Not Without A Fight
Annaleise Marie
Round Eight
AN: This story now officially has a soundtrack – the link is on my profile with the other OSTs. Pay special attention to "Calling You". It will be important later. /hint hint And if you listen to it, you'll find hints as to things that are going to happen in this story – for the little bit of advanced planning I've done, anyway. Haha. It's not finished yet, and I'm still planning to add more tracks, so remember to check in regularly!
Super-special love and thanks to babycyd94, who gave me a TON of inspiration for this chapter. Basically, she gave me like three plot points and then I filled out the detail and connected them. XD So much love to her!
This chapter is a special Thanksgiving edition, even for those of you who don't celebrate it, and I raced to get it out in time just to show you how thankful I am to you all. :3
And now, I'll stop rambling and just say: I own a tacky orange teapot that I couldn't resist even though I don't drink tea, but I do not own Twilight. That belongs to Stephenie Meyer.
---
RPOV
Solid.
Something's wrong with my mattress. It's turned into a rock overnight. Did I fall asleep on the floor? Or roll out of bed at some point? I feel like I would remember that. I flattened my palm against whatever was under me.
Warm.
I snuggled into whatever it was, enjoying the warmth radiating off of it as I ran my hand down it, trying to figure out without having to open my eyes to the punishing sun what the hell it was. As my nails raked over it, it shuddered a little, and the part of it that was wrapped around my shoulders tightened.
Safe.
I didn't know why, but even after I deduced that the thing was alive, I was okay with it. I felt secure.
I finally opened my eyes, trying to force them to adjust, blinking the blurriness out before looking up.
---
EPOV
Dammit, I thought as I slowly regained consciousness and realized that I wasn't alone in my bed. There was someone decidedly feminine practically wrapped around my body. Her leg was thrown over my hips, and she was laying half on top of me, one hand flat against my chest.
What did I do last night?
I didn't remember drinking. Had I been drinking? I couldn't say for sure but hell – this girl got here somehow. Her hand moved, her nails running down my chest to my stomach, and I couldn't help but shudder. Jesus fucking Christ.
Please dear God, don't let it be Lauren, I prayed as I slowly opened my eyes. Rosalie's were opening blearily to meet mine.
Rosalie?
"Oh, right," I muttered as I remembered. She looked confused. "How'd you sleep?" I asked, moving the arm that was around her shoulders and allowing her to disentangle herself. I couldn't think of anything else to say.
She didn't answer. She was staring at my alarm clock.
"It's eleven o'clock!" she suddenly shouted. Eleven... That meant we had slept something like sixteen hours.
"So I take it that means you slept well?" I asked. She glared at me.
"It means that we're three and a half hours late for school," she informed me before standing up and hurrying to the bathroom. She emerged less than a minute later in her jeans, setting my sweatpants down on the bed beside me. "What are you doing? Get ready! We're late!"
"Yeah, except it's Sunday," I said. She blinked at me.
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"No, it's not," she repeated as she took her cell phone out of her pocket and checked the display. "It's... Sunday," she said, sounding incredibly surprised. I laughed.
"So are you always this disoriented when you wake up?" I asked. She glared at me. Jeez. What a way to start the day. Don't I at least get a few moments of peace before the anger starts? "Come on, sit down, calm yourself. I'm going to go check and make sure Mom got up for work. I'll be right back."
She nodded and I got up, letting her take my place on the bed and making my way to my mom's room. She was gone, the bed made, and a note on the dresser.
Emmett—
Please remember to put the pictures back up and pack up those plastic cups. Also, could you please go to the hardware store and get a new shower door? The credit card is in the planter by the front door.
Love, Mom
Well, it looked like everything was back to normal. Mom's hiding the credit cards and pretending as if nothing of great interest happened. Order is restored to the McCarty household.
I went downstairs to dig the credit card out of the planter before going back to my room. Rosalie was just leaving when I got to the door.
"I should be going home," she said. "Jasper will be wondering what the hell happened to me."
"Yeah, I have errands to do today," I said. And then there was silence; that same tense silence that had filled the Jeep that first night when we got back from Port Angeles. Then, before I knew it, the moment passed and Rosalie was walking to the stairs.
Grow some balls, Emmett, I scolded myself.
Turns out I didn't need to. Rosalie had enough balls for both of us. She spun suddenly, stalking back to me. Her hand came up to pull my head down, but it didn't need to. I was already leaning down towards her, and just like the first time, when my lips met hers the world stopped for a second before it sped up again. And like a fucking girl, I got lost in the moment. We may have kissed for a few seconds, but then again it may have been a few hours. I wasn't sure anymore. She left me breathless, and by the time I could truly process that she had pulled away, she was disappearing down the stairs, throwing one last smile over her shoulder.
Holy shit.
---
RPOV
"Somebody's in trouble," Jasper muttered from the couch as I walked through the living room towards the stairs.
"What?" I asked
"Mom and Dad got home last night. They decided to come back for Thanksgiving before their next trip. And guess who wasn't here all night?" he said. I groaned. They would pick last night to come home. The one night in the last two weeks since they last stopped in between business trips that I wasn't at home.
"Where were you?" I heard my mother hiss and I spun around. Where the hell had she come from?
"Bella's," I answered automatically.
"You couldn't leave a note?" she asked.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't know you were coming home."
"Don't ever do that again. You scared us to death," she said and I nodded. "I mean it. If this happens again, you'll be coming with me and your father on our trips and I'll be homeschooling you."
You'd have to know my mom to realize just how much of a threat that really was.
"When did the Andersons get a dog?" she asked.
"What?"
"There's a big German Shepherd in their backyard."
"Oh. That's Emmett's dog, Nanuq," I said.
"Who's Emmett?" she asked.
"Emmett McCarty. He and his mom just moved in next door," I said. I guess she hadn't noticed the last time she had been in.
"Oh. We have new neighbours?" she asked, and I could practically see her itching to go peer through the kitchen windows at their house. My mom was something of a mix between Petunia Dursley, June Cleaver, and Emily Gilmore. A very frightening mix.
"Just the two of them," I said, shrugging.
"Why haven't I met them yet?"
"You haven't really been home. I mean, you guys stopped in once since they moved in, and it was only overnight," I said. She stared towards the window, looking thoughtful.
"You should invite them to dinner Thursday," she said. "Two people alone on Thanksgiving isn't very festive."
"Mom, you don't know that they're going to be alone. They may have family coming in or something," I said. As much as I would love for Emmett to come over, it was true that they might already have plans. And it would be kind of cruel to expose him to my mother.
"Oh, c'mon Rosalie," Jasper spoke up from the couch, smiling lazily. "Invite them." I glared at him and resisted the urge to flip him off. Because the parents were back and so was the self-censor.
"If they have people coming in, they can always say no," Mom said. "It's only polite to ask them."
Yeah right. She just didn't wanted to be the last on the block to know all about the new people. But there was no way out. I was going to have to at least ask. If Emmett was really lucky, his mom might decline the invitation.
Maybe I should wait until the last minute to say anything, and they'll already have plans.
---
EPOV
I didn't talk to Rosalie the next few days, but she made no attempt to contact me, either. I couldn't figure anything out. Was she just toying with me again? I felt like we had had some sort of cheesy-ass bonding moments on Saturday night but well, history with Rosalie shows that that doesn't always mean much.
I needed time to think. I didn't want to play these fucking games, if that's what they were. It were even affecting my fucking sleep. And as we all know, a sleep-deprived Emmett is not a pleasant Emmett. I had gone past the point of "I cannot process anything" and straight into "I am fucking pissed at the world" territories.
I tossed and turned all night, unable to stop my mind from racing. At times, I almost got offended. I am Emmett Fucking McCarty. I don't let things bother me. What was with this girl that she could fucking burrow into my mind and cause all of this shit?
"I haven't seen two people affect each other so much so quickly since me and Jasper."
Yeah. Fuck you, Alice. I don't want to be affected. I want to sleep.
I groaned and rolled over, contemplating asphyxiating myself with my pillow. At least if I passed out I could stop thinking about this shit. I heard somewhere that you cannot actually suffocate yourself unless you like, hang yourself. So it's not like I'd die.
Fuck this shit.
The doorbell rang. That fucking bastard contraption. I'm going to ignore it. Take that, doorbell!
My mom answered it. I could hear her. Way to undermine my authority, Mom. Now that fucking doorbell will never learn.
I'm going crazy. Rosalie Fucking Hale has literally driven me to the point of insanity.
I rolled out of bed and went to my door, sticking my head out to try and hear who was at the door. My mom's voice floated up from the kitchen, but I couldn't hear the other person, and I couldn't hear exactly what my mom was saying. I was going to have to venture down there.
I didn't want to venture down there. If I did, my mom would probably make me be social. And I didn't want to be social.
But I'm too damned nosy for that shit, so I found myself creeping down there and peeking around the kitchen doorway, hoping to find out who it was and then sneak away before they saw me. Because at six-foot-five, I am completely capable of being sneaky. Yeah. Right. Sure.
Even if I were sneaky, it wouldn't have helped, because I couldn't help but groan when I saw who was in the kitchen.
Rosalie Fucking Hale. Talking to my mother and drinking coffee like she wasn't the reason for any of my current problems.
My mom looked up when she saw me and motioned for me to come into the kitchen. I shook my head, starting to back out, until she gave me the patented get-your-butt-in-here-before-I-light-your-ass-on-fire look that only moms seem to be able to use.
"Emmett, have you met Rosalie yet?" Mom asked. I nearly laughed. But I'm Emmett Fucking McCarty and I was fucking cranky as shit at the moment.
"Yeah, we've met," I said, going to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water.
"Well, Rosalie's parents have invited us to dinner tonight," she said, sounding incredibly excited, considering she didn't even know Rosalie or her family. And considering the fact that we never make a big deal over Thanksgiving. I couldn't tell you the last time we did anything special for it. "Isn't that nice?"
"Oh yeah. Wonderful," I deadpanned. I expected Rosalie to glare at me, but no. She did something much worse. She bit her fucking lip and cast her eyes down at the table, looking fucking hurt.
Jesus fucking Christ. Even in my irritated state, I didn't want to hurt her.
"Emmett, be polite," she said warningly.
"I should be going," Rosalie said quietly, scooting her chair away from the table. "I'll tell my parents to expect you around five."
"Sounds great," my mom said cheerfully. I rolled my eyes and she shot me a look so brutal that I nearly expected to feel physical pain. She waited until she heard the front door shut before she started in. "What is wrong with you?" she hissed.
"Nothing. I just don't see why we have to be all buddy-buddy with our neighbours," I said, shrugging.
"Because they're nice people!"
"Mom, you don't even know them," I said. Her nostrils flared. That was never a good sign.
"There is nothing wrong with making friends with the neighbours," she said.
"Except the fact that in a few months we'll be packing up and getting a whole new set," I pointed out.
"Emmett," she said, rubbing her eyes as if to stave off a headache. "We're going to their house this afternoon. And you are going to be pleasant. You are going to smile. You are going to compliment the food, and our hosts. And you are going to be nice to Rosalie, especially, because you were incredibly rude to her just now."
I nearly snorted. If only she knew half of the story. Rosalie and her damned misleading hurt-puppy look.
"Now go upstairs and get ready," she said. I turned and walked out of the kitchen, nearly making it all the way upstairs before she added, "And you are going to look nice!"
Of course I'm going to look nice. Because I'm Emmett Fucking McCarty, and I would be a sexy beast even if I were wearing nothing more than a trash bag.
I got the feeling I probably shouldn't say that to her, though.
---
At five o'clock on the dot, my mom and I were standing on the Hale's doorstep, my mom carrying a fucking pumpkin pie in one of our Tupperware containers like she hadn't bought it from the fucking bakery. She made me wear a tie. I couldn't fucking breathe. Not because the tie was too tight. I just don't like having things around my neck. It bothers me. I want to hunt down the bastard who invented these things and strangle him with one.
Dear God, this was going to be a long evening.
Rosalie answered the door and I nearly whimpered. My nerves were shot and I would not be able to deal with looking at her all night like that. This was definitely going to be a long evening. She was wearing a little black dress and dear god, this thing was neck-and-neck with... well, most of what I'd ever seen her wear. It was almost better than seeing her in my sweatpants. And the truly mind-fucking thing about it was that it was probably the most modest little black dress in the world. It was simple, with a square neckline and a slightly flared skirt that came down almost to her knees.
There was absolutely nothing amazingly sexy about this dress.
But Rosalie in this dress was fucking torture.
Because I was wearing slacks, and you can't hide anything for shit in slacks, and I really did not need to be pitching a tent all through dinner. I looked away from her, trying to calm my nerves. Okay. Not looking at her helped. I might survive if I just didn't look at her. Okay.
"Hi, Ms. McCarty," Rosalie greeted warmly and I nearly snorted. Sure. Cause she's always that warm and fuzzy. "Emmett," she added, all traces of warmth gone as she looked at me. I really did snort that time. Atta girl, Rosie, go back to your true form.
"Emmett," my mom said warningly. I rolled my eyes. "Hi, Rosalie. Thanks again for inviting us," she continued, turning away from me again. "We brought a pie."
And I carried a fucking watermelon.
Wow, I really am being bitchy. This is a first. And quoting chick flicks. Rosalie really has driven me crazy.
Dinner was pretty uneventful. Alice, thankfully, monopolized most of the conversation, and oddly – considering she had gone through all of the trouble of inviting us – Rosalie's mom seemed fairly unconcerned about getting to know us. Which was good because I had already somehow earned two pinches to my leg from Mom for somehow being rude. I call it distant, as I was being distracted by Rosalie fucking rubbing my other leg under the table. What kind of game was this?
I tried to ignore it, but after having to surreptitiously adjust myself in my pants for the second time – because fuck, I may be annoyed but she was still fucking moving higher on my thigh each minute that passed – I was ready to snap. I became vaguely aware that if my mom went to pinch my leg again and happened to look down this time, she would see exactly what was going on and that shit just didn't fly.
"So, Emmett, how are you liking Forks?" Mrs. Hale asked, turning her attention to me for the first time since Rosalie had started that shit. I had to work to force myself to talk without stuttering.
"It's not bad," I said vaguely.
"But not the big city life that you're used to," she added. I nearly laughed.
"I've lived in all sorts of places," I said. "This is no different."
If there is no other way to bring the conversation to a grinding halt, vague answers will do it. After awhile people just can't think of any other questions.
I reached under the table as subtly as I could and grabbed Rosalie's hand as it drifted even higher, glaring at her. Really, I had had fathers chase me down before for messing with their daughters, and Rosalie's father didn't exactly look like a joke. She smiled a little but withdrew her hand before standing up calmly.
"I'll clean up," she volunteered quietly, gathering a few of the dishes around her.
"Emmett will help you," my mom volunteered me, pinching my leg under the trouble. Dammit, my legs had undergone enough abuse during this meal. That shit needed to stop. But I'm supposed to be pleasant, so I resisted informing her that like hell I'll be helping, and stood up, gathering more plates and then following Rosalie to the kitchen. She sat her load of dishes on the counter and then hoisted herself up beside them, sitting on the counter, her legs crossed, as she looked at me.
"What the hell is your problem?" she demanded.
"I don't have a problem," I said calmly. "Clearly you're imagining things."
"Bullshit," she spat. "You're walking around here in a pissy mood, glaring at everyone, acting like a smart ass... That's my job, and I guarantee you that I am better at it than you. Now what's going on?"
"I'm so fucking tired of your fucking games," I said, bracing my hands on the edge of the counter on either side of her, my face close to hers.
"My games?"
"This whole, fucking around, 'now I like you, now I don't' bullshit," I said.
"What are you talking about? You're the one who didn't call or come over or anything over the last week," she said. I wanted to bash my head against the counter.
"Neither did you!"
"I was trying to save you from having to come over here today! I figured if I waited, you guys would have plans," she said, glaring at me. "I wouldn't purposefully subject you to my parents."
"We never have plans on Thanksgiving," I said.
"How was I supposed to know that?" she asked.
"You didn't ask! That's the point! You pulled the same on-and-off shit you pulled the first time!"
"The shit I pulled? You're the one who went out and fucked Lauren Mallory three days later!"
"I believe you've already punished me for that," I said. She narrowed her eyes at me. "All I want to know is, what sort of game are you trying to play, because I want in on the rules, and how long are you planning to play it?"
"I'm not playing any games," she spat.
"So you expect me to believe that you were really just trying to protect me from meeting your parents?"
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "God dammit, you're stupid."
"This whole fucking situation," I said, stepping back and gesturing into the space around us as though the situation had a physical form that was filling the room, "is stupid."
The next second I was being pulled forward by my tie and suddenly I fucking loved that tie, because Rosalie was looking at me fiercely, the silk wrapped around her hand, and fuck, that look on her face was one of the sexiest fucking things I'd ever seen. Actually, Rosalie was now occupying nine of the spots on the list of the ten sexiest things I had ever encountered.
"Do-over," she hissed.
"What?"
"If you insist that I'm playing some sort of game, I want a do-over," she said.
"Is that like a reset button?"
"Yes," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Well..." I said, at a loss for words. "Okay then."
Her lips crashed against mine as her grip on my tie tightened and I might have fucking growled but I wasn't sure. I forgot where I was. In that moment it was just Rosalie and me, and she was fucking pressed against me, my hips pressed between her thighs and fuck, if she had only been sitting a little closer to the edge of the counter. I was harder than I had been through dinner and had she been close enough, I have no doubt that I would have had to try very hard to resist burying myself in her right there in the kitchen because dear God, she had moved to my neck and was alternating between nipping sharply at the skin there and soothing it with her lips and tongue and my hands were moving up her thighs and under her skirt, exploring the soft, smooth skin and tracing over the edge of her lace panties until—
"Are you two out of your fucking minds?"
I've never moved so fast in my life as when I backed away at the sound of that voice, fully prepared to have to outrun her father and quite possibly jump an eight-foot-tall privacy fence before sicking Nan on him. Not that it would work, knowing the stupid dog,and I got the feeling that whether or not it worked, the sentiment wouldn't go over well with Mr. Hale.
It took me a moment to realize that it had been Jasper. He was standing in the doorway, holding a stack of desert plates and staring at us like he had never seen anything as audacious in his life.
"Fuck, Jasper, you scared me," Rosalie hissed. "I thought you were Dad."
"You're lucky I wasn't!" he exclaimed. "You know how they feel about you and Royce."
"You and Royce?" I asked, looking at Rosalie. She was turning red as she glared at Jasper.
"Jasper, shut up," she hissed.
"They would have a shit fit if they thought you were cheating on him," Jasper continued, slamming the desert plates down on the counter before turning to me. "You need to go home," he said.
"I'm not going anywhere until I find out what the hell's going on here," I said calmly, still looking at Rosalie. "Because see, I was under the impression that you weren't dating Royce."
"Hey Emmett," Alice called out, coming into the kitchen. "Can I borrow you for a second?"
"Alice—" I started and she cut me off, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the back door.
"Really? I can? Super," she said grimly. I heard Jasper and Rosalie start arguing as the door shut and Alice turned to look at me, her hands on her hips. "Well, that could have gone better," she said cheerfully.
"What's going on here, Alice?" I asked slowly. She screwed her face up in thought.
"Okay. It's like this. Treat it like a soap opera when you hear it," she started and I nearly groaned. Could no one just give me a straight answer? "So once there was a fair maiden named Rosalie Hale, who was beautiful and poised and loved by all, even though she was mean and snippy and never talked to anyone except her brother, Sir Jasper, his beautiful girlfriend, Lady Alice, and her childhood friend named Lady Bella.
"So one day Rosalie's parents decided that she should court the young Prince Royce, because it would be in the best interest for the family in this economy, with the price of meat what it is and all that. But Prince Royce was a bad man, and did bad things to Rosalie. She tried to keep it quiet but one day Sir Jasper's beautiful girlfriend, Lady Alice, discovered the secret, and Sir Jasper chased Prince Royce off. Rosalie vowed never to see Prince Royce again, but he kept popping up and bugging her.
"Until one day, when a handsome dark knight from a land far away moved in next door, and in all of his shining armor saved her once more from the evil Prince Royce. But of course Rosalie's parents knew nothing about this because they were away visiting neighbouring lands when it all went down. So they still think that they're together." Alice looked at me expectantly once she had finished her story.
"That doesn't sound like a soap opera. It sounds like a fairy tale," I said. She rolled her eyes.
"What is a fairy tale but a medieval soap opera?" she asked. "Were you even listening to the story?"
"What did he do to her?" I asked. Alice hadn't been super-specific about that. All she had said was that Royce did 'bad things' to Rosalie.
"That's Rosalie's story to tell," Alice said, looking at me apologetically. "I just want you to understand the general story, and that she's not lying to you, but you cannot be in there yelling about how they broke up. It's Rosalie's right to explain it when and how she wants to."
"Okay, fine," I said. "Just one last thing."
"What?"
"Why does Royce get to be the prince? Maybe I want to be the prince," I teased.
"Oh come on. Everyone knows that the prince is just a figurehead. The knight is the real hero. And the hero always gets the girl in the end," Alice explained before her expression darkened and she reached up to smack me over the back of the head.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"For being an idiot! Have a little faith in the fair maiden!" she said before skipping off.
---
I'm pacing. Fucking pacing. As a general rule, I don't ask girls things. I'm nosy, and not knowing things drive me crazy, but still, I don't usually push people for answers that they don't want to give. Not on big things, anyway.
But this, I have to figure out.
I can guess. I can make what I'd be willing to bet are some pretty damned good guesses, at that. Rosalie's reaction when I put Nan out Saturday, for example, and Alice's explanation that Royce did 'very bad things' to Rosalie. Just the two of those combined could provide some pretty solid conclusions.
Details. It was the details I wanted to know. Not in a sick way – I don't get off on how women are abused – but so that I knew how to kill Royce; if I should do it quickly, just for the sake of being gone, or if I should make him suffer.
I tried to tell myself that I would do this in any circumstances, and not just because it was Rosalie. I tried to tell myself over and over that Rosalie was just another conquest, something to occupy my time while I was here, to be quickly forgotten when I inevitably left.
Even I knew that wasn't true. And that fact made me want to make solid contact with the wall with my head. What about her allowed her to burrow under my skin like this?
I looked over at my window to see the light on in her room. Her window was open. In fucking November. In the Olympic Peninsula. What the fuck?
Convenient, though.
I opened my window and leaned out.
"Rosalie," I half-whispered. No need to alert her parents to the fact that I was yelling into their daughter's bedroom window. After a few seconds she appeared, looking surprised.
"What?"
"Come over here," I said. She raised an eyebrow as though she couldn't imagine why I would want her to come over. "We need to talk."
---
AN: I've heard that some people do not dress up for Thanksgiving. That's not how we do it in my house, though, and that's why the charas are looking all snazzy. I will, in fact, have to do it by the time you guys are reading this. I have a snazzy wine-coloured skirt and a black sweater set. Now, I know that most of you don't actually know me, but I don't do sweater sets. D:
So, I looked at my stats today and saw that this story has been added to the "Diamonds on Black Velvet" C2. It's a pretty awesome community for J/A, E/R, etc. pairings, and it's full of awesome stories, so I'm really happy to be a part of it. Thank you to whoever added me! :D
Also, there is not enough nicotine in the free world to make dealing with my family bearable.
And now... /bribes reviewers with a Thanksgiving dinner and footsy under the table.