Chapter summary: You know, there should be a 'vampire handbook'. Do's and Don't's. Like: 1. Don't say the 'V' word, 2. Bring spare pads, and 3. Never-never-never bet on anything. Especially a sure-win bet. I wish I had read that handbook before now.
Rosalie stood over me as I sat on the bed, right hand extended, daring me to bet on the silliest thing: that she could toss her coat across the table and have it land on the chair again. I so wanted to take her up on her offer, just to prove that there was something she couldn't do perfectly twice in a row, but ...
"But ... but I haven't got any money." In fact, I didn't have anything at all to wager. Everything I had came from Rosalie. What could she possibly want from me? What could I possibly offer?
As she tilted her head to one side, raising her offered hand to her chin, tapping her index finger against her lips, I realized there was one thing I did have that she very much desired. I regretted my outburst, yes, but now I regretted what it precipitated, because she may be proud of being a Hale and all, but I had my own pride, too. I knew I wouldn't back down from whatever she was planning. I wasn't a chicken.
It didn't stop me wishing that I could be a chicken now, because I saw crafty look steal across her face as she dropped her hand.
"Sevin secondz." she smirked. A smirk that said that she just couldn't wait for me to back down.
Seven seconds. I wouldn't die if she sucked my blood for seven seconds, would I? I didn't understand why sucking my blood for seven seconds was a wager worth having for her, though. Didn't she just steal my soul and take out blood from my body? From the lack of light outside it seemed that she could have done that for a lot longer than seven seconds. Maybe the blood tasted better with the soul still there? Maybe vampires got a thrill out of sucking the blood out of an aware victim? Maybe ... maybe she wanted me to know that she was sucking out my blood as she did it! I shuddered, but I think I could handle it. All I had to do was count to seven, and it would be over.
I could handle anything for seven seconds, I figured.
But, wait. Why did "seven seconds" sound familiar somehow? Where had I heard "seven seconds" before?
Then I gasped, for I remembered where I had heard, and seen, "seven seconds" before.
...
It was at a Friday Fish Fry. I was fifteen, and it was a nice warm June evening. The older kids had gone inside the town hall, and us younger kids were told to keep the Hell out. So I snuck in.
I was already Nancy Drew, Jr. by then, you see.
I saw them in the basement of the main hall, gathered in a corner. They were drinking, they were talking, they had a phonograph playing peppy music, some of the boys were smoking! I even saw a couple of the girls smoking! I couldn't believe it: how brazen! A few couples where dancing the Charleston (trends trickled in from Back East slowly: this was Ekalaka, and not only did you need to adjust for daylight savings time, but you had to "set your clock back 10 years" as the "Welcome to Ekalaka" sign proudly proclaimed), and there was playing of games. Some of the kids were playing "spin the bottle" ... and some were playing "seven seconds in Heaven".
I didn't know it was called "seven seconds in Heaven" at the time, but I did see, from my concealed position, what happened. Jan Widmann picked Kristen Kuntz and her current beau George Gnass, and pointed to the WC, as George passed Jan, I saw him palm Jan a quarter.
A whole quarter.
I was shocked at how much money so clandestinely changed hands — where did he get all that money? — but I was even more shocked when I saw George follow Kristen into the WC, and close the door.
I almost revealed my presence, but I bit down hard on my scream and covered my mouth to muffle the gasps. My beating heart I couldn't control, and I was afraid the pounding of it would give me away, even though I was all the way across the hall.
Second after second passed, and still the door remained closed. Finally, after forever, Jan began pounding on the door.
"George," he called, barking with laughter, "it's seven seconds, not seventy seconds!"
Still nothing from the closed door, and this attracted the attention of more of the kids, with girls making comments and more boys pounding on the door and laughing.
I felt sick, I was afraid I would faint dead away. What were they doing in there? Were they holding hands? Were they ... hugging? I gasped when a new thought occurred to me. Were they ... oh, my God! ... were they kissing?
They couldn't be kissing! You could only kiss after you were married.
The door opened with a bang, and George came out first, looking as proud as a peacock. Then came Kristen. She looked slightly embarrassed and her hair was in ever-so-slight disarray from what I thought at the time was perfection, and her ankle-length dress (one of those expensive ones straight from Sears: Joan Bradley's Fast Color for a whole dollar!) was just the slightest bit askew.
In my nervousness, I knocked a book off the table I was leaning against, and the bigger kids attention shifted toward where I would've been. 'Would have been' because I never knew I could run that fast — I think I ran Rosalie-fast — and for the rest of that fish fry I did not leave Pa's side, even though he tried to shoo me away, claiming he was boring me with talk of work.
Why is it that grown-ups need to stand around with a beer in their hand with people that they've been working with all day and talk about work?
I didn't care. Law and order in Carter County was a much safer topic to be listening to and to be thinking about than what I had just seen.
...
Rosalie didn't need to take my blood for seven seconds, for she knew she could have that any time she wanted. All she needed to do is to suck out my soul, and she could have much blood for as long as she liked.
No, Rosalie wanted to have her way with me for those seven seconds.
I swallowed hard and looked up to her. She was looking down at me, waiting for my answer.
She wanted to have her way with me, she wanted me to acquiesce, and she was using my slip to make me agree to it.
But ... but wasn't this what I wanted? I looked at her again, and then I looked away, trying, unsuccessfully, to hide my blush. God! Why did she have to say my blush is a sexual invitation!
It isn't, ... okay?
I didn't actually know what I wanted. I wanted her to like me. I wanted her to love me. But what did that involve? I mean, what did that involve more than "Oh, I like you." or "Oh, I love you." Maybe, I thought, she'd, you know, hold me, like when I was crying before? Maybe she'd smile at me sometimes? Maybe she'd be nice to me, kind to me, like when I got the royal treatment for lunch today ...
... just before the grand interrogation,
... just before the soul sucking.
I didn't know. Thinking about what I wanted from her made me realize that I didn't know what I wanted from her ... what I wanted from ... from ... from I don't know what to call this. I thought there was nothing between us, but then why would she want "seven seconds" if she didn't care about me in any way? Did she care about me? I don't know. I don't know!
All the other girls in town my age would know. They all had beaux, they were all finishing school to settle down and to get married and to raise a family and to take over their family farms. But not me. The whole idea of "husband" and "babies" was just something I never really considered. The reason I "graduated" early — well, actually left school early — wasn't because of a fella, it was because I already knew more than all the teachers there did, and I wasn't interested in playing the games that the other kids in school played. It wasn't that I didn't like other people, just the opposite: they didn't like me. I was too quiet, and when I did speak, I always said the wrong thing. And I wasn't good at pretending to play along in the gossipy, and, well, just mean games that the other girls in school played. And the boys? Well, it would be too easy, and actually wrong, to say they only had one thing on their minds, but they never really interested me, and, honestly, they weren't really interested in me, either ... well, they mostly weren't interested in me. There was that one time last April.
...
Pa was always going to the baseball games: the "Carter County Bulldogs" games. And, of course, I had to go along with him or I'd get the "show your support" lecture, and he'd make me go anyway. Not that I'd ever play baseball or softball ... are you kidding? Here, Bella, swing this stick at this projectile moving at high speed toward your head. Or: here, Bella, catch this projectile moving toward your head at high speed. No, thank you. But I had to watch the games, "showing" my "support" for the local league.
Frank Widmann, Jan's younger brother, was at bat. He was one year younger than me, but he looked older, or I looked younger, or both. He was a wiry kid, almost skinny, but when his bat connected with the ball ... well, Amelia Earhart could have used that ball to fly the Atlantic. When he hit, he hit the ball hard, and the pitchers respected that in him.
Well, this time he struck out. He didn't swing at the obviously bad pitches — he had the rep that he'd swing at anything, but he didn't — but he still swung a lot, and this time he struck out. Instead of returning to the dugout, he trotted over to the stands ... to where we were sitting.
"Sheriff Swan," Frank touched his cap to Pa and sat next to me, looking out at the diamond.
"So," he said, "it's Bella, right?"
I nodded, confused. I looked over at Pa. He was watching the game, but he looked a bit nervous ... and a bit relieved. I filed that image away to think about later.
Of course, Frank wasn't looking at me, so he couldn't see my yes, so I had to say it out loud.
"How're you? Enjoying the game?" he asked politely.
I didn't bother to answer the second question. Watching baseball: that was right up there with watching paint dry, but I answered his first one, to return the politeness: "Um, I'm fine, thanks." Then I waited.
For nothing. See, that the thing about boys in Ekalaka, and I'd guess about boys anywhere. You can't hold a conversation with them. It's like they're from a different world. I guess it wasn't his fault. I guess it wasn't the fault of boys in general, either ... or girls. The fault was mine. I just didn't relate to anybody. Nobody held my interest until the Hales, no, the Cullens, came to town. I couldn't relate to other people, because they had nothing interesting or smart to say or to listen to. I could just see them tune out as soon as I opened my mouth to say anything that wasn't trite. But then Edward came along, and boy, was he interesting and smart! And interested in me. And then Rosalie came along, and she seems interested in me, for some reason which I don't understand, because if I thought Edward was smart ... well, with Rosalie I found out what smart really was! At least with Edward I thought I could hold my own and not feel so stupid, so inadequate, so enthralled, like I feel around Rosalie.
I didn't relate to people; no, I related to vampires of all things. There's only one reason for that; only one explanation: it's because I'm a freak!
But I didn't know that yet in the baseball stands, and Frank was just sitting there, so I had to volunteer something.
"I'm sorry you struck out ..." and then I winced. Nice, I thought. That sure was great of me to show him in a bad light, wasn't it?
But Frank seemed not to mind. "Ah, you hit some, you miss some. The thing for me is, you've just got to keep swinging."
Then he had to go: the inning changed hands, the "Custer County Cowboys" were at bat now, and Frank played third base for the home team. Go Bulldogs! Pa shouted something about a double play. I guess that was a good thing, so I smiled with him.
I wondered about Frank, but, less than a week later, he was with Susie Swanson, who was one year younger than him. Susie Swanson! As if she had the brains to ... no, I shouldn't think that, because they looked happy together. I guess Frank struck out with me, but he kept swinging.
Besides that one incident, I didn't think much about boys. I had other things to do with my life, specifically: help Pa. He had a big county to run, and he couldn't do that and keep house. I told him a year earlier I was quitting school to help, and, boy, did he throw a conniption! If I knew he was going to react like that, I could have sold tickets. He pushed me off my plan until I was sixteen, but then I came home anyway, before my junior year started. What was he going to do? Throw me in the clink like he threatened? I wasn't truant anymore, and besides, he'd have three times the work: taking care of me in the county jail, and then taking care of the house and the horses on top of all the county work.
And what was I going to do with a high school diploma? Get a job? In Ekalaka? Like they needed to see a lamb skin: you could do the work, or you couldn't, and no piece of paper changed that. Besides, there was the Depression on: nobody was getting jobs anywhere these days, diploma or no.
...
Yeah, I wasn't like anybody else my age: I wasn't settling down, because I had already settled down, but not like what they were planning. But that also meant I had no idea about situations like this. I didn't even know a situation like this one even existed, and I'm not talking about Rosalie being a vampire, and all ... although that certainly made things very different, too, I bet.
I bet. There I go again, getting myself into more trouble, as always.
I needed time to figure out what was happening. But she wasn't giving me any time now. That look in her eyes was saying something different than "let's be nice", and it wasn't saying it patiently. I didn't know exactly what it was saying, but I knew how it made me feel. It made me feel a little bit scared. It made me feel that she was going to be a bit more forceful than holding my hand. Okay, maybe a lot more forceful, like having her way with me ... and that? Too fast. This was going too far too fast, and I wasn't ready for what she was going to be doing to me if she was going to be winning this bet. That is, doing whatever it was she was going to be doing to me in those seven seconds. The image of the slightly rumpled and dazed Kristen coming out of the WC flashed in front of me.
I blushed harder, stood up and stepped away from her, starting to shake my head in a no when I saw Rosalie's reaction: her smile turned from crafty to triumphant. The smile said one word to me — chicken! — and I saw red.
"Fine!" I shouted to her, "you're on!"
The smile got wider.
Whoops! What had I just done? I couldn't back out now, so she had better have been lucky just that one time, and not again, and I had better have some very big compensation to make her pay for putting me in this position.
"Wait a minute!" I exclaimed, and she paused, jaw hardening, looking like she was ready to fight me. I was willing to bet she was thinking I was going to back out, that I was going to go back on my word.
'Willing to bet'? Actually, I was already in a bet, wasn't I? They had a term for the likes of me — going in for wager after wager, throwing away good money after bad — in Butte at the casinos and saloons: sucker. That's what I am: Bella-the-sucker. Well, I was all in, so she'd better commit, too.
"What are you putting in for this bet? It had better be good!" I wanted to sound fierce. I actually thought I did sound fierce, but Rosalie only crinkled her eyes, like I had said the funniest thing in the world. Oh, listen to the cute little girl! I could just hear her thoughts, and that only made me angrier.
Which only made Rosalie even more amused. Hmmphf!
She beckoned to me, and I sighed and followed her to the table; I might as well see what she had to offer. She then opened the carpet bag and pulled out a book, showing me the cover: Austen's Collected Works, R. W. Chapman, ed. I gasped and reached out for it, but it was gone, along with Rosalie.
She was on the other side of the table, clasping the book to her breast.
"Mine!" she growled.
I couldn't believe it. "But you said you were getting it for me ..." I pleaded.
She shook her head no. Really, she hadn't actually said that, but she said she was getting my book before she stole my soul, and I had asked for Pride and Prejudice, and here were all Austen's works. This wasn't fair.
Rosalie put the book on the table, standing it up there with her hand resting on the top of the book. "Bet," she said smugly. She looked so confident, seeing my reaction to what she was offering, I was sure she thought that I would knuckle under.
I narrowed my eyes at her. "Nothing doing, Rosalie," she looked surprised at this, and I felt pleased at being able to throw her off, even a little bit. "That's not good enough: the whole bag, or the bet's off. The whole bag, and everything in it."
I had seen there were more books in there. She may have been planning to give me the book in her hand until my slip, or she may have been planning to keep it as some kind of incentive and give me another book in the bag. Well, now she'd just have to give them all to me if she wanted to make a play at this game.
That is, make a play at me. I realized I had just valued myself to a bag of books.
Great.
... I hope they're really good books.
Rosalie hadn't answered yet. Her own eyes were narrowed.
Ha! Now we're talking! If she had to think about it, then there must be something in that bag that made the bet worth it. I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrow, feeling a bit cocky. Two could play at chicken, and Rosalie was the one in the pot now.
Her face hardened, and she finally nodded, reluctantly, it appeared. I guess a certain smug and superior vampire doesn't like to be called out in her own game.
"Well, okay, then!" I was so pleased, "let's see what you're putting up: show me what's in that bag."
She liked that even less, but she knew the deal: you put your money on the table or you walk away. She wasn't walking away from this one. She couldn't: a Hale wouldn't do that.
I finally knew I had a hold over her: her Hale pride was my lever, my button to push. I worked very hard not to let my gloating surface, but her narrowed eyes didn't miss a thing. She fumed as she walked over to the bag — her bet didn't go the way she planned, now, did it! — and an involuntary smirk plastered itself across my face.
Rosalie reached into the bag, and her angry expression melted into a pleased one. She pulled a book out and put it on the table. It looked scholarly. It was also written in a language that didn't use our alphabet. The letters looked the same, but looked very, very different: Σαπφώ. I did recognize what looked like the letter 'a' in that strange writing at least, but the other 'letters'? One was a square without a bottom; another, a circle with a line going through it from top to bottom. The first letter was a funny 'E' that looked more like an 'M' on its side. Oh, there was a letter at the end that looked like a curvy 'w'. Yay.
"Um." I offered. Now it was her turn to smirk. She reached in again, searching with her hand, and pulled out the next book, putting it on the table.
If the last book was in a strange alphabet, this one wasn't. Wasn't in an alphabet, that is, that I could see. It had a horizontal line with squiggles dangling beneath it: कामसूत्र. Was it written in Vampire? Did they have their own language and writing? I looked up at Rosalie in despair ... I was losing this bet big time. My look must have been exactly what she wanted to see, because she returned her attention to the bag with a very pleased look.
Then she pulled out two more books: one had a lot of German writing and its title mentioned the other one, written in Latin: the Principia Mathematica.
Math. Ugh!
I hoped she hadn't gotten the German book for me. Sure, I was of German stock, but I didn't read or speak a word of it. I wonder if she'd hold that against me? I wonder if she's be angry with me when she gave me that book to read, and I would be forced to confess that I didn't understand any of it.
Her hand reached into the bag again and pulled out the next book. It was entitled American Sign Language from Gallaudet University. Why? But I didn't have time to ponder that because she pulled out three more books. They were text books: Western Civilization, Algebra I & II and Geometry.
The first one, the history book, I could deal with, but the other two? Math, again. I hated math in school. It looked like that didn't matter to Rosalie, however. What, was I going to go to Rosalie Hale High School, for goodness sake?
Rosalie then pulled out two more books from the bag: At-Home Remedies for Common Aliments — Har, har! That Rosalie! Did she think I got sick all the time? — and another very thick school book: Literature: an introduction to fiction, poetry and drama. Well, that one looked interesting, at least.
That left two books in the bag. I looked up at her. "Well?" I said. She looked at me and then reached in, pulling out a very thick book: Webster's.
Talk about your anticlimax.
Then she reached in again and pulled out the last book, placing it on the table. The cover of the book was a dark blue, and the title was embossed in gold: The Holy Bible.
My mouth fell open. Talk about your anti-anticlimax.
"Oh, my God!" I exclaimed. Rosalie looked at me in askance.
Then I realized the irony: I had just said "Oh, my God!" on seeing the Bible.
Jeez!
"Well, you know what I mean ..." I explained, but it looked like she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Of course that brought on a fit of giggles in me, but it was all just too much. Rosalie, the vampire, presented me a Bible, of all things. What, was she my guardian vampire after all? Was she making sure I was going to be walking the straight and narrow? Here she was stealing my soul and drinking my blood, but she had to make sure I was a good little girl?
Too much. Just too much.
But, wait a minute. "Wait a minute!" Yes, I'm good at speaking my thoughts. "Was this supposed to be for you or for me?" She looked at me steadily.
"You were going to read this?" She raised both her eyebrows and dropped them, a subtle nod from my own mysterious Rose ... Rosalie, I mean. I couldn't believe it. A vampire reading the Bible?
I wish there was a pig nearby, so I could check to see if it had just sprouted wings.
The Bible had to be for her. I never had any interest before in reading the Good Book, and I didn't have any interest now. I mean, really! Come on!
Hmm, I'm bored ... oh! I know what I'll do! I'll read the Bible!
Not likely.
My name isn't Bella-the-Bible-scholar. And I was the sheriff's daughter, not the Priest's daughter, and if I were, wouldn't that be quite the scandal! Fr. Krebsbach wouldn't be able to give the blessing before the meal at Friday Fish Fries, given that he had this natural daughter, and all.
And I actually preferred the last name of Swan to Krebsbach, so that was another good reason not to read the Bible.
So, looking over the booty, I had to admit that they were pretty slim pickings. Only the anthology on literature looked interesting, even though it looked like a school text book. So, why did Rosalie grimace when I told her all the books or no bet? I looked at the books again as she began to put them away.
She was putting the foreign books away first.
"You know, Rosalie, I can't read those." I told her, but she didn't look up at me: she kept putting away the books, except the Austen one, and came over to me, right hand extended again, and a firmness in her eye.
"No deal," I said, but she still held her hand out. She looked down at the Austen book and then to me.
I wasn't that much of a pushover ... well, maybe I was, but ...
"No, Rosalie: no deal unless ..." and I crossed my arms and smirked at her. She waited.
"No deal unless you read me those books," I said, pointing to the bag with my chin, "and you tell me what they say."
Rosalie's hand was still out, but her lips pressed into a thin line at that. Then she did withdraw her hand and then cross her own arms, after setting the Austen book down on the table. She paused, thinking.
I grinned. I had hit the jackpot. There was something in those books important to her. If they were important to her, then they had some value. Some value high enough for her to consider the whole bet seriously.
Win or lose, I would find out. I had my new button to press — her precious Hale pride — and I used it now to make the secrets of those books part of the bet. And, if I should lose, I would find a way to use it again to get those secrets anyway.
... that is, if I lost, if I survived whatever she did to me in seven seconds.
Seven seconds. It couldn't be too bad, could it? Or ... could it?
I would soon be finding out ... that is, if I lost, and if Rosalie accepted my side of the bet.
She did. She nodded her head and extended her hand to me again.
Well, there was no backing out now, and I had no more wiggle room. I took her hand, felt the iciness of it, and pumped once.
But she didn't let go. She was looking at me right in the eye.
"Gudt bet," she said. Was there a tinge of ... pride? in her voice?
Well, okay, if this big city vampire from Back East has a measure of respect for this Montana girl, then I would take it.
Vampires. That whole group was, like, "Wow! Look, the girl can put on her own boots! Isn't she amazing?" It was just so odd what they found admirable. Maybe I should take up chewing gum so I could show them I could do that and walk at the same time.
"Well, okay," I said, taking my hand back, after she held it much too long for a handshake, "let's have you throw that coat so I can get those books. I'm gonna have a lot of reading to do!"
I wasn't moving things along just to avoid receiving the compliment. It wasn't like I had any issues with self-image; I knew exactly what I was (not). I was just moving things along, that's all.
Rosalie smiled at my confidence, though. So that was nice. It was a small smile, and almost wistful. One day, I promised myself, one day she'd smile because she was happy, and only that, and not have a hundred other sad things on her mind.
She did one of her elegant waves, indicating that I should go back to the bed, which I did without question. It wasn't hard to remember the last time she moved me out of the way — the cabin almost burned down! — so I moved to get out of the way of whatever fireworks were sure to come.
Uh, oh! She wasn't going to pull some magic out of thin air to repeat the impossible, was she? As I sat on the bed, I felt a bit of nervousness creep over my confidence. I really needed to win this bet, not so much for the books, but so that she didn't win the bet.
She stood the Jane Austen book up on the table by the chair where the coat had hung, and placed the carpet bag on that chair's seat. Then she moved away from the table toward the door, and for a second I thought she was going to go outside, but she stopped by the door and looked right at me. She looked right at me, not at the table. Then she folded the coat lengthwise twice, lifted two fingers to her eyes and moved them to the coat, looking at me the whole time. I guess she was saying: keep your eyes on the coat.
I tried, but that's hard to do when you're mesmerized by a vampire staring right at you. Her right hand grasped the coat by the collar, moved across her chest and then flicked.
The coat disappeared in a blur. I couldn't follow it, I just followed her right arm pointing out straight now toward the table. I hear a loud thump and saw the book fly up, summersaulting in the air. I noticed the coat was fanned out, standing straight upside down right over the chair with its collar anchored to the chair-back. As the coat drifted back down, the book landed on top of the carpet bag. When everything settled, the coat was draped over the chair that was leaning back, pushed at that odd angle by the force of the coat hitting it and kept from falling over by the table, and the book was resting on top of the bag.
The whole time I could feel Rosalie's eyes boring holes into me. I looked back at her. She hadn't even bothered to look over to where the miracle had occurred; she was looking right at me.
I swallowed, unnecessarily, because my throat was dry. "Umm." I said as I pointed over to the table. She didn't break her stare for an eternity, but then she did look over, and when she saw her handiwork, her expression soured.
It was if she was angry that the impossibility she had just done wasn't absolutely perfect. She stomped her foot, and I felt the slightest of tremors ... that shook the whole cabin, that maybe shook the whole world, but shook everything in just the right way that the chair fell back to its upright position and so that the book disappeared into the carpet bag. Goodbye, Jane Austen, I thought ruefully.
I think I might have to write a letter to China to apologize to that family that lost their house to outer space when Rosalie stomped her foot just now.
But then I looked back at Rosalie, and every trace of humor left my head. She was angry, and it looked like she was going to take it out on me ... for the next seven seconds. She started toward me, and she wasn't walking: she was gliding. Her feet didn't seem to touch the ground as she floated toward me. And she was limned, but not in light, but in darkness. It seemed that she was sucking the light right out of the air around her. She was pure vampire now. She was the most terrifying thing I ever saw. She was the Angel of Death, and she was coming toward me.
I stood up from the bed and took a step back from her — as if that would do anything — but it did: my eyes were fixed on hers that started to glow again, but my feet weren't as sure as they should be. I stumbled, falling backward, and my arms flew above my head, trying to stop my fall.
And then Rosalie was on me. She was right in my face and one arm held the back of my head while the other encircled my lower back. I drew in a gasp of honeysuckle-and-rose scented air and waited for the bite to come.
But it didn't.
She twirled me around quickly and set my back against the wall adjacent to the bed ... away from the stove.
I felt the heat of it now, on my back and on the back of my head. I had been backing right into the stove, and my fall would have done serious damage, if Rosalie hadn't caught me. I looked at her now with the shock of the realization of what she had just done, but her face was still set in hard lines.
"I wihhh," she had run out of air.
So I had to say it for her: "You win," I looked away from her intense, glowing eyes. Did I want to know what was going to happen to me next? Not really, but I'd rather take that than facing the nothingness of my soul being sucked away.
I looked back at her, not into her eyes, and admitted defeat: "You win; I lose."
A/N: Some places it's called "Seven Minutes in Heaven"; some places it's called "Seven Seconds in Heaven". C'mon, folks, the girl's recollection is from 1932: seven minutes would invite the possibility of ... *gasp* ... kissin'! We can't have that in this story, now, can we?
A/N: Kristen's dress is the blue one (top row, third from left) in Sears Robuck catalog viewable here in the 1930s section of costumes-dot-org.