PLEASE READ BEFORE YOU PROCEED!

This chapter contains the events leading to Rosalie's death. RORH is rated R, not NC-17; there will be no explicit description of criminal sex acts, but reading it may still be triggering, as I do allude to what happens during. I myself am a survivor of SA, and writing Rosalie's story in this way is very important to me. Don't forget, it has a happy ending 3

Please proceed with caution.

"Indelible in the hippocampus is the laughter. The uproarious laughter between the two, and their having fun at my expense. They were laughing with each other. Two friends having a really good time with one another." - Dr. Christine Blasey Ford, 2019

***CW: SA, DV***

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Saturday April 29, 1933

7 days until the wedding

They laughed the entire time.

That's why I stopped screaming, at one point. It only seemed to excite them. And I thought that maybe, if I pretended to have lost consciousness, or died, even, they would stop.

That's really what I thought, foolishly.

I did lose consciousness at some point, after the back of one of their hands hit the side of my head so hard I saw stars. I came to some time later, but the fight had left my body. I was too exhausted to resume my fruitless begging them to stop, scream for help, or try to hurt them back in any way.

That's around when they thought I was dead, I think. It didn't stop them, but it was evident that they weren't having as much fun without me present enough to react.

They dragged me around to the end of the road, behind an electric generator, and threw my torn clothes over me. Not to protect my dignity, of course, but to camouflage me.

They were still laughing as they stumbled away. One of them cracked a joke about how Royce would have to find a new bride. He responded with something along the lines of having to learn some patience first.

Patience was a virtue I did not possess while I waited to die.

I was surprised I wasn't dead already. With the last morsel of my strength, I prayed that I would die soon. Sometimes, the pain would overwhelm me, and I'd succumb to unconsciousness again, only to be devastated when I awoke minutes – hours? – later.

It started to snow, and I remembered that I was supposed to be back home by now. I wondered how long I'd be dead before my family found me. Perhaps the police would find me first.

The temperature continued to drop. I was surprised that I had the wherewithal to notice the cold. I was surprised that I had any nerve endings left intact at all.

As I waited, impatient for death, I vacillated between my belief in the existence of God and my new knowledge of the world's cruelty.

I understood that there was suffering in the world. Of course I saw the poor people, the slums. But my father had always left me with the impression that they'd brought their troubles upon themselves.

Which could mean only one thing – I'd done something to deserve this.

I thought I'd done everything right. I'd said "yes, ma'am" and "no, sir." I'd said "please" and "thank you." I'd been seen and not heard. I'd never been gluttonous. I'd rarely lied. I was no more proud than I had a right to be. I'd never lost my temper and submitted to wrath. I'd never been greedy, I'd never asked for anything less than what I deserved. I'd followed the rubric that I'd been assured would grant me a life I was entitled to – finishing school, babysitting, society debut, pageants, engagement. And though I'd acknowledged any lustful feelings I might've had, I never gave in to them. I'd never tempted a man with my body, not intentionally. I'd –

The cold seemed to sink deeper into my body. I had tempted Royce. With the necklace he'd given me, with my clothing, with my words and actions at the tennis courts. He'd warned me then, too. He showed me a preview of what would happen to me if I kept up that kind of behavior.

I hadn't ever considered myself to be a woman worth that kind of disrespect. But I'd been throwing my beauty in his face the whole time.

Then again – I couldn't imagine a woman worth that kind of disrespect at all. I wouldn't have wished my fate upon anyone.

And I didn't want to believe in a God who believed otherwise.

An inch of snow had accumulated around my broken body when I felt hands on me again.

I barely felt them at first. They were as cold as the frozen ground beneath me. Gently, they pushed me over so that I was on my back, my swollen face to the sky.

I couldn't make out who it was, at first. The injuries my head had withstanded left me with blurred vision and dizziness so intense, it made me nauseated. I was severely concussed.

Though I couldn't see him, I recognized his voice, and my heart sank.

"Miss Hale?"

Dr. Cullen.

I couldn't answer him. I didn't really want to, anyway. If I was going to be seen in this state, I would've much preferred to have at least died first.

He made some kind of tourniquet for one of my legs and began taping up one of my head wounds. I didn't see the point. Even if there was a chance of saving me – I didn't want to be saved. It was unbearable enough just continuing to exist while I waited to freeze to death or bleed out, whichever was faster.

And what would've become of my life if I did survive? My body had been spoiled. I'd never fully recover from my injuries. My face had been beaten beyond recognition. I was sure that my days of a perfected appearance were over. No man was going to want my damaged goods.

If I survived, I'd have to find a way out of the wedding. I couldn't publicly accuse Royce and his friends of this. They'd never face justice. My reputation would be tarnished beyond repair. The Kings lived above the law. I'd always known that.

If I survived, I wouldn't marry him. I couldn't. I couldn't imagine a life with him anymore. The dream of our fair-haired family felt impossibly far away now. I felt stupid and naive for ever believing in it.

Tears leaked from my eyes as I grieved the children I would never have.

Dr. Cullen, unfortunately, seemed to take that as a sign of life. I felt him wrap something around me – his own coat? – and suddenly, I was lifted away from the ground like I weighed nothing at all.

…Was that it? Had I finally died?

After seemingly levitating above the frozen street, I felt the wind whipping past me. Death must've come – though I still couldn't see anything, I could feel myself flying through the air, impossibly fast. Was I hurtling towards heaven… horizontally, somehow?

I couldn't be, I realized. The pain was still all-consuming. Fear resurfaced; would I be hurting forever?

The wind slowed. The cold ceased. Even with my failing tactile senses, I could tell that I was indoors somewhere. The room appeared to be bright from under my eyelids and felt warm on my skin.

I was set down gently on a hard surface.

"Out," I heard the doctor say. It sounded like I was listening to him from underwater.

"You can't be serious," a male voice responded.

"Take Esme. Now." They were both talking so quickly.

"Carlisle–"

"Now."

And then it was silent. I didn't even hear him leave.

Dr. Cullen lifted my arm and pinched the inside of my elbow. Within seconds, the pain mercifully started to fade.

But he wasn't saving me. I realized with gratitude that he was just making it less painful for me as I slipped away.

Death was imminent. This time, I was sure. Without the pain to keep my body alert, I could feel myself fading.

I wanted to thank him for bringing me here rather than the hospital. It would've caused too much of a scene, been too humiliating for the last moments of my life to be filled with pitiful looks from nurses.

It would've been even worse if I'd survived.

I hoped, though I knew it was impossible, that after I died, Dr. Cullen would lie to my parents about how my life was taken. I hoped that the town would grieve me tremendously. I hoped they would remember me as I'd been at my engagement party, eighteen and beautiful, and that whatever remained of my disfigured body would remain unobserved until the end of time.

And then –

I screamed in shock when I felt Dr. Cullen's face at my throat.

He'd only brought me here to hurt me more.

He'd asked someone to make sure his wife wasn't around to see it.

I felt his mouth – freezing – on the left side of my neck. He bit down, his teeth easily breaking through my skin. As if I were a paper doll.

I tried to turn my head away, but he held my chin – just like Royce – and turned my face to the side so that he could repeat his assault on the right.

I had no hope of escape. Even unassisted, as Royce had been, Dr. Cullen's grip was immovable. Like he was a steel machine rather than a person.

His head left my throat, but the pain was back and renewed tenfold, searing through me. It was rooted exactly where his teeth had been.

He sliced open my wrists and my ankles. The burning agony was coming from all four corners of my body now, merging into one blaze at my torn center.

I believed in God then, because I could feel myself going to Hell.