing. I only slow down and absorb my surroundings when I have my camera in front of my face, but it seems like he's always absorbing the moment he's in. It's just one of the things that I admire about him, one of the things that I find so attractive. I may not know him, but everything he's shown me (whether he's meant to or not) pulls me in that much further.
He tugs his baseball hat from his back pocket and pulls it over his head, the bill toward the back.
And then?
He looks back over his shoulder, his eyes meeting mine, and smiles. This time, it's full out and I get the feeling it's just for me, like it means something.
I have absolutely no idea how to react.
I'm sure I look stupid trying to grin back, my mouth morphed into some sort of weird hybrid smile-grimace. I glance down, suddenly fascinated with the notebook I'm holding, the small piece of paper that's sticking out from the binding.
When I look back up, he's nearly out of sight and I wonder if it was all just wishful thinking on my part.
xoxo
"Sweetie?"
My hand pauses over the doorknob. I clutch my camera in the other. With my phone already in my back pocket, the camera is all I need to carry tonight.
"Yeah?" I call back, my eyes automatically going heavenward. I don't have the patience for twenty questions.
My mom comes around the corner, her heels tapping softly against the marble floor of the foyer. Eric, her Yorkie, is tucked in the crook of one arm, staring at me as he always does. Even the dog silently judges me. Canned laughter wafts in from the living room where I'm sure my dad is sprawled on the couch, drink in hand. Everything here is always soft and hushed, the three of us unable to fill all of the sprawling space this house provides. What seemed like a castle when I was little now tends to take on the qualities of a very quiet prison.
Funny how silence can be so loud. Sometimes it drives me so crazy that I have to leave, go to Jess' house down the street or, if it's really bad, Lauren's, which is further across the development of McMansions. Her three little brothers are constantly running around, screaming about something.
Mom's eyes - violet like mine - drift from my hand on the knob, up to my body (and outfit), then finally to my face. I know Jess and Lauren will probably be wearing little summer dresses (emphasis on little in Lauren's case), but I don't feel like playing along tonight, so I threw on shorts in lieu of a dress. I tried to offset my obvious lack of clothing enthusiasm by pairing it with a nice top, sleeveless and delicate. They'll have something to say either way.
"Where are you off to?" she asks, smoothing a hand over her linen pants. They're completely unwrinkled. How does she do that?
"I'm going to Mike's," I reply. "I told you and Dad that at dinner."
Ah, that's where the wrinkles went, settled in between her eyebrows. "Anne and Michael are down in LA, aren't they?"
"Just until tomorrow morning, and it's just a few of us getting together." That's semi-true. I doubt there'll be more than thirty kids there.
She nods slowly, her pale hair moving gently against her shoulders. "Did you get your homework done?"
I stare at her. "Mom, it's Friday night."
"You've got a very ambitious class schedule this year, Rosalie -"
"I know, you and Dad were the ones who picked it," I snap, letting out a sharp sigh through my nose. That's semi-true, too. I picked the schedule I thought they'd approve of, all AP classes except for English and PE, and they did. I didn't even try to sneak in a photography class this time.
She raises an eyebrow at my tone. "We just want you to do your best," she says quietly. It's not an apology. They really don't think they're stifling me at all and I know it's out of love. They want me to get into a good college, continue to excel in life, have it all. I don't think they understand that it's smothering me now, and I don't know how to tell them.
"I'm going," I say, opening the door.
Her face softens and she leans forward to drop a kiss on my cheek. "Love you, Rose. Have fun."
Then she lifts up Eric's paw so that he's "waving" at me. In her Eric voice, she makes the dog talk to me. "Goodbye sister! Have fun with your friends."
Right, I think, but I don't say anything, just slip out the door and head off into the quiet night.
xoxo
I'm loud.
I'm standing on the short wall made of expensive stone and I'm loud, drinking from a red plastic cup, pretending to be someone I'm not. The last part is nothing new, at least, even though it makes me feel as numb as this beer.
As soon as I arrived at Mike's house, I was chided.
"Why didn't you tell us he broke up with you?"
"What the hell are you wearing?"
"Drink up, bitch."
I mumbled answers. If Roy wanted to tell everyone he broke up with me, if it helped him sleep better at night, so be it. I already knew they'd say something about my choice of clothing. And well, that last one wasn't so much a scold as a demand. It was the only one I was happy to answer to.
Drinking isn't something that I normally turn to, unlike the rest of them. Don't get me wrong, I drink occasionally, but I'm always in control. But tonight... tonight I don't feel like being in control. I feel like breaking out and doing something crazy because then I won't have to think.
So one red cup became two. And three. And then there were some jello shots tossed back for good measure. Now it's the Stan, Mallo and Posie Show. We're up on the wall and I quiet down as they start to dance and sing in earnest, both of them soaking up the attention. I'm happy to give them my portion of it. My camera's slung around my neck, so I busy myself as their Paparazzi, snapping off shots of them singing into their cups of beer. I look over my shoulder to find Roy standing there, looking pissed and not at all impressed by the performance. Figuring that Stan and Mallo can hold down the fort, or up the wall, or whatever, I jump down and try to blend. Some might think it's me, hiding behind my camera. In actuality, it's where I can be the most free.
"Posie! Where are you going?"
I wave Jess and Lauren off, holding up my camera. That's their signal to back off and they do, melting in with the rest of the kids. I used to melt along with them, but I like the dividing line my camera creates right now.
Drunk picture taking is always interesting. I don't worry about settings, the aperture or lighting. I just click away. Jess laughs when I stumble backwards slightly, my balance all off, but then Mike slings an arm around her neck. He pulls her close, starts to devour her face and I fade away into the background. I lift my camera again, watching them through the viewfinder. I wait until Mike stops mouth-fucking Jess and when he smiles down at her, stupid drunk but happy, I press the little round button that captures moments. I like them best when they're not planned - the small moments in between the staged ones, when it's real and honest, even when it's not perfect. Especially then.
I get a shot of Tyler looking down Lauren's dress and then another one of him smiling at her while she laughs with Jess, her hand clutching her elbow.
When I lower the camera, I'm suddenly tired. All the alcohol hits me like a tidal wave and I drift over to the picnic table (Mike's mom would kill me if she heard me call it something so pedestrian), slump onto the bench and watch everyone and everything happen around me.
Jess flops down next to me, her knee knocking against mine. She nestles her head against my shoulder. "You are the very definition of wah wah right now, Posie."
Lauren flanks me on the other side, clutching a red Solo cup. It's sweating and the condensation creeps down the side, dripping onto her dress. I watch the spot blossom into a dark blue stain of color. "Where's your party spirit?" she asks, sweeping her arm around expansively.
I must look unimpressed, because Jess leans her elbows back on the table, fixing me with a pointed stare that's verging on pity. "You're bummed about Roy, aren't you?"
"He's a dick," Lauren huffs, looking over to where he's standing with Mike and Tyler. "Seriously, breaking up with you the first week of our senior year? What about Homecoming? Prom?"
Would they be calling me a dick if they knew I was the one who broke up with Roy? If they knew why I did it?
I'm not even sure I know all of the reasons I did it, not yet. All I know is that being with him never felt completely right and that in the end it felt very wrong.
"Mallo, it's not just that," Jess replies, leaning forward to roll her eyes at Lauren. "They were together for three years. It's about their history as much as their future." She pauses thoughtfully before snatching Lauren's drink from her. She takes a long swig, swallows hard and then gives a delicate burp. "And they don't have to be together to get King and Queen anyway."
It feels like they're discussing someone else's relationship. I'm so far away from this already, tired of it all. I let out a small, impatient sigh. "Can we move on here, you guys? Or talk shit on your own time or whatever."
Lauren grabs her drink back and beer sloshes over the side, running down her leg. She ignores it and me. "The more Jello shots you have, the deeper you get, Stan."
Jess cocks her head. "The more Jello shots you have, the shorter your dress gets. Weird."
Lauren flips her off and then turns to me, slinging a heavy arm around my shoulders. "We're here for you, right?" Pretty sure she means to say all right, but I grasp the sentiment nonetheless. "Give it a week. Roy'll come crawling back to you."
"Awesome, just what I want," I say dryly.
Jess and Lauren keep chattering on about how what I really need is a tall guy, Roy's barely six feet, isn't he? and that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, ha ha hiccup ha. I nod my head and roll my eyes and make smart-ass remarks where appropriate, but my attention eventually drifts.
Roy is still over there with Mike and Tyler, but his gaze is on me. He's chewing his gum at the front of his teeth, neon green against vivid white, trying to look like he couldn't give a fuck. I think, in a detached way, about how good-looking he is - lean and tall with sandy blonde hair and aristocratic features. It'd be easy to tell he's wealthy even if he tried to hide it, which he doesn't. He told me once, in a rare moment of sharing and caring, that money was the only good thing his father had ever given him.
He doesn't see it and he'd probably kill me if I said it, but he's morphing into his dad. All these boys are. They're standing there, smoking cigars with two fingers of scotch in Michael Sr.'s crystal tumblers, the juniors to their patriarchs, and not just in name. They're molding themselves into what they think they should be, because it's all they've ever known. Even Roy, who hates his father most of the time. Royce Senior has set the bar high. That's what Roy reaches for - money, power, the right education and the right girl.
I was part of that and I've been doing it, too. I don't blame him... or myself. It sneaks up on you, sinks into your skin until one day you wake up and realize that this isn't who you want to be after all.
"I think I'm going to head out in a few, girls." I stand and subconsciously run my hands over the front of my shorts, until I realize that I'm doing the same thing my mom had earlier in the foyer. My hands stop and I stuff them in my pockets instead, leaving the wrinkles there. I don't need them to be perfect.
I stumble a bit before righting myself and head for the bathroom, leaving my camera with them for safekeeping.
You know when you've had a lot to drink but it doesn't really hit you until you stand up? And then you think to yourself, Self, you're pretty wasted. That's what's happening right now. I don't normally allow myself to drink this much. For Jess, Lauren, Mike, Tyler, this is a normal night. But this isn't a normal night for me, in more ways than one. I'm guessing it's not for Roy either, even though he's putting on the same show I am. Everything's fine. Nothing to see here.
I go to the bathroom and wash my hands, avoiding the mirror this time. I don't want to look at myself. Maybe I just don't want to seemyself right now, who I'm pretending to be.
When I get back outside, I make my way back toward the table where Jess and Lauren are waiting for me to say my goodbyes.
Instead, Roy steps in front of me, intercepting my mission to quietly exit.
"Baby..." He puts a hand up to my cheek and tries to cradle my face. Except that we're nearly the same height, save a few inches, so it's not like he can cradle me to his chest. More importantly, I thought we'd established last night that I'm no longer his baby.
"Don't call me that, Roy."
"Fine, Posie." He's never liked the nicknames that Jess, Lauren and I made up for each other. Or maybe he was just jealous that he never got one, like Mike's oh-so-clever name, Newt. "Is that better? Fuck, Rosalie. We need to talk."
I speak quietly. "I got the memo that you told everyone that you broke up with me. So if that's why you think we need to talk, don't worry. I get it loud and clear."
His voice goes low and he tries to lean into me so that we don't draw attention to ourselves, but the lean is more like a wobble. I not-so-gracefully (okay, drunkenly) try to scoot away. Of course, everyone is watching. They always are.
"Yeah, I told them I broke up with you. You know, so you don't look like a bitch."
Yet another one of those sharing and caring moments. I made the mistake once of telling him that it bothers me when people mistake my introverted nature as bitchiness. It figures he'd use that information against me now.
"Thanks for taking the fall, Royce. You're a real pal." I'm being sarcastic, of course, but it falls on drunk ears. I try to sock him lightly on the shoulder but it might have been a tad hard, because he winces. Oops.
"Come on, Rose," he says, his speech slurring a little on my name. "I just want to talk to you for a minute."
"You're drunk and everyone's staring."
"Fine, somewhere else." He steps closer, so I move back. "Tomorrow morning. We'll get coffee at the diner."
"Fine, whatever," I reply shortly as I keep moving backwards. I don't even drink coffee, but since we're all about appearances here, coffee it is.
I wave to the girls and point at my camera. Jess signals with thumbs up that she'll take care of it. I don't want to spend any more time here than necessary, so I make my escape, slipping through the gate. The guys all have their Beemers lined up next to the curb. Some clubs have a secret password; ours has matching cars. I used to think it was so cool. Now I'm stumbling along, pressing my hand all over them as I try to stay upright. Maybe subconsciously I'm hoping that I'll mark up Roy's as I pass. A more vindictive girl might key his car, but my handprints will have to do. I'll leave my mark that way.
Besides, I don't have any keys with me. Don't need them, thanks to the keyless entry on my house.
I walk as fast as my legs will carry me, light and free and so relieved to be away from Mike's. I stumble along, weaving into the perfectly landscaped grass that lines the sidewalk, singing under my breath. It's just two lines, over and over: I wish I was special. You're so fucking special.
A few houses down, I land in the Cullens' yard, one that I know well, because I've spent many Thanksgivings here. Our families are small, both of us only children, and since we don't have extended family in the area, we sometimes do holidays together. Our parents get along like houses on fire. It sometimes disturbs me how much my mom giggles with Esme, although I secretly love the sound, because she seems so carefree. Like she doesn't have a care in the world.
This yard holds memories of days long gone, memories of trying to teach Edward how to turn a cartwheel after I learned how to myself in gymnastics; of flag football games, me running around with Edward and our dads together, preemptively working off the huge meal we were about to eat.
And now it holds me, sprawled on my back, staring at the sky and listening to the low hum of Edward and his friends in the backyard.
I wonder if Em is here. Em? Can I refer to him in my mind by his nickname if I hardly speak to the boy? Whatever, he won't know. Em it is. I giggle at the thought of him being surprised that I call him Em. In my mind. Giggle giggle giggle. Because in my state I find this hysterical, for some reason.
I hear the grass rustling near me, footsteps falling on the perfect lawn. I close my eyes, wondering who's found me in my delirious state.
"Rosalie?"
I open my eyes to find him.
Him.
I stop my internal laugh track, my mouth suddenly parched. He's perfect, the stars behind him, the moon as a backlight. I should say something. I should really, really say something. What should I say?
"You're just like an angel."
Well, shit. That? Of all the things to say in this world, that's what I come up with?
He smiles and the skin around his eyes crinkle. I want to touch it. "An angel? No one's ever called me that before." He reaches his hand toward me, silently offering to help me up. I stare at it for what feels like forever but is probably five seconds. My heart thuds so loudly in my chest that I can hear it in my ears, reverberating through the rest of my body.
And I let him help me up.
Your skin makes me cry.
Thankfully, I don't say that out loud.
Handfuls of thanks go out to the usual suspects - we've got an amazing posse of people that keep us on point. You know who you are! Plus, shoot, we called you out last chap. We love you guys. More handfuls of thanks to all who have read, alerted, favorited and/or reviewed! Your ears are probably burning, 'cause we can't stop talking about you.
Next update will be arriving at the HotMessica station early next week. Teasers are handed out to those that want it. We'll also probably tell you we love you. ;) This is how we're rollin' from here on out, friends.
Have a great weekend!