Chapter Summary: Because Rosalie wants me to go where?
After a moment's silence, my quiet "Rosalie ..." seemed so loud in the cabin.
"Yes?" she asked patiently.
"No," I said blushing in the darkness, "never mind."
"I'm letting you ask," Rosalie replied.
But I shook my head. "I'm being selfish: I shouldn't be prying; I'm sorry."
"I think that I, better than you, can determine if you are prying. Besides, when will you ever have this opportunity again?" Then she added sadly, "Now is all we have."
"Uh, okay," then I asked quietly: "Do you pray?"
Rosalie was quiet for a moment, so I felt my fear was justified: I was prying. But then Rosalie did speak.
"I don't think I ever did as a human ... I never saw the point: A Hale makes her own way. Who needs God's help? Weak people, or so I always thought. I've only prayed as a vampire. Funny, isn't it, finding the need to pray when one is cursed creature for all eternity?" she asked, but her rueful voice didn't sound she found any humor in it.
"What do you pray about?" Then I instantly regretted my question. What did I just say to myself about prying?
"I've prayed twice in this existence so far," Rosalie answered quietly. "Once to my father, and once to God."
"You prayed to your father?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes, when I held him in my arms after he died," Rosalie responded factually.
"Oh," was all I could say. Did she kill her own father? I couldn't match the image of Rosalie killing her own father — was she not able to stop herself from draining him dry when she first became a vampire? — and Rosalie now.
"What did you pray to your father?" I asked eventually. Did she pray that he would forgive her? I wondered if her relationship was better with her father than with her mother. I wondered if she went back to him to say goodbye, just like I wanted to, but then she couldn't stop herself from killing him.
It was quiet in the cabin for a moment. And then Rosalie said, "I'm sure you've seen that we Hales are proud people."
I bit my lip. The smile still tried to plaster itself on my face.
"We Hales are proud people," Rosalie said again. "And when, as I kept watch over my father in the months following my death, as he looked desperately for a reason for it, and then realizing that it was my own fiancé that was the cause, it just killed him. And that's when I realized that he loved me. I found out, after my own death, and after his, that my father loved me."
My smiled evaporated as I gasped.
Rosalie continued, still distant: "And I could just see him going right up to God and telling God that if his own daughter wasn't in Heaven, then Heaven wasn't fit for a Hale. I could just see my father damning himself to Hell in his own Hale pride."
"So I prayed to him," Rosalie's focus seemed to returned to the here and now. "I prayed that he would just let go of his Hale pride, would just let go of me, and be happy in Heaven. That's what I prayed to my father."
It was quiet for a moment.
"Of course," Rosalie continued, "I didn't cry then. I couldn't any more, so the thought didn't even occur to me, so it is endearing that you cry for me now."
I suppose I should have noticed that the tears started falling again by the end of her story. I ruminated that it's a rather sad statement that I don't even notice that I cry anymore, that it has to be pointed out to me. I never in my life cried so much since when the Hales came, since Rosalie took me away and started telling me about how terrible she is(n't) and how good I am(n't).
I sniffled. "You wouldn't be saying that if you know what I was thinking."
"What were you thinking?" Of course she would ask.
"No way." I said firmly, discreetly wiping my tears on the pillow. "If I tell you, you ... Rosalie, you don't need anything more in your, you know, your life. You don't need this. You'd hate me if I told you."
"That's a rather difficult scenario to imagine; try me," she answered calmly. "Tell me, for I'd really like to know what you are thinking, as I never do know ... and your thoughts are always a surprise. Sometimes they are even entertaining."
I could hear the smile in her voice, but she wouldn't smiling when I told her this.
"No," I said firmly.
"I'd feel bad if you don't tell me," she chided.
Hey, now. I thought I was supposed to be able to push her around with her Hale pride. She's not allowed to do that to me, forcing me to say it by making me feel bad about making her feel bad.
"Rosalie ..." I pleaded.
"Tell me," she answered, pleading right back. "Please," she begged.
Rosalie begged. Who could gainsay that? I could just imagine those impenetrable black eyes growing large and innocent and lost.
God damn it all!
Here she was, getting her way again, as always. I wonder why that didn't work on Edward. They were supposed to be ... you know ... together. Maybe she didn't like him enough to bat her eyelashes at him entreatingly?
"Okay, but you're going to hate me, I just know it." I swallowed and pressed on. "I thought you went back to say goodbye to your Pa after you became what you are now, and I thought that you killed him because you couldn't stop yourself from ... you know."
It was quiet.
"See," I sighed. "I told you that you would hate me."
"No, it's not that," Rosalie voice was assuring. "I'm just surprised at how correctly you thoughts are in this case."
"But I thought you said you didn't kill him!" I was confused.
"But I did," she countered: "I died and broke his heart. That, and the shameful way I died, killed him." Then she finished sadly: "I killed my own father."
"No!" I said. I couldn't believe what she just said. She blamed herself for what was done to her? But she still didn't get what I was saying to her. "I meant that I thought that you did the, you know," and here I whispered, "the vampire thing" I paused for a fraction of a second, listening for a tirade for saying the 'V' word. It didn't come, so I pressed on, "to your father, and you couldn't stop yourself."
"No, I didn't do that, but that, too, is a very reasonable thought," Rosalie answered quietly. "For, after all, most all vampires are uncontrollable as newborns, and what does one fall back to when out of one's element? The familiar. Most newborns run right back to mommy and daddy for help or consolation. But what happens when they smell the blood? Most newborns' first victims are their own families."
"But you didn't." My statement was a statement, but I was also just making sure.
"I was very ... fortunate," I could hear Rosalie's grimace, "in that the Cullens take their responsibilities very seriously, unlike others. They kept a very watchful eye over me this past year. Not as if they needed to." Her last statement had a tinge of annoyance.
I guess she didn't like being bossed around all that much.
Hm. I wonder if I could mention that other people, like, you know, somebody she just happens to be talking to right now, doesn't like that all that much, either.
Another conversation for another time, because I just couldn't get over what Rosalie had told me about herself.
"How do you do it?" I asked her.
"I am a Hale," she replied pompously. "What I decide to do, I do. What I decide to avoid, I do not do." She was silent for a moment. I could just see her looking so smug, but then she added: "Holding my breath until after I became acclimatized to the shocking pull of it helped, too."
"No, Rosalie, I'm not talking about that ..." Miss I'm-a-Hale "I meant, all that, you know? All that happening to you, you know? The way you died, right? By those ... people? And then you're this? And then you can't have a baby?" Not that I've ever given that any thought, but apparently Rosalie has. "And your father dying of a broken heart?" I wiped my eyes. "All this just keeps happening to you, and you just keep ... going on? How do you do it?"
"I do it by being," Rosalie answered simply. "It is what I am now. I cannot cease. I cannot stop. I go on. I just go on and on and on."
Rosalie was quiet again, but then added. "As you said, it must be nice being a vampire. Who could not want this?"
"Rosalie," I pleaded, hurt by her sting, "I'm so sorry I said that ... I just didn't know."
"You did," Rosalie replied. "You did know. Deep down, you already knew, yet you still said it. I've hurt you this much. That even though you knew it would be small to say, you said it, because you do see what I am."
"No, Rosalie," I said angrily, "no. You're not like that. You were right, I was just being mean; that's all."
"Li-..." and Rosalie sighed but continued, "I am like th-..."
"And why do you keep doing that to yourself?" I demanded. "Just stop stopping yourself, please? Huh? For me, okay? I don't care what you call me anymore, all right? But this whatever game you're playing is only hurting yourself."
"You must earn your name for me to call you by it." Rosalie was firm.
Well, I could be firm, too.
"Well, okay, then. I'll earn it, then. What do I need to do? Do I have to stand in front of the mirrors for, like — what? — fifteen hours or something? I'll do that." Yes, I'd do that for her. I could barely handle three seconds for myself, but I'd do it so that she'd stop beating herself up.
"That's part of it," Rosalie answered.
"Fifteen hours?" I squeaked. Now I wasn't so sure I could do that ...
"No," her voice smiled at me, "but you do have to pay your bet, you know: seven seconds. I remember what I'm owed, and I do demand payment in full."
Seven seconds. Impossible a few nights ago, but that sounded a lot better than fifteen hours.
"Is that all? Do I have to do anything else?" I asked.
"Yes, there's more, but we'll talk about it tomorrow," Rosalie said dismissively.
"You promise?" I demanded ... then whoops! I'm not supposed to say that: "I meant, will you really ..."
"We'll talk about it tomorrow," Rosalie said, but I could hear she was displeased.
"Do I have to say that I'm beautiful and graceful?" I asked quietly and quickly, not letting it go.
"Do you see yourself in that way?" Rosalie asked right back, accusingly.
I was silent. How do I tell her no without the whole lecture from her?
"You do know that you are those things," she said.
I sighed.
"... but you don't see yourself that way," Rosalie added quietly. I heard regret in her voice.
I shook my head no on my pillow, not daring to speak.
Now it was Rosalie's turn to sigh.
"Then you don't need to say that, if you don't believe that." It sounded like she was caving in. "If you did say that then you would believe that you were lying, and I don't want you to lie. Ever."
"Why?" I asked her.
"Because I want you to go to Heaven," she answered evenly.
"You what?" She must have been ...
I must have heard her wrong.
"Because I want you to go to Heaven," she answered in the exact same voice; totally unperturbed by my outburst.
I had to remember to close my mouth. "Why?" I gasped.
"I am a selfish creature," Rosalie admitted, her voice filled with something like regret. "I have never done anything for anyone other than myself. I am selfish now. Even now. Remember when I told you that I can only hope through you? Do you know what hope is?"
But Rosalie didn't wait for my answer. Not that I had an amazing one to share with her.
"Hope is the desire for happiness, and true happiness can only be found in Heaven. Heaven's gate is forever closed to me now: I cannot hope ... for myself. But I can ... for you. If you get to Heaven, it will be the one good thing that I will have ever done. And I want that; I want that one good thing for myself. I so want that."
Rosalie whispered: "I am selfish for that one good thing, the only good thing I will have ever done, that is why I want you in Heaven."
I couldn't get over it: Rosalie was saying she was being selfish by wanting to do good by me? It just didn't make sense. There had to be more to what she was telling me.
As always.
"You asked me if I prayed," Rosalie continued, "and I told you I've prayed twice. I will pray one more time, again to God, and I will ask him, very politely," she added fiercely, "to take you into Heaven. I will pray that ... when I murder you."
"When is that?" I asked her timidly.
I heard a whisper of cloth. Rosalie must have shrugged.
"Why is that?" I asked her, timidly, again.
"Why the delay?" Rosalie clarified.
"That, too, but I meant why are you doing this? I mean ... you know ..." Actually, I didn't know what I meant by that.
"Do you hear that sound?" Rosalie asked darkly.
"Rosalie! I'm sorry, all right? I didn't know 'you know' was on the list, okay?" Jeez! She's always such a stickler. I wonder how many words were on the "list." I wonder if I'll be able to say anything at all eventually without being corrected.
"No, not that. Listen." Rosalie commanded impatiently.
I listened. Then I sighed.
"I" still "don't hear anything," I whined.
"Nor do I," Rosalie answered, "But when I do, it will be them, and that's why I must kill you, before they get to you."
A chill went down my spine.
I don't know why I started asking questions, or why Rosalie thought that answering them would help me sleep.
"They?" I asked timidly, regretting my insatiable curiosity and dreading the forthcoming answer.
"You told me about how the police run your cities here, no? We have our Rule, so we also have our own 'police.' Them. The Volturi. But your stories ... ? Your terrible and corrupt police? Their methods are sweet little cherubic children's games as compared to how the Volturi enforce the Rule. If they were to come across you in your idyllic little town with your idyllic townsfolk knowing what you know ... ?"
I felt, in the silence, Rosalie thinking of what would be happening in Ekalaka.
"They wouldn't kill you for a very long time," she said, and added regretfully: "but you would be wishing they would, every second of every day they prolonged your life. They would torture every name you knew out of you, and kill them in front of you, then they would torture names that you would make up, trading names for some respite, but they would find those people and kill those innocents in front of you, knowing full well their ignorance, but punishing you with their deaths, just out of spite. And then they would make you curse God and this life. That's when they would kill you, finally, when they had drained from you every last drop of hope or joy or consolation, and you would welcome Hell to the unrelenting tortures of the Volturi. And that's why it's me that will be your killer: because if the Volturi come to enforce the Rule, it wouldn't be just you, it wouldn't be just the local townspeople, it wouldn't be just the Cullens as well, ... and your death, perhaps everyone's death, would be agonizing: it would come slowly and painfully."
"It may be no consolation for you," she continued, "but at least with me, your death will not be like that, and others will not suffer because of your insights."
"How will you ... do it?" I ask hesitantly.
"Do you really wish to know?" Rosalie asked quietly.
I thought about it. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know, but I was sure I needed to tell her ... oh, something, and don't read my mind right now, Rosalie ... and I needed to know so I could tell her first.
"Yes," I finally answered.
"Then I will show you tomorrow," she said.
"Putting off all this stuff until tomorrow!" I complained.
"Because you need to sleep now!" Her fierceness was directed toward me now.
"Well, I'm not done asking my question!" I gave her fierce right back.
"Questions!" Rosalie retorted. "And, yes, you are ... for tonight at any rate," she finished more quietly.
"For somebody Hell-bent on murdering me, you sure fuss over me a whole lot ... " like a mother or something "why is that?"
Rosalie was silent. The silence was petulant.
"Besides," I pouted, "you didn't tell me what you prayed to God the first time."
"Doesn't matter," was the clipped reply, "God answered that prayer, and His answer was a big, fat 'no,' so the supplication is now irrelevant."
I was miffed, but Rosalie sounded miffed, too. It's just no fair, her getting angry at me being angry.
But I wondered what Rosalie would want so badly that she would pray to God about it. I instantly knew I couldn't ask that question. Rosalie had become closed off again. I guess the free exchange we had enjoyed in this moment was now gone.
"Fine," I muttered darkly, spitting mad.
She probably prayed that I would've died from natural causes so she wouldn't have more blood on her hands and not have to spend day and night dealing with a stupid, needy girl.
"Fine," Rosalie answered coolly.
I turned away from the sound of her voice and curled up into a ball under the covers. Typical, I thought darkly. I think we are getting somewhere ... I think we can finally talk ... and then she gets all Rosalie.
Why does Rosalie always have to be so Rosalie about everything?