The Rebel
Chapter 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.
The rain pattered down on the tattered, grey roof of my house. Once, held up by Majestic white pillars, the white house now slouched at the lack of support. One pillar was broken by Uncle Jordan during one of his construction projects, if they could even be called that.
I sat alone inside my bedroom. It had fading pink walls covered in pictures of memories, the clubhouse, my beautiful mother, my handsome father, and my "friends." A purple, silk bead spread covered my twin sized cot. There wasn't very much furniture due to our lack of money.
My Aunt Tina and Uncle Jordan were slowly but surely making sure that all the money my parents left me deteriorated before I reached the legal age. They were jobless slackers that treated me as if I was a piece of tar left on the side of the road.
It was at these lonely moments that I wished I had a real friend to talk to. Someone to tell me it would be all right; that I would be 18 in two years and then I would be free of this night-mare.
"Rosalie!" my Aunt's slurred voice reached my ears. It hurts me so much, I just might die Alexandria's words were ringing through my head like quiet, soothing Bell.
Alex was a poet; she had always had a way with words even when we were little. Her father was a drunk and her mother carried her out here to Forks when she was just a child. Still, she was forced to live with him every now and then by the government who would say that her mother was not a fit guardian.
"Coming Aunt Tina!" I yelled walking down the stairs.
Alex's voice swamped my mind as I remembered her reading her new poem out loud at the club house one sunny afternoon. She had written this poem for me, knowing that it would help.
You hate your life; that much is true.
You married a man that didn't love you.
He loved your face; he loved your fuse;
But most of all he loved his booze.
He just drank and let you cry,
It hurt so much you thought you'd die.
The only thing to do was leave,
But a cry for help is what you received.
You knew you needed to take care of me,
It was the only option you could see.
I needed you,
You needed me,
But I guess you caught his strange disease.
Now you drink,
And now I cry,
It hurts so much I just might die.
It told the story of my relationship with my Aunt; I never did quite understand how Alex could recognize my emotions about the situation. Our stories were so different. Weren't they?
"Rosalie, I made dinner." Aunt Tina smiled as she pointed towards the burnt, smoking pieces (of what I could only assume was chicken) that were still sitting in a pan. It's better than last night's spaghetti I thought to myself.
Last night she had tired to cook the spaghetti in the dish washer. Her theory being that the water inside got hot enough to boil the noodles.
"The plates are in the cabinet." her indistinct voice told me.
No dip Sherlock!I thought as I replied, "Thank you very much."
I ate my chicken as she watched me, hardly grimacing. I was used to food like this after seven years and this poultry was hardly the worst meal she could have come up with.
My Aunt tried, she really did; but she was always intoxicated and there was nothing I could do about it. I always blamed myself for the way she was. If I hadn't been stuck on them she would have been free. She could live life. Instead, she stayed behind to take care of me. That was all I could ask for.
"I'm going to bed early." I told her.
She looked at me baffled, "Are you sure you don't want to watch television?"
Yea, it would be so exciting to watch three whole channels."No, I'm pretty tired. I had a rough day." I assured her.
She fell for it; she could be such a bubble head sometimes.
After excusing myself from the table, I got ready for bed and prepared myself for my evening ritual: crying myself to sleep.