Disclaimer: Don't own it, just get a kick out of writing about it. Thanks Stephenie!
Stopping was no longer an option. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't fight the invisible tether holding me to her.
I succumbed to it completely, especially when I saw my words register in her head. All at once, her thoughts started to change from brutal denial to acceptance, because no matter how hard she fought it, there was an infinitesimal piece of her that wanted everything I was giving her at that moment. Comfort. Security. Release.
"Quit fighting it, Rose," I whispered in her ear as I pulled her back down to me, hugging her tightly to my chest as I covered her cheek with reassuring kisses. The maelstrom of emotions plaguing her mind kept shifting with every touch of my lips. As I continued to try and allay the overwhelming stress inside her head, I realized just how much I was able to empathize with her at that moment. How often had I felt the same way, tormented by too many self-imposed expectations of what I should be doing versus what I truly wanted to do? The onslaught of guilt and self-deprecation mixed with an unhealthy dose of generalized fear and apprehension was palatable….maybe if I helped rid her of all of it, freeing her mind and soul, she could find some sort of happiness. Maybe by helping her, I could help myself.
Her shoulders tensed as a particularly powerful wave of doubt flooded her thoughts. Responding immediately to the tension, I reached up with one hand to push the back of her head firmly against my neck as I repeatedly murmured, "Let it go. Just let it go."
It took a few minutes for my words to truly comfort her, but eventually I felt the tightness throughout her back and neck slowly begin to dissipate. As I continued to stroke her hair in reassurance, her thoughts finally started to shift to a better frame of mind. I could sense a tiny sliver of contentment deep within her, begging to show itself – and then I felt her warm lips against my neck.
Rosalie had kissed me numerous times, but it was always driven by some overpowering emotion that caused her over-aggressive behavior. Dissatisfaction. Resentment. Occasionally newborn lust. Each of them had taken over her psyche and drove her to act out, seeking some kind of release from the mounting pressure. I was used to those heated moments between us, and often welcomed them, because more times than not I shared her disgruntlement and knew no better way to dispel it.
However, this time it was different. She kissed me almost reverently as her gentle mouth caressed my skin. For a fleeting moment I was absolutely terrified; afraid to acknowledge what her scrambled mind and body were obviously indicating. She needs you. But I heeded my own advice and refused to let my fears rule my reactions. Her touch felt good, right. It was my own, personal tourniquet applied to my lifeless heart – the only thing that made the future seem the least bit tolerable.
I now had a purpose – I would be Rosalie's pillar of understanding. It felt surprisingly good to put a label on our relationship at long last, and gave me the outlet to focus on something other than our morose existence.
For several seconds, I allowed myself to bask in her pleasurable affections, clearing my own mind and concentrating only on the sensation of her body on top of mine – until I saw her thoughts change again, fixating specifically on me as she shifted her weight and pulled away from my embrace.
What's wrong?
"Nothing." I leaned back to study her expression, and to show her I was speaking the truth.
Rosalie's brow was creased, the tension from before evident in the tightened skin around her eyes.
Why are you looking at me that way?
"What way?"
She rolled her eyes, pushing herself further apart from me to almost a kneeling position. "Tell me what you're thinking, Edward."
I pursed my lips together out of habit, and debated her request. Despite the sudden clarity in our relationship, I still balked at the thought of opening myself completely to her. It was one thing to act as her sounding board – but it was another to let her into my head.
"Nothing of consequence." It wasn't a lie, but she still didn't believe me, and sighed loudly in protest.
You are such an infuriating creature, Edward.
Ignoring the cantankerous acidity in her thought, I pushed her back until she was sitting on my lap. I sat up, wrapped my arms around her waist and hugged her tightly. "As are you, Rose."
I felt her tense, ready to push me away, but before she had the chance, I buried my face in her intoxicating hair and inhaled deeply. She involuntarily shuddered as I stroked her back, letting myself revert back to instinctual mode as I held her in my arms.
"We can get along if we try," I said softly. Again, the thought of helping her made me feel strangely optimistic and hopeful.
Just because I let you into my mind?
I shook my head, then kissed her cheek again. "Let me help you."
"I don't need your help." She didn't pull away.
"Quit arguing for the sake of arguing."
Rosalie leaned into me, resting her chin on my shoulder. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
I shrugged and fought back a smile. "Who said I was?"
I thought you didn't like games, Edward.
Instead of answering her, I pulled back just far enough so I could stare into her eyes. She was so incredibly beautiful – how could there be so much strife beneath the exquisiteness of her body? Unwillingly, my thoughts went to Royce. How had he treated her before the attack? Had she never been truly respected, but rather put on a pedestal, loved only for her attractiveness and used to decorate his shallow, upper-class existence?
"I'm sorry," I said sincerely. "Friends?"
She snorted and narrowed her eyes. "You still didn't answer my question."
A devious smirk overtook my expression as I started to realize that I actually enjoyed the playful banter between us. Although I was quickly coming to terms with our inevitable attraction to one another, the sarcastic repartee was much easier to deal with, and provided a more comfortable outlet through which to express myself. And even if she'd never admit to it, I knew Rosalie's nature tended to circumvent direct confrontation regarding her perplexing emotions as well. Still, I resorted to trying out a different approach – maybe brute honesty was what she needed to hear.
"I don't want to play games with you, Rose. I meant it before when I said I'd be here for you."
As I expected, she faltered at my words, her eyes darting to the right, seeking out recluse. "I don't need you," she whispered, but there was no conviction in her words.
I leaned in, resting my forehead on hers. As I suspected, she didn't pull away.
"I'm here when you do."
Rosalie's mind was reeling, frantically trying to build a wall to keep me out, but it no longer mattered if she purposely pushed me out of her head – I had seen enough to know the truth. And now she just needed time to sort through all of it on her own.
Gently, I reached under her arms to lift her off of my lap. I had expected her to protest against my actions, but she was too absorbed in her own thoughts to fight back. As I rose to my feet, her gaze never faltered – she continued to stare off into the distance.
"I'll be at the house."
Without a second glance, I walked away, leaving her sitting in the soft grass.
"You seem to be in quite a happy mood."
Esme was across the room, hanging new curtains over the large, bay window. She had come downstairs to work upon hearing me take a seat in front of the piano.
I continued to play, the notes of the cheerful Mozart sonata ringing like chimes throughout the house. Eventually, I responded after considering how best to answer the question. Carlisle was upstairs, and no doubt listening for my response as well. "Yes, I suppose so."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her turn towards me, a huge smile on her face.
Are things better between you and Rosalie?
I frowned as my pinky finger slipped off the A-sharp, causing a dissonant note to sound. How should I answer her? For a split second, I suspected maliciousness in her silent question – why not ask it out loud? But after thinking it through, I realized she wasn't doing it consciously. Plus, her expression clearly indicated she was only curious, and hopeful that my emotions were, at least temporarily, appeased.
Taking a deep breath, I steadied my voice and spoke as honestly as I could without betraying Rosalie's wishes. "They're not worse."
Esme nodded, still smiling as she slowly turned away to resume her work.
She's had a hard time these past few months.
"Yes, she has."
Have you talked to her?
"A little." Again, it was technically the truth – no sense giving Esme too much hope, which could cause the modest amount of progress we had made to go up in smoke.
I heard Esme delicately cross the living room, pausing behind me and resting a hand on my shoulder. "There can be peace and happiness between any two people, despite their differences, if they both agree to work at it."
If she only knew, I thought to myself. The olive branch had been extended – it was now up to Rosalie to accept it.
As I finished the sonata, I heard Carlisle descend the stairs. Esme left my side and joined him across the room, the two having one of their silent conversations as they gazed lovingly into one another's eyes. I made a pointed effort to stay out of their heads, affording them privacy that they never asked for, but categorically deserved. However, I could still sense absolute tranquility coming from both of them without me reading their thoughts. It swept over me in waves, furthering my resolve to help Rosalie through her internal struggles and find some absolution in this new life.
I rose from the piano bench and strolled to the bookshelf, selecting a Scarlatti anthology to play from. Just as I returned to my seat and chose a piece, I heard her call to me.
Edward…
Her voice was distant; she was still a few miles away, but presumably heading towards the house. Not wanting to distract Carlisle and Esme from their non-verbal exchange, I refrained from answering her, instead listening acutely for her approach.
But I heard no further thoughts – in fact, she blocked me from her mind as soon as I detected her footsteps in the nearby forest. Swallowing back a faint trickle of annoyance, I began to play, losing myself in the scales and runs of the sonata, though I was still scanning her mind repeatedly, waiting anxiously for the mental wall to crumble.
When she got within a half-mile of the house, Carlisle and Esme moved towards the front door. Their bodies were in perfect synch with each another – it was as if they were one being. Of course, their thoughts were in tandem as well.
Rosalie is coming home!
She approached steadily, neither concealing her arrival nor accentuating it. I continued to play as if her entrance was nothing extraordinary, thus allowing Carlisle and Esme to act as the welcoming committee. Rosalie would not appreciate my added attention, I was sure.
As Carlisle opened the front door to receive her, the wall around her thoughts suddenly came plummeting down.
He can play the piano?
I had completely forgotten that I had never performed in front of her – actually, anywhere within earshot of her before now. I just assumed she knew the piano was mine. Apparently, she had no idea.
"Rosalie, you're home!" I could hear Esme throw her arms around Rosalie, embracing her warmly. Carlisle chucked at his wife's enthusiasm, but as soon as the two women released one another, he stepped forward to do the same. The thoughts of our parent-figures were overwhelming – the unadulterated joy coming from both of them was nearly tangible, and I half-expected Rosalie's mind to shift in that direction as the two of them steered her inside. But her thoughts were centered on only one thing. Me.
Why didn't you tell me you played?
Very slowly, I shrugged in response. Frankly, I didn't see what the big deal was – lots of people were able to play the piano. Why was my talent so different?
Carlisle and Esme were chattering away, but all I could hear were Rosalie's thoughts as I neared the end of the piece.
I remember that song – I played it years ago.
I nearly stumbled on the last few measures – Rosalie played too?
Finishing the piece, I pivoted on the bench, facing her with my jaw agape. "You used to play the piano?"
She took a step towards me, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure I still can."
I sat frozen in my seat as she approached, regarding her expression carefully.
May I?
Nodding, I stood up and stepped aside, motioning for her to take a seat in front of the keyboard. Behind her, Carlisle and Esme stood transfixed, watching our exchange in awe. They hadn't known of her talent either.
Rosalie gracefully lowered herself on the bench, adjusting it with ease. She thumbed through my anthology quickly, but closed it, not finding any piece to her liking. Her mind was still open and absolutely intriguing as she shuffled through hundreds of memories of piano recitals, practices, and holidays during which she had performed. The recollections flitted through her head like falling leaves from a tree; sporadically, and without any set chronological order. Finally, she settled upon one, and for a brief second I saw an intricate passage of notes stretching across an old piece of sheet music. But before I could read the name of the composer, the memory was gone, and Rosalie placed her hands upon the keys, preparing to begin.
I recognized the song immediately – it was an arrangement of the Nutcracker Suite by Tchaikovsky. Rosalie performed The Waltz of the Flowers animatedly, adjusting quickly to her newfound vampiric speed and strength as she played. The three of us stood absolutely still, watching in wonder as she increased the tempo and easily transitioned into Trepak.
In much too short a span of time, she finished, stilling her hands upon the keys and staring at them curiously. I was reminded of the first time I had played after being changed – the sensation of the ivory keys under my fingertips, and the exponentially greater detail of each note's timbre upon my enhanced ears that left me marveling at the sophisticated instrument. It had driven me to seek out every piece of music I could find, just to hear a fresh combination of chords and melodies coming from my fingers. I could see the same fascination growing in her mind as she regarded the Steinway with a sense of pride.
"That was amazing, Rosalie! To think, we now have two virtuosos in the house!" Esme couldn't hide her enthusiasm.
Carlisle began to applaud, and very gradually, Rosalie stood from the bench and turned to face them.
"Thank you," she muttered sheepishly, looking up through her eyelashes and causing Esme to rush forward with her arms open.
I watched the three of them embrace again, until Rosalie finally stepped back. Very slowly she turned to face me, her expression still one of bashfulness and uncertainty.
But there was nothing shy in the thought she sent me. Avidity dripped from every word, and I felt a pool of venom form in my mouth.
We need to talk.
AN: I've noticed that there's some confusion about what's going on between Edward and Rosalie. I'd be more than happy to give some more insight into both of their thoughts and actions on the "Betrothed" discussion thread on Twilighted, because honestly, Edward isn't sharing everything (he loves to edit!). You can find the link in my profile!
And reviews are always appreciated – thanks!
