Chapter Summary: She made me ice cream! Can you believe it? Ice cream! And she had kissed me! Again! Perfect girls' night! Just us two girls, and everything was ... perfect!
We were…
We were talking about blow jobs.
Okay, do not look at me like that. Like I even knew what blow jobs were an hour ago.
I did now.
So, Rosalie had asked me about my friends in school. So, I told her.
I don't have friends.
That earned a funny look.
She asked me if a boy had ever asked me out before Edward.
I told her no. Boys didn't even know I existed, and girls only knew I existed to pick on me. That was one of the reasons why I quit going to school, besides the fact that I already knew more about the world than the other kids, nor even the teachers.
I didn't tell her the part about quitting school. Could you just feel a lecture coming if I told her that?
I could feel the lecture coming already.
Rosalie absorbed all this, then, on a dime, she changed the topic, just like she always does. She told me there was a girl at her school just like me. Poor. Scrawny. Always to herself, reading in the library.
She didn't use the words 'girl just like me,' but I wasn't stupid.
Apparently her school did charity cases. The girl was so smart or talented that she got a scholarship.
That was her first mistake.
Her second mistake was to antagonize the Rosalie Hale.
You just don't do that.
Rosalie was with her posse, she told me (she didn't say the word 'posse'; she said she was with her friends going to class. 'Friends.' As in: more than one), and the girl was in the library and looked up as they passed. Rosalie said, 'Hey,' or waved, or something, and the girl didn't react and went back to her studies.
Rosalie didn't say anything about it, but her friends marked the exchange.
And thereafter, the girl was on their shit-list. One of Rosalie's friends went up to this girl one day, sat on the table beside her (just like Rosalie did to me after supper), and then grabbed her essay she was writing, crumpled it, and threw it on the floor.
Do you know how much work it takes to rewrite an essay fair?
Oh, not that long, maybe an hour or two, ... or three ... or all night long.
The next day they all turned in their essays, even that girl.
She looked a little … tired.
And she tended to fall over a lot, particularly when she was passing by people who wanted to get on Rosalie's good side, which, obviously, was everybody else in school. One day, Rosalie remembered, she saw the girl had tripped and fallen, her books and papers everywhere, 'accidentally' kicked or stepped on by the other students passing by. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence.
Then, summer break.
Rosalie's friend, the one who took a shine to this girl, went up to her one day and told her about all the fun Rosalie and her friends were going to have on a trip to Niagara Falls, and did she want to come with?
The girl demurred.
Of course, to go on such a trip, she'd have to pay her way, being carriage-less, and then there was room, and board. She couldn't ask somebody to take her under their wing, now, could she? That would show her status vis-à-vis theirs.
They went off on their summer vacation.
And went they came back, the girl was no longer there.
The cleaning staff had found her at the school one day.
She had hung herself.
"I could've done something," Rosalie said. "Or said something. I offered a simple greeting to her, and she just … rejected it."
Rosalie shrugged and looked away.
"I mean," she said, "I knew she was being teased, but …" She shrugged again. "I mean, who was she to me? Why should I care who she was and what she did to herself? I didn't mean for her to kill herself, for God's sake, the stupid, little shit, but …"
Rosalie looked away from me, drumming her fingers on the bed, her face tight with anger.
"No," she said, "the beauty of being what I am now is that I get to see with absolute clarity what I do and why I do it. I knew what I was doing with that girl, even if it was by omission. I'm guilty of her death. With one word I could've stopped her ill-treatment, and I didn't."
I looked at Rosalie as she said this. I saw her work through what happened, and saw the realization dawn on her of what she did … or what she didn't do.
The obvious thing for me to ask was did she regret what happened, but I could see it in her face. She's murdered more people than most in the world would even think of to kill, but she regretted this one.
Why?
I think I knew the answer to this one, too.
"What she kinda a scrawny kid?" I asked quietly.
Rosalie came out of her reverie and looked at me. "Yes," she nodded, "she was on the malnourished-side. I think the only decent meals she got were at communal-meal times at school."
"Kinda pale?" I added. "Never seen the sun, like?"
Rosalie smiled at me, seeing where I was going, and nodded. "Yes," she said, "and she had dark hair and dark eyes … darker than yours, however, so the contrast was more vivid."
"But she looked like me," I said.
Rosalie shook her head. "Not really. No. I wouldn't go that far."
"And she kept to herself, just like me," I pressed.
Rosalie was quiet.
I was, too.
I turned from her and wrapped myself up in my arms.
After a while there was the lightest of touches on my shoulder.
"She wasn't you, Bella," she said.
"But you're making up for her with me," I accused.
"No," Rosalie said firmly. "No, Bella, that's not the case at all."
I wasn't in the mood to be assuaged. "You knew what you did to her," I said. "And now you have me. Rosalie, … do you know what you're doing with me?"
… or are you just going to let me kill myself, just like that girl in your school, I thought bitterly.
Because, how close have I come these last few days? How many times did I beg her to kill me? And each time, she wouldn't. Was she just waiting for me to kill myself? So she could move on? Regretfully, now, but still move on from me?
Rosalie sat up on the bed and was so quiet for so long that I thought I lost her again.
"Yes," she said finally.
That's all she said.
I waited.
But I couldn't stand this silence. I wasn't Rosalie Hale. Not by a long shot, and I never would be.
"What are you doing with me?" I said.
Rosalie was hunched over herself, a study of a young woman with so many things unsaid.
God! She was so beautiful!
So sad, so beautiful, and … just so fucked up.
Pardon my French, but it's true.
She got up abruptly, startling me. "Making you ice cream," she said purposefully.
I blinked. "Uh, what?"
…
Rosalie Hale was making ice cream.
For dessert.
You know.
You'll have to forgive me, not only has the shock of it not worn off, but …
I've been 'incentivised.'
I have to explain that, I know. Just give me a moment.
So, when Rosalie got up from the bed, she started to pull together her 'magic,' as I liken to call it, creating something wonderful out of ordinary ingredients – just like my Grandmother did with chicken noodle soup and PBJs – surprising me with what she knew how to do, that I didn't, and then executing her magic with such ease and assurance that it left me stunned, speechless, in the simplicity and the elegance of it.
Rosalie's 'ice cream'? She took a can of evaporated milk into her hand, and she started to shake it.
Simply that.
I watched her do this for a while, puzzled, but then she opened up the can and showed it to me.
The coldness of her hands chilled the milk, thickening it, and the shaking mixed it all together.
"Try it!" Rosalie had said.
So I tried it. I stuck my finger right in there, which on reflection, wasn't a very lady-like thing to do. I guess I should have used a spoon.
But the offer was there, and it was tempting: this magical 'ice cream' from Rosalie.
I put my finger of the very rich thickened cream into my mouth and blinked.
"Huh!" I grunted in surprise.
"How does it taste?" Rosalie asked.
I worked it around in my mouth.
"Pretty … good," I said.
"Sweet enough?" she asked.
I nodded my head thoughtfully. "Yeahhhhh…" I said.
It was … slightly sweet. It was milky, like evaporated milk, the sweetness taking the milky-acid edge off it, but then it grew on you, just a little bit, the sweetness.
It was there, but it wasn't there. I don't know where you're from, but out here in the New West, supper is supposed to be salty, like the chicken cordon bleu, if it's not, there's something wrong with it, and the desserts are supposed to be sweet! So sweet you supposed to go into sugar-shock when you have your root beer float. If it didn't spin you off to the Moon with the sugar, there was something wrong with it.
This ice cream wasn't ... super-sweet. It was good, but it was subtly-sweet, and the difference had me thoughtful about it.
It was good, it just ...
Rosalie grinned at my seriousness.
"Well," I said defensively, blushing for being caught, "what do you think?"
I don't know why I asked her opinion about ice cream. She said all food was terrible to her.
It was just that I didn't know what to think about her ice cream.
Everything was different with Rosalie Hale. You had to think about everything that she said or did, and ... I wanted to know what I was supposed to think about this dessert.
Rosalie smirked. "I think …" she said slowly, but with just a hint of teasing in her voice, "… that it could do with a bit of sugar."
She looked at me significantly.
I didn't get the look.
"What?" I demanded.
Rosalie chuckled, completely back in her element, turned to the pantry stash and crushed some of the honey that had crystalized into the can of evaporated milk, then she recapped the can with the lid, sealing it tightly with her thumbs over the lid, and started shaking it again.
She smirked at me, causing me to blush and take another tiny sip of the 'medicine.'
Ka-WHAM!
Yes. That. My 'incentive.'
I was very careful how I drank it down, I felt it slide down my throat like syrup and dissolve into my whole body. But, still, even with my care, I felt it in my gut, but I felt it down to my toes: it was that powerful!
That was Rosalie's incentivisation. 'Incentivization.' Whatever. So I'm British now. Sue me.
"God!" I whispered.
This was Rosalie's idea, see? I had spoilt the party by being all serious, and there was no getting out of that now, not without extreme measures.
So, this was Rosalie's extreme measure. She poured me out a generous serving from her closely-held secret bottle of 'medicine,' and she gave it to me.
'Here, drink this!' She said when I had got out of the bed myself to watch what she was doing.
And … I did.
And … ka-WHAM!
I was feeling fiiiiinnnnnne now. Jus' fiinnee, thank yer verra much.
"This ought to make the ice cream sweeter," Rosalie remarked confidently. Then her smile got sly and she glanced at me. "Since you weren't gonna give me any of your sugar."
"Huh?" I asked stupidly.
I could not feel my face.
That's my excuse for my stupid-look.
"Your sugar, sweet cheeks," Rosalie said wryly, then puckered her lips and made kissing sounds.
I blinked twice, my eyes wide with surprise at Rosalie's exaggerated motion.
Then I got it.
"Errrrgh, mai gwash!" I exclaimed, my cheeks flaring up.
Rosalie chuckled at my embarrassment, which did not help one bit. I slid down in my chair so the bulk of the table hid me from Rosalie's view.
It didn't hide my face, however, as much as I wanted it to.
Rosalie stopped shaking the eyes-scream…
No. Wait. The ice cream! Jeez!
Yeah, that. She stopped that and regarded me, expectantly.
"WHAT!" I barked.
I kinda what-bark when I'm embarrassed.
Rosalie smirked. "It's not too late if you wanna slip a little sugar this way, you know."
She tapped her cheek with a forefinger.
I slid down further in my chair. "I'll just die now," I whined, wanting all her attention on me to just stop.
Rosalie regarded me levelly for a second then giggled. It was a lilting sound; it was the sound of little bells tinkling in the wind.
I could listen to that all day long.
Rosalie snorted, which was paradoxically elegant, so it just didn't make sense to me now: an elegant snort.
"Or not," Rosalie shrugged dismissively and resumed her shaking.
I took another sip of the clovey-honeyed potion, when only heated up my insides all the more. This did not help at all, I was afraid the heat from inside combined with the heat from the stove would suffocate me to death. Until I died!
"Wut iz dis fstuff made of?" I asked complain-y-ly.
Rosalie regarded me quizzically, her eyebrows indicating she was translating what I said into her perfect English so she could understand me gooder.
Her probs. I knew what I said.
Her only answer, however, was a cryptic: "It's a secret," with her signature wry smirk.
"Ha!" I barked triumphantly, onto her. "Ah no wat dis is! Dis iz ur voice and yr makin me drink it andiitz real gooder, ya!"
That brought up Rosalie short. She stood there, stunned, staring at me.
I sniggered. Tha'z so funni! I thought.
Everything was kind of funny now.
Rosalie blinked twice. "What on Earth are you talking about?" she demanded.
I wasn't falling for it. If she were next to me, I would've whacked her on the shoulder, just to show her.
"Nyaah!" I declared, and that settled the matter for me, but she seemed unconvinced for some weird reason, so I learned her gooder. "Yous put your voice in dis potion, and that's why it tastes like you, so dere!"
Ha! Top that, Rosalie Hale! I thought triumphantly.
I was pleased with one thing, however, and that was this: yesterday, heck, this morning! I would have been crushed with her 'What on Earth'-tone-and-attitude she was putting on, all serious and superior, now I just saw it as, you know: her. She gets all … Rosalie like that, but she just can't help it, really, being that way. I wasn't really what I did or said, it's just the way she was.
This morning, I would have been in tears, just with her look, just with her tone, but now …
I would like to say that I had found a new well of inner-strength, and it had nothing to do with the wine earlier or with whatever the concoction she served me now, that is: her voice, magically giving me fortitude.
But I couldn't. I was too far gone to think clearly, but not gone far enough not to know any more, for which I was grateful.
I wanted to remember tonight.
Rosalie did. She never forgot anything. Didn't she say that?
She shook her head. "You silly thing!" she exclaimed.
"Not silly!" I shot back.
"Mmhm," Rosalie smirked with her dismissive reply. "That drink is a dram, and it tastes nothing like me, at all. So I'm simply mystified as to where you would ever get that idea."
I started to feel the heat rise to my cheeks. I felt the urge to fight back, to lose it, just a bit, but that would having me lose it more than just a bit … more than quite a bit.
I tried to collect myself and be reasonable, just like reasonably-toned Rosalie was being.
She was just saying I was wrong, is all. Like a jerk, yes, but still.
I stilled myself. I tried to slow myself down, which wasn't too hard, as all my motions were now much more deliberate. So I took the cup of liquid and brought it too my lips again, breathing in the smell of it as I did.
It … did smell different than her: it had a thicker, more cloying smell to it, more of licorice and a much stronger honeyed flavor.
But it was still there, that honeyed-tongued Rosalie…
Who wasn't being particularly honeyed-tongue to me right now.
I took a long, slow sip.
It was her.
WHAMMO!
It was her. It, like her, hit me right in the gut like a ton of bricks, and she went down my throat, slow and smooth, … and inexorably.
It was her. It had to be her.
Rosalie stopped shaking the can and put it down on the table.
"Do you taste the difference?" she asked.
I shook my head.
Okay, that was a mistake. The room kept spinning after my head stopped moving.
Through the mist and haze of my befuddled senses I marshaled my response. "No," I said. "No, I don't."
Okay, not Shakespeare, but close enough.
Rosalie smirked and approached me.
I followed her approach carefully with my eyes, tilting my head back to look up at her as she towered over me.
If something didn't happen soon, I'd faint dead away. I felt really dizzy.
Rosalie did that something. She reached out and grasped my head firmly in her hands. Then she bent down over me and kissed me.
She held that kiss, keeping her lips pressed firmly to mine. Then she opened up her mouth slightly and traced my lips with the point of her tongue.
I squirmed in her hands, shocked at this surprising touch. It was so intimate, and it scared me, this advance of hers.
She pulled back slowly, but kept my head firmly ensconced in her powerful grip.
"Bella," she whispered.
"Unh," I said.
She smiled sweetly at me, then commanded. "Taste me."
She bent down again before I could fathom what she meant, and pressed her lips hungrily to mine.
She held that kiss for a moment, bleeding out my resistance to acceptance, then her mouth opened, just a bit, just so slowly her mouth opened, and her tentative tongue gently traced my lips.
We stayed like this for a moment, me being held in her hands, breathing on her cheek through my nose, her holding me upright, for, surely, if she let me go, I would fall from my chair onto the floor like a sack of potatoes.
But held me she did. And kissed me she did, too.
And her probing tongue gently pushed against my lips, ingratiating itself along them, then, bit-by-bit, her tongue began to press itself between them.
I kissed her back as she pressed herself firmly to me, opening myself to her.
I felt, in my chest, a tightening, and my heart was beating a mile a minute.
And I felt, in me, what it was to give myself over to someone else. Completely.
My mouth opened to hers, and her tongue gently slide itself into my mouth.
And I …
I was reeling with it, the feeling of her tongue in my mouth, her hands holding my face, her awesome power bending me to her, and her absolute control over it: how she was holding herself back even as she pressed forward.
I wondered: was this what it felt like to die? I felt my body being given over to her, completely, and there was nothing I could do to stop this, even if I wanted to.
And … I wanted to. I wanted some measure of myself, me, apart from her, but her presence blotted out mine, like how the Sun itself became overcast then disappeared behind angry storm clouds.
But it was nothing like that, either, for the Sun was still there, and knew it was the Sun.
Me, I lost myself in Rosalie's kiss. I lost myself in Rosalie. I didn't want to. I was so scared, so terrified! But my body wanted to, even as I didn't, and I felt my body give itself over to her as she kissed me in this new, powerful, dominant, overwhelming way.
And …
And she didn't press her advantage. She held me in her hands, but she didn't become forceful about it, her tongue was in my mouth, resting, questing, testing, … but gently waiting, … waiting on me.
And her body speaking to my body, … her message was clear.
But I didn't know what she wanted. Not intellectually. Not for sure.
So I just stayed like that, utterly and completely in her power.
It was like floating.
It was like letting go.
Rosalie pulled back, looking at me carefully.
"Did you taste the difference?" she asked.
"Yeahhhhhhhh," I sighed blissfully.
She held my face in her hands, looking down at me.
Then she smirked sadly.
"Bella," she said, "if I told you to jump off a cliff right now, would you?"
"Yeahhhh," I breathed out, just floating in her gaze.
But then my brain slowly reconnected to what my ears had heard her say, and I relearned that one plus one makes two, but I didn't really care all that much about that fact.
I blinked twice.
"Actually," I said, "I did."
Rosalie smiled down at me, seeing me come back to the here and now. She released my face, which I regretted: her hands kept my cheeks nice and cool.
She chuckled lightly. "More like you fell off a cliff as I was saving your skin from being wolf-bait, if I recall the incident correctly." She delivered this last bit primly.
"Well," I shrugged.
Then I smiled back. We could argue why I was on a cliff's edge and who put me there, but I didn't really feel like arguing.
What I felt was more like that floaty feeling.
I smiled back at her. "Same-same," I said.
"Mmhm," Rosalie frowned. "I don't recall, either, somebody thanking me for saving her life, then, what was it? Thrice that evening?"
"Thank you," I said quickly.
I was grateful to her, now, for saving me.
For her.
Rosalie didn't look pleased at my sorry-assed 'thank you,' however. She regarded me, coolly, then turned away quickly and stalked off to her side of the table to resume her ice cream-ily duties, clearly miffed.
She did me a good turn, saving me from that wolf pack, and she wanted her deed to be noticed.
Rosalie Hale was such a little Miss center-of-attention, wasn't she? Proud and vain, just like a peacock.
Made her look kind of cute, actually, her angry-little pout.
I got up from my chair to thank her properly, and that's when my legs gave out, and that's when I promptly hit the floor.
"Ow," I said, more as a matter of form, as I felt no pain. But I knew when I hit the floor that it was supposed to hurt, in some abstract way, and that I was supposed to say 'ow.'
So I did.
Rosalie looked at me from her regal position. "Why on Earth did you do that?"
Rosalie was what-on-Earthing and why-on-Earthing me a lot now, I noticed.
She got up quickly and came to me, squatting down beside me.
"'Thrice,' huh?" I said thickly.
Realization dawned on Rosalie's face. She picked me up, just like a little Raggedy Annie and cradled me in her lap as she sat on the floor beside where I had fallen.
"Yes," she said, "thrice."
Her emphasis was different than mine: hers was one of Noblesse Oblige where mine was a little plain-country-folk sarcasm at her high-falutin' language. She ignored my sarcasm, so I ignored hers.
"Well, so," I said, "I wanted to thank you … thrice." I laughed lightly at my own little joke.
"And how were you going to do that?" she asked archly.
"You git dahwn here, and you'll see," I said. And didn't add: Miss Bossy-wossy-fussy-mussy!
She could read my mind for that last bit. Besides, I was feeling rather bossy myself.
"Oh?" was all she remarked as she leaned in.
I grabbed her head in my hands – they felt like big, heavy bear paws – and pulled my head up to hers.
"Thank you," I said, and I kissed her right quick. Peck.
"Thank you," I said, and I kissed her again, a little teasingly. Peck.
A smile started to form on Rosalie's pouty lips.
"Thank you," I said gravely, and a bit of a smile ghosted on my own lips, too.
Then I pressed myself up into Rosalie's face, and I kissed her.
… And I held that kiss for as long as I could.
Which, with my heavy arms, lasted all of, oh, ten seconds or so, I'm ashamed to report.
I lay back into Rosalie's lap, gasping, my arms falling to my sides like weak branches of a rubber tree.
Rosalie laughed silently, smirking down at me.
"You're welcome," she answered just as gravely, but I could tell she was pleased with my thanks, and that made me so happy inside.
"Hey, no problem," I replied, mustering as much cool nonchalance as I could, but it was hard to appear casual when you're out of breath. I hope Rosalie got my intent, me being so cool, and all that, because I wasn't up for explaining myself.
"So," she said, more businesslike …
That is, as much 'more businesslike' as she could appear holding me in her lap, sitting on the floor.
Actually, for her, however, she pulled off the in-charge look really well. She had that air about her, being in command wherever she found herself, and being comfortable with it, too.
"Did you taste the difference between the dram and me?" she asked.
I laughed. 'Taste the difference' she asked?
To be honest, I tasted nothing! All I remember from that hazy moment of Rosalie's kiss was just floating in her embrace.
Rosalie smiled in return. "Would you like to try again, then?"
"Is that a trick question?" I asked sharply.
That was my way of saying 'Oh, yes, please!' without trying to appear too eager.
Although I think we had gone beyond 'try' some time earlier this evening.
Rosalie's smile widened slightly as it warmed to my sass. "Okay," she said, "but this time, remember to taste me, okay?"
And she leaned in, lifting me up gently, and she kissed me. My arms came up and circled her neck, and I held myself to her as she kissed me. That's when her mouth opened and her tongue eased forward, tracing my lips with the tip.
I opened my mouth in response – Hey! I was getting the hang of this! I thought, pleased – and her tongue slid into my mouth.
I leaned my head back, luxuriating in the feeling of being so completely held by Rosalie: she held to her every part of me, and there was nothing that my body needed to do. It was just her, completely her, and I was just a part of that strength and that power and that confidence.
This time, floating in this bliss, I remembered, or tried to, to taste Rosalie Hale.
I took a little suck of her tongue, forming my mouth around it; a glove to a hand.
It, her, tasted like…
It tasted like nothing.
The dram had numbed my mouth as I let it trickle down my throat with a powerful honey-licorice taste, buzzy with spices.
Rosalie tasted like …
Really, a poet should write these words, because I am so utterly going to fail trying to describe this. It tasted like nothing, like air, like if I were a lightbulb, then she had to be the electricity. It tasted like one-thousand bee stings, but not jolting nor painful, but like my mouth was dead my whole life, and now it became alive finally with the humming energy that was the taste of Rosalie Hale.
It tasted like rose petals floating in water, scented strongly with honeysuckle, but only if a spirit had been infused with those flavors and gave them a lightness that they could never have in the world outside this cabin.
It tasted like the dram she gave me, honeyed, but not, because it wasn't a heavy, careful sipping-taste, it was a heavenly, 'suck the last drop into your body because you will never taste this again'-taste that totally overcame me, made me desperate and crazy to drink and drink and drink it forever, and drinking it, never, ever let her go.
It tasted like …
And that's when Rosalie's hands snaked to my shoulders and gently pushed me away from her.
Did I agree to this?
Oh, no, I did not.
But there was nothing I could do about it. I whined and pulled against her neck with all my might, and to her, feeling the power in her arms as she eased me off her kiss, my resistance was nothing. My grasping was a leaf in Fall, clinging with all its might to the tree and then falling, falling, falling, dying, lying in Rosalie's lap, grounded again, coming down from where I had just been in Heaven.
"Did you taste the difference now?" she asked.
Her voice was a million miles away, and she said words, I'm sure, but they didn't mean anything.
"Yeahhhh," I hummed happily.
She looked down at me, and her eyes were merry.
"Bella Swan," she tsked. "What on Earth am I going to do with you?"
There was that Earth-thing again.
Have your wicked way with me? I thought, or: Suck out all my blood!
I don't care! I truly didn't. In fact, I wanted her to have my blood. If my blood tasted just like her kiss tasted to me? She could have all of it, with my blessing, too!
Just give me one more kiss before I go, please, and thank you.
Hey, I thought, and why not now?
"Welll," I drawled, then offered: "You could kiss me again…"
That sounded like a good plan to me.
"Eheh," Rosalie smirked. She lifted me up, gently, and replaced me to my chair.
I listed to one side, so Rosalie righted me with one of just the slightest nudges to my shoulder.
She smirked at me and sashayed off.
Hmmphf! No kisses for me! I thought darkly, eyeing her backslide as it departed from me.
I felt like giving that tush what-for, just to let her know who is boss!
That's right: I'm the boss! Me! Any questions?
Thought not.
I took a swig of that dram.
Ka-WHAM!
Mis. take.
It slid down my throat like a snake, burning as it went, and I coughed to clear out the fire in my lungs.
But I felt nothing, and my vision started to blur. I blinked my eyes rapidly to keep them clear and open, neither of which I had any confidence in doing.
Rosalie looked up in alarm. "Everything okay?" she asked solicitously.
"Water," I whispered thickly and cleared my throat discretely.
Rosalie smirked at me and got up from her chair and glided toward the sink.
"… and hold the sass!" I added throatily.
I could just see the sass oozing off her as she thought her thoughts about me needing water and stuff. Hey, I need water! You asked! Deal with it!
There! That'd show her good!
Rosalie floated back to me and handed me the cup of water. I took it from her and took a swig of it as I did the dram. The water felt good going down. My whole body seemed to suck greedily at the water as it went down my throat like it never had before, like I was so thirsty, but I didn't even know it.
"Maybe we should lay off drinking any more of the …"
I finished off the dram in one quick swallow before Rosalie could finish her statement. Her Highness frowned down at me.
"What!" I snarled. "Finished it, so I'm laid off it."
I handed her the cup that had contained her magic potion.
"There ya go!" I said.
She looked down at the cup in her hand. "I'll just wash this, then?" she offered with irony, humoring me, and with a supercilious servile tone.
Okay, say that three times fast…ly.
"Thank ye," I said, leaning back in my chair and closing my eyes.
The sounds of swishing water and the clinking of the cup on the counter greeted my ears.
"That there was some right-good stuff!" I said loudly into the cabin.
"Uh, … huh," Rosalie's voice floated over to me from her chair.
I heard the shake-shake-shake-ah resume and saw the vision of an angel, … making me her magical ice cream.
Humored eyes greeted mine. "Are you going to remain awake for this?" she asked, "Or am I doing all this work in vain?"
"Depends," I said. "How long this be taking you!"
Rosalie snorted. "Quality cannot be rushed," she intoned.
"Uh, huh," sez I in reply, which I was pretty pleased with.
My head seemed to be getting heavier, so I rested it on my arms.
Rosalie grinned over at me as she continued shaking, then she laughed lightly.
"'utzSsso funni?" I asked, imagining she was laughing at me, and feeling slightly miffed about that.
Slightly.
"Oh," she said, easily, ignoring the challenge in my tone, "you do have to appreciate the humor in this."
"I do?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
I opened one eye, which had somehow closed itself – I don't know how – and looked at her.
Obviously a trick question, I thought, but I took the bait she wanted me to take.
"Making ice cream?" I offered the clear-cut choice.
She smiled and laughed through her closed mouth.
"No," she said. "Look at it this way."
I wasn't going to be tilting my head, or untilt my head from its sideways position on my arms.
Fortunately, I didn't have to. Rosalie brought the can of shaken milk down to her hips, and started shaking it in front of her. She turned in profile so I could see the can moving to and fro from her in a jerking motion.
"So," she said smirking, "what do you see?"
I raised my eyebrows. "You making ice cream … down low?"
I didn't get it.
Rosalie laughed.
"So," she said. "I had a friend at school …" She paused and looked thoughtful. "Delores? Flores? No. Jacqueline? Josephine?"
She paused again, her jaw working.
"I wish I could've remembered her name. She was one of my closest friends …"
"Obviously," I stated.
It must be hard, I thought, having so many friends that you can't remember their names.
Rosalie's brow clouded. She was looking at me, but she wasn't looking at me. "I don't even remember what she looked like now," she said, disappointment coloring her voice.
She looked hard at me, then shook her head and looked away.
She was quiet for a moment, sad.
Then she shrugged. "Anyway," she said, trying to force the story to continue, even though she realized she now didn't know its details anymore.
Rosalie's weakness, I thought. She couldn't remember something, and realizing this, it made her appear weak.
And she hated that.
Even as much as she tried to cover that up.
"This friend of mine, …" she paused, dredging for the name. I saw that it didn't come. "One day, she was like to us: 'Check this out!'"
Her voice was exuberant and gleeful and superior all at once, her friend's voice.
Her friends must've all been like her, it seems.
"So," Rosalie continued, "we were at this social at West Point Military Academy, and she goes outside the dance hall and tells us to wait here,"
Rosalie pointed imperiously at a spot on the floor.
"Then she goes to this secluded area with trees and a bench, and guess what?" Rosalie asked excitedly.
"There was a boy!" she continued before I could guess. "And she goes to him, and they sit next to each other, then guess what! She puts her hand on his trousers and takes out his … thing! and she bends down and puts it in her mouth!"
My eyes got wide at that.
"She what?" I exclaimed.
"Yeah!" Rosalie replied gleefully, "and then, you know what she does? She starts bobbing her head up and down and then, boom! The guy grunts and she's there for a few more seconds, then she takes his thing and puts it back in his trousers and zips him back up, then she comes right back to our hiding place without a word."
Rosalie's voice had become positively girly in the retelling of the story, like she was back in school, reliving the moment as it occurred.
"But …" I said. I didn't get it. "Why would she do that? I mean, isn't that gross?"
"That's exactly what I said to her," Rosalie crowed. "I was like: 'That is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen! What in the world enticed you to do that?' But she was like … okay, she said she did this all the time to boys, and we were all like 'why?' But she was like, and get this, she said: 'Who had all the power then? Boys think with only one thing and of only one thing, and they will do anything to get it.' And she, like, walked off, as proud as a prima donna after she said that."
Rosalie was quiet for a second, then she said, "I always wondered why she was so popular with the boys, because, frankly, I think she was pretty plain, and her family wasn't all that well-to-do, but …"
Rosalie shook her head dismissively. "Eh," she said.
Bleh! more like, I thought. "I don't think I could ever do that," I said with some certainty. Put a boy's penis in my mouth? I mean: didn't they pee out of that? Disgusting!
Rosalie nodded, then smiled sadly. "I didn't think I would, either, but then …"
She looked away.
"La!" she said with forced cheerfulness, looking back. "But one time, this friend of mine was with a boy, and she was showing off? So she took his dick in his her hand and jerked him off and he came all over the sidewalk. He about fell over after that. It's a miracle she didn't rip his dick off, holding him up as he stumbled, but no: she put his dick right back in his trousers and zipped him right back up again and sauntered off as he staggered to a bench and collapsed down on it."
Rosalie smiled in recollection. "She was like … glowing after that, all pleased that she made a boy lose it just with her hand."
Rosalie nodded. "A 'hand job,'" she explained, "as opposed to what she did earlier, which was a 'blow job.'"
"Huh?" I said.
She smirked and put the can back down by her hips and jerked back and forth suggestively. "You know," she explained.
I felt my eyes get wide again. "Oh," I said surprised, then: "wow."
"Yeah," she said, "I know."
Rosalie chuckled. Then she got serious again. "I asked her after that how she was going meet the right man to marry, carrying on like that, and she laughed and said that all men were the same, just scum. She was going to be an independent woman, so what did she need of them?"
Rosalie shook her head ruefully and was quiet.
"Was she right?" I asked.
Rosalie was quiet for a moment, so much so it was like she didn't hear me, and maybe she didn't, so lost in her own world.
"No," she said eventually. "No," she said more firmly, "all men aren't scum. I just happened to run into the wrong sort and not see past the veneer to the shit underneath."
I was quiet in turn. "But you said all men aren't. Who isn't, then?" I probed.
Rosalie looked away with a thoughtful look. "Carlisle."
"Dr. H- … Dr. Cullen," I said.
"Yeah," she frowned. "I hate him with a burning passion that will never die for what he did to me, …" Then her tone went from hate-filled to grudging, "but he meant well, … I guess, and …" she shook her head from side to side, "he is a principled man." She nodded. "A Godly man, so …"
"So, Dr. Cullen," I said.
"Yeah," she said, "and my father, but he's dead now, so …"
"So, the fathers in your life, then," I said.
"Carlisle was not my father!" she snapped heatedly.
I bit my lip and looked away. She said that with such anger, but when I saw them together, that's exactly how they acted. He was acting as a father toward her, and she responded to him like a dutiful daughter, sullen, yes, but dutiful.
"Okay," I said, and I looked away.
I wasn't going to win this one.
Not without us both getting hurt.
"'But' …" Rosalie pressed.
She wouldn't let it go.
I shrugged helplessly. She was unwilling to see things in any other way than hers, and when someone pointed out the slightest difference from her view, she got all hostile.
Not really a great way to have a conversation.
I tried a different approach. "I was just saying that you see men as either scum or you hate them, that's all."
"I didn't … hate my father, Bella," Rosalie corrected me.
"You didn't 'hate' him?" I shot right back, putting the word 'hate' in finger-quotes.
Rosalie irritably brushed her bangs away from her eyes. "I didn't say all men were scum, either; that was my friend, not me."
"But you didn't disagree with her," I pointed out.
Rosalie looked away frowning, looking rather cross.
Then she sighed. "I've just had bad experiences with men. I guess I'm not the best person to champion them."
"I'm not a man," I said.
This embarrassed her. "No, you're not," she said. But she wouldn't look at me.
"Is that why you like me?" I asked, and I swallowed, biting my lip.
We were going into dangerous territory, I could just feel it, and I dared to put that question to her, but now that it was out there, I wondered if this was a really, really stupid thing to say.
Rosalie's head whipped back and she glared at me, hard enough to melt steel.
"I don't 'like' you, Bella," she said harshly, using her own finger-quotes now. "And I don't 'like' you for all the wrong reasons."
The last bit she said more to herself than to me.
I swallowed again. "Rosalie," I said, "why don't you … 'not like' me?" I blinked and corrected myself quickly. "I mean, why do you 'not like' me?" I looked at her cold, featureless, perfect face. "I mean ... you know what I mean!" I said desperately.
We were talking in quotes and not saying things that needed to be said. We talked about 'not hate' now we're talking about 'not like.' I was scared that soon we'd be talking about 'not' something else that was four letters long.
I was scared where the conversation was going.
"You saw what I did to that rock?" Rosalie asked. "In your dream, you saw?"
"Yes," I whispered.
I was now utterly lost. What did that have to do with anything?
Besides the fact that Rosalie was so lost herself in my dream she was screaming and screaming because she couldn't do anything else?
Maybe it had everything to do with … everything.
"What did you see?" Rosalie demanded.
"You were crushing it … smashing it with your head," I said.
"No," she snapped. "Before that. Just before that."
So she did do that. It did happen.
My dreams were real.
I swallowed. "I don't know," I said. "I didn't see. I just …"
"Good!" Rosalie broke in.
I was quiet. She had silenced me.
"Good," she repeated and looked away, drumming her fingers on her arm, a restless tick.
She looked back at me. "I don't 'like' you because every second all I can think about, all I can see, everything that fills my mind is this terribly irritating need to suck every drop of blood out of that helpless vessel of yours that you call you body."
"I don't 'like' you because you're the only person in my entire existence that has dared to challenge me, yes, but who also didn't back down because you had more than some stupid, intellectual, specious, insipid shit you were trying to pander to me as some sorry-assed excuse to conflate your ego, for Christ's sake! I don't 'like' you because …"
She stopped suddenly and whipped her head away from me, muttering angrily to herself.
I just looked at her, sitting there, furious, angry, spiteful.
"So, basically," I said, "I annoy the hell out of you."
Is that what she said to me?
It sounded like that's what she said to me.
"Hmmphf!" Rosalie harrumphed angrily, but she didn't look back to me.
She was stewing in her own anger.
I sighed and got up from my chair, a maneuver I found more difficult than my body remembered: my limbs felt heavy and the floor rocked unsteadily underneath me.
But got up I did and I used the table to support me as I staggered to Rosalie and sunk unceremoniously into her lap.
Rosalie blew out a long, ragged sigh and wrapped me in her arms.
"'Fun,'" I said, "remember? This was supposed to be 'fun.'"
Rosalie laughed mirthlessly. "Yes," she said regretfully.
She was quiet for a while. "I am just …"
She was quiet again. "I am just so filled with spite and hate and anger. That's all I am. That's all that's left of me. Even as I try to lighten the mood with a little anecdote, it just turns into another …"
She stopped and was silent.
"It's because you're so Rosalie," I said.
Rosalie said nothing.
"Can you try?" I asked.
"This is me trying!" Rosalie said angrily.
I tried not to laugh, for Rosalie was being serious, and I could see she was trying, and she was hurting, too.
But …
But it was funny. Rosalie trying to be funny, and that just turns into a shouting match.
Maybe that's what I brought to the relationship: a sense of humor.
"Okay," I said eventually; that's all I could manage for now. But then I thought something: "But I don't believe you."
Rosalie was quiet as she held me in her arms, a mommy cradling a baby in her lap, but I wasn't a baby, and she wasn't a mommy, and never would be.
"You never do," she said.
"No, Rose, hear me out!" I said, slightly annoyed, and, at the same time pleased I could call her 'Rose.' "You say you're all bad and bitter, but …" I paused, embarrassed at all those 'b's, and pausing on the word 'butt' … almost. "But," I continued, "I mean, who set up this, and who's made me ice cream, that I haven't had yet," I added that archly, giving her a glare. "And who was so happy before, huh? You say you're all bad but you're not, and I've seen that so plain you can't deny, so don't even try. So, stop this woe-is-me talk, because, frankly, I'm getting tired of hearing it. It doesn't do you any good, except to confirm to yourself you're all bad, which is another one of you damn, stupid lies I see right through, so just shut up with it already!"
Rosalie looked away from me at that. Her lips were very tightly pressed together, but I couldn't read if I had crossed the line or if she were laughing at my silliness.
Well, I was in her lap. If she didn't like it, she could tie me up into a pretzel and throw me back into the river. Or put me to bed. Either way.
"My, my!" Rosalie muttered and tsked.
I breathed out a sigh of relief.
It's always dicey with Rosalie Hale: you don't know if the slightest thing will set her off, or if you scream in her face and she's glad for it. You just never know.
It kind of makes the case for living boldly, because you have nothing to lose, or you have everything to lose if you're wrong.
So I answered her boldly: "Yur durn tootin'!" and grinned up at her.
"Well," she said primly, "now I know where you get your courage from."
"What's that suppos'ta mean?" I growled back, offended.
"Oh, nothing! Nothing!" Rosalie sang lightly and quickly, an unconcerned sing-song.
She was teasing me, which only miffed me more.
I glared at her.
"How about some ice cream?" she asked brightly, changing the topic.
I narrowed my eyes at her. "Not until you say sorry for saying you're all bad an' stuff."
Rosalie suppressed a grin, but played along, "I'm sorry for saying I'm all bad an' stuff."
I wasn't having any of it: "AND for not listenin' to me ever!" I growled.
"An' for not listenin' to you evah!" Rosalie's tone was all contrition, but there was an undeniable twinkle in her eye.
I glared up hard at her. "Not good enough!" I said. "You gonna listen to me from now on or … uh … what?"
Okay, that ended kind of weakly. I blushed and looked away, blinking rapidly in embarrassment.
Rosalie ignored my flub, which was uncharacteristic of her, but she did it with grace and ease (which were her strong points, I have to admit). "Oh, yes, you're seeing before a you a reformed person …"
Then she paused and looked away. "Reformed being," she amended, frowning.
"You're doing it again!" I accused, pouncing, and I reach up with my finger and poked, poked, poked her on the chest, demanding her attention.
"Ow!" I said. I think I hurt my finger poking her chest. Note to self: don't do that.
"Sorry," she apologized quickly and bit her lip.
I glared up at her. "Well," I said, "ya mean it?"
"Mmhm," she said easily. "Look at me! I'm a changed woman already!"
She blinked twice giving me an absolutely sincere face.
"Hmmphf!" I chuffed and snuggled more deeply into her lap. She must have been thinking she could sell me the Brooklyn Bridge for a song if she thought I was buying the malarkey she was trying to sell.
But this would have to do for now.
Rosalie grinned down at me, pleased that I bought her line, hook, line and sinker.
Or so she thought.
"Somebody said something about ice cream?" I growled.
Rosalie's grin widened to a smirk. "I have to get you a spoon, sweetie," she said softly, and gave me a quick peck on my head. With that she lifted me up as she stood then set me down on her seat, gliding off to the sink to fetch a spoon.
Her seat was cold.
"Uh, Rosalie?" I said.
"Uh, yeah?" she returned, her dulcet tones mimicking my pitch perfectly.
I thppphted a raspberry at her, already very embarrassed by my situation.
Because I had to pee.
"Uh," I said. "Could I have another cup of water, and, uh, ihaftago!" I added that last bit quickly and quietly, hoping she wouldn't notice.
"Of course," she said, and hummed her way to the bedside, grabbing the chamberpot underneath it.
"Uh!" I offered, scared now.
"Now, now!" Rosalie tutted and hauled me by the arm behind the triptych before I could work in one word of protest.
"Uh," I said helplessly.
"Pee here," Rosalie said, very directly now, pointing into the pot as she uncovered it, then closing my hand around its handle, she disappeared beyond the blocking screen back to the kitchen.
I looked down at the piss-pot. It was heavy and foreign, speaking of an age bygone.
I looked up. "Don't peek!" I shouted into the cabin beyond my private little space.
"Uh, huh," Rosalie replied like she could care less.
I glowered down beyond the triptych and then squatted down resignedly.
Embarrassed or no: I did have to go.
So, I went.
...
"Uh," I said. "I'm done, so ... what do I ..."
Rosalie slipped around the corner, took the pot from me and was gone. The door opened and closed, then, right after, opened and closed again.
Rosalie peeked around the corner of the triptych, smiling. "You're decent," she stated the obvious. "You can come out now, if you want to."
She gave me a once-over and was gone again.
I swear to God, one day I'm going to sucker-punch her! Making me all embarrassed like this, just because I had to pee, and she made me pee here.
I came out from around the corner, blushing.
"Ice cream?" Rosalie offered. "I made it just for you," she added, smiling.
I stuck my tongue out at her at that.
I know: so mature of me, but sometimes I felt like a little kid around her, her being so easy about everything.
I sat at my spot on the table. Rosalie had already laid out a spoon for me and she had ladled the ice cream into a cup.
She was always ... meticulous about things.
"Nice presentation," I remarked.
Rosalie smiled in acknowledgement.
I took a bite of the ice cream.
It was ...
Perfect.
Sweet, cold, creamy.
I bit my lip and looked away. If this were a message from Rosalie, it was a love-letter to ice cream. No, it wasn't just 'ice cream,' it was 'ice dream,' it was so good.
I nodded my head, savoring the coldness in my mouth as I let the ice cream slide down my throat. As soon as that was gone, I took a full scoop of it in my spoon and shoveled it into my mouth. The coldness of that full scoop numbed my mouth, but in the opposite way that the dram numbed my mouth. The dram you had to be careful with, holding it in your mouth, letting it sting you into a torpor, and then letting it very carefully slide down your throat and feeling it take over your body as you swallowed it.
I was still very much reeling under the effects of it.
But the ice cream was magical in how good it tasted. I shouldn't have been surprised, as Rosalie had hand-made it, right in front of my eyes.
But that's the thing: I'm always surprised by her.
I'm always surprised by her.
"How is it?" she asked, as if she didn't know, but there was anxiety in her tone, too: like she really didn't know how awesome this was, and was scared I wouldn't like it.
I swallowed a gulp, clearing my mouth, and the coldness of the ice cream scored my throat as it went down. Mistake, but worth it.
"This ... is ... awesome!" I exclaimed enthusiastically.
I could have been all cool about it, but why?
The warm smile Rosalie returned to me rewarded my choice. She was happy she did something right, something that I liked.
I glowed inside burning the lump of ice cream in my belly.
My next bite was still a much smaller bite: my mouth, being doubly-numbed, could only take so much punishment. I had to be careful what I took into me, just as I had to be very careful now what came out ... came out of my mouth, I mean.
"Tea?" Rosalie asked.
"Yes, please," I said humbly.
Rosalie did love her tea, didn't she? It was probably some ritual the rich people did: drink tea, and with their pinky out, too, no doubt.
I wondered if I'd ever come to be like that. Yesterday I would have said a definite 'no' to that. But yesterday I would've never seen myself in a dress ... nor in a little, sheer slip where you could most definitely see my undies ... no matter how modest they were, you could still see them.
And as for Rosalie's thing ...
You couldn't see her undies.
Rosalie Hale didn't wear undies.
I looked away, blushing, as Rosalie got me my tea. She had eyes on the back of her head, so she would know if I were checking out her butt, even if it were just for aesthetic purposes.
Rosalie presented me the tea in my other mug, and as she leaned in, serving me it, she took a long whiff of me, like it were me that were perfumed, wherein point of fact she was one with the irresistible scent.
Oh, and she totally didn't have to lean over like that. I could see all the way down the deep cut of her chemise.
Her décolletage was very ...
It was very-very.
I quickly took a small sip of tea, looking up to her eyes to check to see if I've been caught.
I was. Rosalie's eyes crinkled at me.
"I think it's so sweet," Rosalie purred, then kissed me quickly on the head before she withdrew, "how shy you are. You proper little thing, you."
I stuck my tongue out at her, blushing.
"Don' think I'm all dat proper," I grumbled, actually a little bit angry with myself, being so allured by Rosalie, and, not only that, but being caught at it, too.
Rosalie smiled warmly at me then laughed lightly. "And part of your propriety is your humility, of course."
"Bleh!" I shouted.
I was so embarrassed with her plying me with compliments I think I was about ready to puke.
Rosalie smirked at that. "Done?" she asked, moving things along.
I looked down at my ice cream. "Almost," I said. I quickly scooped out the last bite and snarfed it down, then washed it down with a slurp of tea, which had cooled to a nice temperature.
Rosalie's brow furrowed. "Don't rush on my account!" she exclaimed, taken aback.
"'M done!" I said through my mouth full of ice cream and tea.
Rosalie gave me a chiding look as she took my ice cream cup. "Hmmphf," she said as she went to the sink, but that was all she said.
I was pleased with myself that I could still shock Rosalie to silence. To me it meant that she couldn't fit me into a little box in her mind: 'this is Bella.' I liked that I surprised her.
I sipped my tea as I watched her wash my ice cream cup. Rosalie came back and collected my tea mug and washed that, too.
The anticipation was a-killing me.
"What now?" I asked into the quiet.
I saw Rosalie, her back to me, smile privately.
She didn't reply.
She went straight to the bed, and picked up the cover by its corner and held it open for me.
"You've had a long day today," she said, "time for bed."
My heart was beating a mile a minute. "Ro-rose," I stuttered. "I-I'm so worked up now, I don't think I could sleep."
Rosalie looked at me in silence, a slightly confused expression on her face.
"Who said anything about sleeping?"