Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns everything recognizable in the land of Twilight. No copyright infringement is meant.
Rain Must Fall
"Into each life some rain must fall."
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
.~~.
September, 1932
I sigh wistfully as I raise my head up to the grey sky. I wonder what it is about rain and making an adult want to play in it. A light watery mist swirls around my skin, almost tickling it with its dewy softness. I want to giggle childishly but refrain. Some decorum must be kept.
Though I'm not giggling madly does not mean I'm not showing some inappropriateness. The rough bark lining my back could attest. The hardness, however, isn't bothering me. I'm enjoying the youthful thrill sizzling playfully in my blood.
My uncovered toes wiggle in the wet grass, creating such a happy feeling under my skin. Never was I allowed the privilege of playing in the rain as a child. It is not every child's ambition to play in falling water from the sky, but it was something I longed for, yearned as I had to learn yet another social grace under the grueling command of the Madam.
I know it sounds as if I'm a spoilt debutant complaining about something so in vain compared to the state of our country, but it is the problems I have and the feelings I've felt. It doesn't make it wrong or right, just Rosalie Lillian Hale.
I now enjoy this small rebellion as my hair becomes damp and my skin a little sticky from the combined heat. It's quite invigorating. The rain must have components of healing in its soft droplets.
An involuntary sigh leaves my parted lips as I take in the rolling clouds. Such freedom and wild abandon they must enjoy.
It was not long ago that I had such a night. Just thinking about my "liberating" evening still brings a heated pinkness to my cheeks. I'm both embarrassed and happy about the evening. I woke up with my night gown on and my hair completely frazzled. My face was even pushed into a crinkled paper.
A smile lit up my face as I read that simple, sweet missive left on my pillow.
Rose love,
Let it be stated you gave me the express permission to chance your attire. Don't worry, all eyes were closed and hands in check. I'm a perfect gentleman. Everything else was removed and thrown away. There's no need for worry.
When awaken, make sure to drink plenty of water to rehydrate. Excessive rebellion can be quite dehydrating. Just a known medical fact.
Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of your company. You were a sight to behold. One that was wholly, yet touchingly, unexpected. Thank you also, love, for putting your unstable trust in me. The pleasure means more than you could ever know or imagine.
Take care, Rosalie, and don't worry. You only continue to shine.
With an unforeseen yet anticipated meeting in the future - E
PS. Don't stress about your mother. I believe she may awaken later than you. She may or may not have taken another sleeping capsule. Your house was too dark to tell, love.
I still find sweet levity when thinking about his note. Mother hadn't woken up until well after Noon. She put it down to working too long and hard at her charitable contributions. I could only imagine how straining and difficult it must have been to lift her tea cup to her lips and back down. The strenuous life of a lady in society.
No matter how much Edward tried to console me, I still felt embarrassed at seeing him again. The most unfortunate thing, however, was the timing. It wasn't at our table in the library or at his secluded house. It had been at an unsuspecting dinner engagement. Little by little it seemed as if Edward came out into society more oft. This seemed both a blessing and a curse.
While I was always so terribly happy to see him, it seemed as if the other girls were, too. Scant time Edward had to himself. I wondered how he was ever able to breathe with so little room to exhale.
Often times, I could feel a growl wanting to erupt from my throat. But like the lady I was raised to resemble, I resisted. But just barely. It was quite unfair they could act so wanton in polite society, yet I still had to retain my most strongest of masks. Edward's presence made sure of that. Too often I could slip and thus held even more control over myself. Sleeping on those nights came oh so easy to me, as I found myself beyond tired.
I never felt so many extremes in the presence of another person, sans mother, seeing as she didn't truly count. I wondered if he brought out such feelings in others.
It wasn't that Edward really enjoyed their company, if his handsome frown meant anything. But it seemed when I happen to look at him–in the rare times I allowed myself–a mysterious smirk would align his beautiful lips. I couldn't fathom what had him grinning or what tantalizing conversation he must have been hearing. I'd allow the smallest of scowls to cross my lips before turning away.
Those uncouth girls were more than welcome to him. I wasn't lacking in my own attention for company.
It was pathetic, however, in only wanting his. But I did not let it linger in my thoughts for too long. Decorum had to be maintained.
It wasn't until after the dinner drinks were served, and the men retired from the room to talk politics that I felt any relief. Though I would have liked to accompany them and escape from the mundane and droll gossip of the evening, Edward's presence precluded me from such.
After some time, I finally felt safe to use the ladies. Letting mother know discreetly I had to leave momentarily, I let out a silent, relieved breath. I was free if but for a moment.
As I slowly approached, sounds of sickness met my ears. I cringed slightly, feeling both disgusted and sorry for whomever was in there. I hadn't thought the dinner too terrible. Though veal wasn't my absolute favorite, I had been able to retain everything. It seemed quite the obvious for her.
More than anything, I wanted to walk away, get out of hearing range from the sick heaves. But the need to comfort was surprising to me. It was a difficult decision. With an audible sigh this time, I raised my hand to the wooden door and politely knocked. I didn't know what response I'd get, but I still had to try.
When no response came, I tried yet again. The voice surprised me to my very toes. Of course it had to be Edward. Why would I expect any differently?
My heart automatically started to beat heavily. I could feel my hands sweat and skin itch as another wave overtook him. The time to leave became a fleeting thought in my mind as I found the knob and slowly turned. I wanted to give him warning of my coming in and not scare him too much.
My eyes watered at the sickly sweet smell. It was overwhelming. But none of my reactions deterred me. My dear friend was sick, and I only wanted to comfort him; everything else seemed to escape my notice.
It is interesting how that happens.
.
I silently shut the door as I kneel before him. The coldness of the tiles seeps into my scantly covered knees as I reach for the hand towel draped over the sink. I quickly dribble water over it before returning to my unwell friend. My annoyance with him over the evening is gone, left behind is my great concern for him.
The wet cloth is placed on his available cheek as he slowly tapers off. My stomach churns, not with my sickness, but with terrible worry for him. I've only ever seen him well. Not that our acquaintance has spanned for years. My other hand threads into his disarrayed hair and softly runs through. My heart is breaking for him.
"Edward," I finally venture, trying to keep my voice soothing and tender. "Darling?"
Soft, uneven moans leave his trembling lips. I can instantly feel tears come to my eyes. I never want to see him like this again.
I run the cool, wet towel along his forehead and cheeks. His hair becomes displaced and his forehead comes to rest on my shoulder. If anyone else (except my brothers) had placed their sick mouth so near my face I would have felt utterly disgusted, putout. But Edward isn't anyone.
"Sorry, love," he mumbles out achingly. Even this voice sounds entirely different. His sick breath fans the side of my neck and cheek, but I ignore the displeasure, only focusing on my ailing companion.
"What for, darling? Something beyond one's control?" I cajole.
"Among other things." I find myself placing soft kisses to his forehead as I run the wet cloth along his parted lips.
"Not at all," I reassure him. "It wasn't long ago that someone attended to me in a precarious situation. Not that this is the only reason I'm here, mind."
"Still . . ." I kiss his cool forehead once more as his breathing finally evens out.
"Could you pull back a little?" I ask, wanting quite the opposite, but it isn't about my wants. "Allow me to see your face, darling."
Without complaint, he takes his head from my shoulder and leans heavily against the wall. He looks so sad; it breaks my heart even further. But even with him being ill, he still has this elegant feel about him. I wonder how it's even possible, given what he's gone through. One of the many secrets about my dear friend, I suppose.
After I fold the soiled part of the cloth over and finish wiping his face, I deem him clean. Instead of finding his face flush and somewhat warm as I suspect, he's quite cool and too pale.
He must be feeling even worse than I suspect. It must be more than the food. Perhaps he hadn't been feeling well before coming out tonight. If so, why would he even venture out? He should be at home, lying down.
I pull my attention away from his face and my thoughts. He is still leaning against the wallpapered surface, but studying me quite intently. What must you think of me, Edward? Do you think me disgusting for helping to wipe your bile, or forward for coming in uninvited? I push the instigating questions from my mind and focus on him.
"There you are," I say softly. "All clean and as handsome as ever." I give him a salacious wink, which earns me a little laugh.
I place the soiled hand-towel in the sink before sliding back over to him. My knees are aching slightly from bending, but I ignore the discomfort. My unease is immaterial.
"Why come out tonight, Edward?" I finally ask, the silence becoming too much and his gazing too piercing. "If you were unwell, why not stay home?" I push the hair falling behind his left ear. The rest is left in disarray.
I tilt my head to the side, studying him as he does me. I let a tender half-smile come to my lips as he seems to be getting better. My heart starts to calm at the knowledge.
"I thought that quite obvious, love," he finally intimates. The little smile falls from my lips as I try to decipher his meaning.
He must mean something entirely different, I try and reason.
"One can't fault me from wanting to be near my friend."
The tears which clouded my eyes earlier out of concern for him return and fall silently, hotly down my warm cheeks. I wonder how frightful I must look to him, when all I'm feeling is appreciated and taken aback.
Slowly I come to my senses, letting the smile once again grace my face. Before I can move, Edward's right hand comes up and wipes the moisture from my skin. His fingers are blessedly cool to the touch. "Beautiful Rosalie. Sweet nightingale . . . coming to my rescue."
"You pick such a place to give endearing platitudes?" I ask, finding the will to use my dry voice. Laugher rings from his throat off the papered walls around us.
"You would expect any less?" he counters. His elegant eyebrows rise at the question. Though the intense sweet smell has somewhat dissipated, some still lingers in the air.
"I suppose not." I lift my chin mock-defiantly into the air. "Though something is left to be desired . . ."
He laughs again, and this time I can't help but join him, despite our less than truly desirable environment.
"Dually noted." I appraise him before letting the corners of my mouth turn up.
"No matter, Edward. If feeling unwell, you should have stayed home." He gives me an acknowledged head bob. "It doesn't give me any happiness to see you so. I only want for you to be well and happy. Is this too much to hope for?" I ask, already knowing the only available answer.
"At times, . . . perhaps."
Nothing else is said for a time. We both simply stare at each other. Things truly, stunningly fade into the background and the situation we are in becomes unimportant. The only thing seeming to penetrate my cognizant mind is Edward's presence.
I wouldn't later claim time stopped or my heart ceased to beat for that time, but it was still very poignant.
"You're so terribly handsome, Edward," I hear myself involuntarily admitting. I can't quite fathom where these truths are coming from. My cheeks instantly become pink as my eyelids flutter helplessly from the staggering admittance.
I go to turn my head in embarrassment, shame . . . but somehow he already anticipates my move. His cool fingers capture my chin before I can look away from his intense gaze.
"Beautiful Rosalie," he repeats from earlier. I am entirely apprehended. His thumb moves from the underside of my eye to my bottom lip. I shiver helplessly as he traces the outline.
Without even meaning to, or even consciously, we somehow move one step further from the friends' line into something shadowed. It's yet indefinable, but deeply felt.
Before either of us can even move, the moment is taken from us as someone knocks ungraciously on the door. I jump from fright; my eyes widen comically.
"Rosalie Hale, are you in there?" I hear the harsh, quieted tone of my mother. It should be more than apparent to her.
Edward's demeanor seems to shift without me even noticing. His soft eyes have turned steel-hard as his jaw clenches. I quickly shake my head, at the same time placing my forefinger over his parted lips.
"Yes, mother," I reply calmly as possible. "I was feeling a little poorly and thought to rest before returning. It wouldn't do well for me to have embarrassed you or father," I amend. I'm well-versed in knowing what to say in such unpleasant situations. Protecting our image is first and foremost.
"Hurry and put yourself to rights, Rosalie. Mrs. King was asking after you. One mustn't keep her waiting. And be sure you do look your best, dear. I'd be displeased if it were otherwise." And with the admonition, she leaves me in shaking peace.
I open my eyes and watch Edward trying to calm himself. I wonder if he can hear my heart beating heavily in my chest. The sound is entirely too loud in my ears.
I can feel my fragile self wanting to break, but I won't allow her to have such a victory over me. I'm better than my mother, and even she knows it. I straighten my shoulders and before I can remove my finger from Edward's lips he presses it in a tender kiss.
I bite my bottom lip as I try to stop the sweet tears from wanting to spill over my lashes. Only he could give such a soft-hearted gesture after being ready to snap not moments before.
"Don't give her the satisfaction, love. She shall never measure up." I can only nod my head at his beautiful declaration. He seems to always move me beyond response.
He quickly comes to his feet, and though he looks a lot better, I can still feel myself worrying over him, even through the turmoil mother causes.
"How much can one's battered-self take?" I ask aloud, if for no reason other than to allow some of the emotions bubbling under the surface a release.
"More than you should ever have to wonder or endure, love."
I give him a wobbly smile for his incredible effort. And once again our roles are reversed; I'm the one in need of comfort.
I watch as Edward takes a clean hand towel from the closet and slowly wets the corner. He turns me to face the mirror. I am captivated as I watch him in the mirror gently cleaning my skin from behind me.
His arms encircle me as they move to make sure nothing is out of the ordinary on my face. It is an incredibly intimate moment. I want to lean back and allow my body to rest against his stronger one, but I cannot. I don't think I'd have the strength to ever leave.
"There you are," he whispers in my ear as he places the used towel over the one I cleaned him with earlier; another thing about us which is linked. "Quite enchanting, if not more so then previously."
I go to turn in his arms which have me caged, but cannot. His hands are resting on the marble countertop, stopping my movement.
"No, Rose. Don't say anything." I look up and study his face in the mirror. It seems to do him such a disservice. Is anything able to truly capture his splendid beauty?
"Thank you," I speak softly, afraid to break the fragile atmosphere.
"Whenever, love," he murmurs just as softly.
His full lips find my face as he kisses my right cheek before dropping his hands. His arms fall back to his side, and all I want is to beg them once again to encase me; to keep me in the tender peace. However, it's all for naught. We each have a role and standing to maintain.
I don't say anything else, simply smile. We let the peace incase us momentarily.
And then it's time to leave
. .
That moment has replayed happily in my dreams. I'm not one to dream about past experiences, but with everything else about Edward in my life, it defies the norm.
My toes continue to wiggle as the tranquility from my memory settles over me. I can feel myself smiling for no apparent reason. It's such an exquisite reason. For nothing . . .
Though the sprinkling rain comes down, and I'm somewhat sheltered under my oak tree, I know I must look mad. I can't be bothered by it. I feel like flapping my invisible wings and floating with the grey clouds.
I lean my head back and rest it on the sturdy trunk. I'll have to make sure all the little bits are removed before returning home. But for now, I could care less.
My eyes close as I once again let my thoughts turn to my darling Edward, my friend . . . not that they are ever terribly far from him.
I can't help the wistful air leaving my deflating lungs. I can all but hear his voice as I become lost.
. .
"Edward!" I giggle as he reaches over my shoulder again and presses the incorrect key.
"Rosalie!" he mimics.
"You're trying to get me to play terribly on p-purpose," I accuse around my laughter. I adore his silly repertoire.
"How could you defame me so cruelly, Rose?" he asks, dreadfully wounded.
"Edward!" I yelp, embarrassingly, again as he reaches both arms around me. He starts to play his own rendition despite the musical notes on the paper that I'm trying helplessly to follow. And not well at that.
It seems Edward is a bigger distraction than even I give him credit for. I can't help but shiver.
"What . . . love?" I hear whispered silkily in my ear as my fingers stop moving completely. My body becomes stiff after shivers run through my skin and bones. I wonder if he knows the immense power he seems to hold over me.
"You are messing me up awfully," I accuse unevenly.
"Yes," he answers more like a question. Breath stops in my throat and renders me immovable.
Have you ever been utterly captivated by something or someone. As you watch, not only are your eyes intrigued, but so is your entire body. You find yourself leaning in, being pulled into the experience. Your mind becomes engaged, wanting to take in every little aspect.
.
I remember (when little) walking with my father and brothers in town. My mother was in a store, buying something, and we were waiting on her. I watched my dad, trying to hide his annoyance.
I wondered if others were also able to see the tight lines around his eyes like I was. My father and his mannerisms were very familiar to me. I was a daddy's girl and worshipped him. I studied him, wanting to be so much like him (of course mother didn't appreciate that at all).
My brothers were giggling slightly ahead of us as I held onto my dad's hand. Immediately my interest was caught. I stopped and just began to watch. My father was jerked back from my sudden inability to move. In front of me to the right was an old man (at least to my young knowledge) painting. I didn't know the style of painting, techniques or methods used, but I knew my young heart was beating rapidly.
As he painted I could see the image truly coming to life before me. His aged hand worked rapidly over the canvas. I didn't understand how he could paint so beautifully, yet do it at such a rapid pace.
Stroke after stroke was applied; the finish product was stunning. My ordinary vision of the town had become enchanting. The building, people, streets, signs and cars passing he painted looked captivating. I remember looking around and thinking if what he had painted was indeed what I saw.
All of his colors blended together and created a watery, runny, yet vivid impersonation of the bustling afternoon I was a part of. My little world had been changed that afternoon. It was the first time I simply realized that people saw things differently. What I may have seen as beautiful and heart-provoking, some thought as trash.
After my mom had come back and started pulling us away, I clearly remember her making disparaging remarks about his work.
"Are we ever to escape these street urchins, Richard?" her regal voice asked. She may have thought him terrible, but she was smart enough not to say it loudly. We had a name and image to protect. "He takes up space painting his absurdity, while we are forced to all but walk in the street. What is Rochester coming to, dear?" she continued to complain.
I looked to my father with a tear running down my cheek. He knew why I had cried. He could see the amazement in my eyes as I had studied the painting.
"That's enough, Lillian." His voice was quietly controlled and held no argument. Mother looked at him confusingly but heeded his word. Though I didn't smile at my father's quieting her, I felt a little vindicated inside.
Later that night after we had all eaten dinner and I helped my brothers get ready for bed, father came into my room, tucking me in. He kissed my forehead before whispering in my ear, "Everyone has different viewpoints, Rosie. What you may think is captivating, other will disagree. Don't let them change your opinions, darling. However, if anyone tries to tell you differently about your beauty, they're clearly mistaken and terribly wrong."
I giggled at his silliness as he nuzzled his face into my neck, causing me to laugh even more. His whiskers were scratchy.
"Thanks, daddy," I said, wrapping my short arms around his neck.
"Anytime, my sweet girl."
I fell asleep that night with a secret grin on my face and a knowledge that everyone didn't think the same way I did.
.
The memory becomes displaced from my mind as the tinkling notes of the music sound beautifully in my ears. Edward is beyond gifted in his ability. I shall always wonder why he doesn't want to go professional, but can also understand his reluctances in little to no privacy.
"Decided to join me again? Hmm? I had to take over your derelict duties." The scalawag doesn't wait for me to answer as he continues on playing the piano around my stilled fingers. "One would think I was entirely too boring for the esteemed and always fashionable Rosalie Hale."
"That could never be the case," I reassure him while staring at the moving black and ivory keys. From time to time Edward reaches over me as he plays his enchanting music. He is strong and solid beside me on the padded bench. "You could turn into a potted plant, and I would simply sit and watch you grow."
I turn from the keys to study his side profile. Instead of watching what he's playing, he's studying me. I can only think of how handsome and talented he truly is.
"That was really sweet of you to say, Rose." Where I think I'll see jesting on his part, his face only remains calm and resolute. He truly liked my playful statement, though true.
"It is true." He stares at me for a little longer before nodding his head and playing on. I'm touched by his innocence. It is so rare for me to catch him so unguarded.
I sigh internally as I sit by him, allowing him to serenade me with his incredible and nimble fingers.
While slouching . . . thank you very much, mother.
. .
The lightest droplets of rain continue to fall. It's as if there is a weightless mist being released from somewhere up above as I'm released from my memory.
It's often that I find myself lost in Edward. The contrast to when he came into my life versus before is quite starling.
My main goal has always been my future as a mother. Some may see my ambitions as boring or not befitting my station in society, but I have only ever craved motherhood. Dealing with high society, gentlemen's attention, mother's grueling perfect demands and my beauty have only been precursors for my most ardent ambition.
Now mixed in with my attainable goal is Edward. He is this other obscure, indefinable presence in my life. Yes, we are friends and reside in the same society. Yet there is something else. When I'm in the thickest of it, he resides on the fringe, bucking all the polite social norms.
Where most gentlemen all but swoon at my smile, Edward has me swooning embarrassingly at his; where most gentlemen can't help but gravitate towards me, it is I who is wanting to be near him. This juxtapose is foreign to me.
This isn't something I normally think about outside the privacy of my bedroom and cover of night, but the feathery-light rain makes me wistful. It fills me with hope for a better life and the optimisms of grand, happy futures.
I can't help it, and this once, I don't want to.
Clumping footsteps on the wet pavement break through my thoughts. I really should be surprised with my intuition, but I'm not. It is as if I come to expect him in the queerest of times.
"I see no introduction is needed." I laugh merrily at his salutations. He defies the expectations. "Is this seat taken?" he asks after my giggling stops.
I raise my eyebrows as I pretend to analyze him. "Perhaps . . . depends on who is inquiring."
"I daresay your close friend." He winks too enticingly at me. I could never have the will power to tell him no. It's a scary apprehension. I can hear my heart beating, oh well.
"Then I suppose you had better sit," I banter back.
We both become lost in our mirth as he sits next to me. Even though I have a blanket on the ground if defeats the purpose, considering it's wet.
I give him a winning, warm smile before turning back to the forefront. Words aren't always needed when we are existing together. Sometimes the silence is the most rewarding conversation between us.
I let my mind drift on my afternoon lectures and all that I learned. I sigh unhappily as I think of the assignments which need to be completed.
It's worth it, Rosalie, I tell myself consolingly. Not everyone has my opportunities, and it is all done for an express purpose.
"Why are you exhaling so loudly, Rose?" my companion asks amusedly.
I can't explain why I choose this time to tell Edward, yet I can't find a reason not to. It's something I keep the closest to my heart, but I want to tell him. Edward seems to have taken place in my heart almost as close to my greatest dream. Something I never thought possible by anyone.
"I was thinking about my most ardent wish in this life, Edward," I whisper helplessly. It's something which is sacred to me.
"And what is that, love." I turn away from him, unable to both look at him and watch his beautiful lips form the sweet endearment. I'm scared by how much I need him in my life. In such a short time . . .
"I want to be a mother," I finally confess, delicately. I don't know any other way to confess it besides gently.
My eyes close as my heart begs them to open and observe Edward's reaction. But I don't posses such courage. I'm not at some party and reflecting Rosalie Lillian Hale. I'm simply Rose at the moment. She can be quite shy and so uncertain of herself.
"You probably think me silly, only ever wishing to be a mother," I mutter more to myself than anything else. Edward just happens to be near me.
It's one of the many reasons I keep such private revelations to myself and in the privacy of my darkened bedroom, I don't want to be mocked or ridiculed for something others see as prosaic.
"I don't think even mother knows. I could only imagine her response," I continue as my afternoon companion remains silent.
It's quite oppressive to me, yet I try to fill in the silence with non-issues. "'Rosalie Lillian Hale, how you dare even suggest wasting all of the training I've invested into you,' she'd say. 'To want to stay home day in and day out to take care of some child; it's insupportable, and I shan't allow it.'" My imitation is quite good if I say so myself.
"In the end, it truly doesn't matter to me. Once I'm out from under her thumb, she won't have much command over my decisions, and my last name will cease to be Hale. Thus she need never worry about me shaming our family name and legacy."
Still Edward remains silent and the slight irritation to my skin is starting to itch. It is awfully uncomfortable. I try to ignore the surmounting discomfort, but can no longer. If I do not scratch then I shall surely combust.
"Have you nothing to say, Edward?" I break pathetically. Regardless of whether he knows it or not, his opinion of me means a lot. I do not want him thinking ill of me, too.
I take in several deep breaths as my fingernails dig into my irritated flesh. With what little courage I'm able to scrounge up, I look over to my silent friend, taking in his facial reactions. Like most times, he is all but inscrutable. He can seem so impossible at times.
"Please, Edward, just tell me anything. How has your day been?" I know I sound like a crazy person, but his silence is all but deafening. The ringing in my ears is quite loud.
His impassive face finally turns from stone to something else, something a little livelier. I could only ever hope to emulate his facial and bodily control. Perhaps if I had his regulation over myself, mother wouldn't always be so disappointed in my performances. With perfect such as his, there is nothing to disparage.
"You mistake my silence, love," comes his gentle reassurance. I feel the tight tension leave my skin. I can't help but sigh in relief. His term of endearment is more relief to me than any other thing he can speak.
"How so?" I inquire.
He studies me momentarily before continuing, "I don't think your ambition in wanting to be a mother is silly. I think it the most noblest of ambitions. Where is the shame in wanting to raise someone who loves you unconditionally? Where is the silliness in wanting to bestow your love and attention on someone who is a literal part of you? I think motherhood the most splendid of professions, love."
My mouth is open so inelegantly. I can only imagine the fish I must now resemble.
"So you don't think me lacking in substance?" He looks at me incredulously, unbelievingly.
"Quite the opposite, Rose. Your highest aspiration isn't to find the wealthiest man and then live for the next tea party. You want to give unfathomable love to something you created. How could you ever doubt the substance in such desire?"
I shrug helplessly, not having an available answer. I look at my mother and how she is able to accomplish both. Of course we had nannies attending to us as children, and I mostly entertained my younger siblings. They thought of me more as their mother than Lillian.
After they were sent to boarding school, it seemed as if my main purpose in this life – the very reason I created – was taken from me.
However, Lillian seemed to accomplish both tasks, if not one lacking for the sake of the other. I do not want to be her.
"You shouldn't doubt such beautiful intentions. We are each infinitely different, and I can attest to that, Rose. Don't punish yourself for wanting something which may not be vogue."
How am I able to respond to such glowing and well-received praise? I can breathe eternally easier now that I have his good opinion. I know it shouldn't mean as much to me as it does, but I crave my friends' reactions. I know it will be given fairly and unsoiled by the demands and norms of our society.
Edward is always above the fray. He doesn't even wear hats in public like most gentlemen do. It's a terribly silly thought to have at such a time, but it makes me smile happily, nonetheless.
"What is your grand ambition in life, Edward?" I ask curiously, knowing I'm being entirely too busybody.
It's isn't really my place to know, but I want to know Edward like no one else. I want to have that claim over him.
The slight smile on his face fades into grim lines. Immediately I can feel the guilt start to swamp me. I always seem to make things worse with Edward, saying the wrong thing, not explaining things properly or leading him to believe me different.
"Please," I start straight away, "I didn't mean to offend, Edward. I've always been too curious for my own good and need to learn when not to tread too far." I can't say anything else.
No other words of contrition or explanation come to mind. All I can do is sit and allow the moisture in the air to saturate my heated skin. It doesn't feel good any longer. The humidity around me is almost suffocating.
After several moments of nothing but silence from misty day companion, I start to stand. I don't want to disappoint him and I know if I stay, other inappropriate questions will come to mind. I can't even fathom where my filter goes when Edward is around me.
"I don't want to be a monster, Rosalie." I'm stunned by his admission. I'm in between standing up and sitting down, yet I stand completely still at his words.
I find myself utterly lacking in words and deed. I'm all but statuesque. I wonder how silly I look to him and the scant amount of people I've seen this afternoon. Rainy weather isn't everyone's forte.
Slowly, I come back to myself and feel my legs descending. I hit the ground gracelessly, but can't find the will to care. My back comes into contact with the tree truck again as I slump uncomfortably.
How could he ever think such a thing?
My heart starts to hurt. It pounds loudly in my ears, and though my eyes are stinging, I refuse to let tears fill them. This isn't about me at the moment.
I knew Edward thought poorly of himself, but this recrimination is beyond my comprehension. I can't fathom where he gets such a lowly opinion of himself.
"Edward," I say, trying to garner his attention, but he refuses to face me. "Please, darling." My voice is even softer than before. A if sensing my deep and abiding need to have him look at me, he turns.
His face is immovable, but his eyes seem to be swimming in guilt. They speak too eloquently of his past pain, pain I can't even understand or touch.
"You are not a monster," I tell him with all the honesty I can muster. It is something I believe whole-heartedly.
He scoffs softly. His reaction isn't meant to hurt my feelings, but I feel a little hurt . . . on his behalf.
Even in his pain, he is beyond stunning. He could render even the most outspoken person, speechless.
Without consequence, I raise my trembling hand and place the palm curved onto his face. My thumb automatically strokes the apple of his cheek. Like always his skin is cool to the touch, yet it warms me infinitely. He's quite the conundrum, my friend is.
"You distort yourself so severely, darling," I try to reason.
Like him, I am my harshest critic (sans Lillian). But also like him, I must realize there are things we both don't know about the other. It's a sad realization that hits me suddenly. Yet here it is, not to be forgotten.
I try and wipe the sudden insight from my face while biting on my lower lip. It will give me something to occupy my facial features. Uncontrollable around him. Drat.
I stop caressing his face and just gaze into his perfection. I look at his hair and can't help but smile. It seems to be his only outwardly imperfection, but I adore it all the more.
"Don't think me perfect, love." I want to ask how he knows, but he can probably see it shining in my eyes. "You'll only come out disappointed. Esme could tell you all about such disappointment."
We have a staring contest as I refuse to budge. Yes, I know my friend isn't perfect and he has his failing, but they are so much more difficult to see or find. He keeps everything so immaculately hidden.
"I doubt that, darling. And I don't need anyone else's opinion to make up my own. I'm actually quite capable," I jest towards the end.
He cracks the smallest of smiles, but I still see it, whether he wants me to or not.
"There you are. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been to crack even the most infinitesimal of grins." He tries to hold it in – my stoic friend – but the laughter spills from his beautiful lips.
"You're entirely too incorrigible, Rose."
"I'll be sure to alert the presses." He laughs a little more freely before leaning his head against the tree truck and angling more towards me. He looks the picture of casual elegance. So captivating.
"You make things better." He points to his temple. "You quiet things in my head, love. I was so very wrong about you. So very wrong." I don't really know what he is referencing, so I simply shrug my shoulders. I guess it's always good to defy preconceived notions.
He peels my hand from about his face and entwines his fingers through mine. My heart stutters embarrassingly in my chest, but I am quick to ignore it. There are so many more interesting things to be aware of.
He brings our combined hands up to his lips before placing the softest, most tender kiss to my skin before dropping our hands onto the damp blanket between us.
I tilt my head and let the touching tears now cloud my eyes. The sky isn't the only one to mist over.
"I adore you, Edward . . . monster or no," I can't help but confess. I don't even realize the words are falling from my tongue.
"Me too, Rosalie. Me too."
Nothing else is said as we both lean heavily on the truck of the tree and share in our silent truths.
The nourishing mist continues to swirl as it seeps into our skin and purges us of our distortions, lowly opinions and overwhelming internal disenchantments.
.
.
Author's Notes: Oh goodness gracious, darlings, the chapter is finally complete. I wipe my sweaty hands and continue writing this inane rambling (ha).
I can't express my apology in making you wait so long for an update, and I won't bore you with excuses, but I will thank those who pushed and prodded me to finally get this chapter written, edited and posted. My appreciation is above and beyond.
To those who reviewed last chapter, my adoration is heaped onto you. Your kind words and fair critics are so welcomed and cherished. For the few moments you take to review, it adds so much happiness to this lowly author, more than you could possibly imagine. My heartfelt appreciation.
Well, what did you think of the chapter? I loved writing it, and finally getting it done. My favorite part was the bathroom scene. I know . . . what am I thinking? . . . hehe. But I simply loved the devoted way Rose cleaned up her beloved friend. It is a true mark. Please review, my darlings. It is a time of giving, after all. ;)
I have most of the next chapter written, so the update won't be nearly as long. Give or take a week and a half. It is LONG and needs a fair bit of maintenance.
Until next time, I end this hideously long A.N. Love to all!
Updated: Sunday, 2 December 2012