I have returned, and I am a wedded woman! I married my husband (!) David, who is a real-life Emmett, on June 24 in my hometown. We just got back from a dream honeymoon, and I'm feeling happier than ever. Truly. Even our girl Rosalie would be jealous, y'all.
Thank you for your patience with this new chapter update! This is one of my favorite chapters yet - right around now is when the tone starts to shift. Why, you ask? Because it's Cullen time.
/
Tuesday May 2nd, 1933
4 days until the wedding
I used to think that the world only spun in one direction.
In the few hours since I'd held that belief, it had abruptly been flipped upside down, its poles reversed, turned inside out, and forced to spin the opposite way.
Unrecognizable.
I spoke to no one for a while. Not even Esme. Certainly not the men.
And then the paper came, and I realized I had a reputation to uphold.
They used photos from the engagement party. I looked great.
HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL? The font splashed across the front page. It had been mere days since my death – disappearance, rather – and already the media frenzy had begun. Of course it had. The social event of the season was in jeopardy.
The Kings and my parents had put up a hefty reward for anyone who could find me. They said they'd triple it if I was found alive.
I was annoyed that I'd died as a "girl" and not as a "woman." I'd almost been married, for crying out loud.
I had been explicitly instructed to remain indoors for the foreseeable future. One reason, allegedly, was that my new skin would reflect light, drawing attention and risking exposure. I'd yet to witness that phenomenon, even though I'd seen all three Cullens outside without issue.
In addition to remaining incognito so as not to be recognized around Rochester, I would be a threat to anything with a beating heart. Human blood, Esme had said, would be impossible to resist, if I were to be tempted.
Bearing all that in mind, I decided to stay with these lunatics, at least for now. Unless death was an option, of course. But that didn't seem likely.
Really, I decided to stay with Esme. Even entertaining the thought of "living" with these "men" made me want to vomit, but I saw no alternative.
I avoided Carlisle and Edward whenever I could. Whenever I couldn't, I leered at them. I hoped they could feel my disdain, my disgust, through my silence.
I wasn't allowed to be alone while both Carlisle and Esme were out, like I was a child, or otherwise institutionalized and under constant suicide-prevention surveillance.
I was trapped inside their miserable shack of a house; I would've been grateful for Vera's humble dwelling, at this point.
And so I found myself dissecting a thread in the rug on the den floor. Carlisle had attended to the hospital. Esme had stepped out to buy new watercolors.
Edward was the only one around to keep me company.
And Royce the Second had the nerve to give a quote on the radio's evening news:
"If you're out there, Rosie, baby, know that I love you," he'd said. "And if – when – I find the scumbag who's responsible for this, well, I'll make him regret the day he was born."
I wondered briefly if he felt any guilt at all.
"He doesn't," Edward said.
My head snapped up. He hadn't looked up from whatever book he was reading.
But I hadn't said that out loud.
"I read minds, Rosalie," he said, sounding bored. He turned the page.
Sure. Why not.
"Sure. Why not?" I groaned aloud, which earned no attention from him at all.
Can you at least look me in the eye when you condescend me? I thought, just to test him.
He finally lifted his nose out of his book, sighed, looked at me, rolled his eyes, then glanced back down.
I glared at him, incredulous, and without any kind of comeback.
Jackass, I thought lamely.
He didn't acknowledge.
"Jackass," I said out loud.
Nothing.
I crossed my arms and turned my attention back to the broadcast. At least, I tried to. I was still turning Royce's words over in my head, trying to match them to the man I'd encountered Saturday night.
I couldn't picture him clearly at all anymore. I saw red as soon as I thought of him. All of them. All of it.
I found that it was actually very easy to picture him, as long as I pictured him dead.
His corpse, lifeless and drained of blood, was my first clear fantasy, but I was simultaneously repulsed by the context it required to imagine; despite my new nature, I hated the thought of drinking his blood. The revulsion I felt wasn't quite nausea – truthfully, I couldn't conceive of feeling nauseated in this new body – but something deeper. Primal.
Next, I was entertained by the delightful thought of sinking bullet after bullet into him, even after he'd died. He certainly hadn't lost interest when he thought I'd died. I had no idea how I'd acquired the gun in this scenario, but it didn't matter; a silver pistol, heavy in my hand, was clear as crystal in my mind's eye.
After that, I imagined the pleasure of running all the way through him with some sharp object… one of the iron spokes from a garden gate, maybe. Surely, Vera wouldn't mind if I borrowed hers. The fence surrounding Esme's garden was wooden, so that wouldn't work as well. Unless… actually, it might work even better. If the aim wasn't to kill him efficiently, but rather to satisfy me, then a wooden stake would do the job just fine.
I almost wanted to laugh at the irony of a vampire killing a human with a wooden stake. I didn't, though.
I did picture treating his testicles like a clove of garlic, and it made me smile.
Dismemberment came next. I felt a heavy comfort as I imagined him in pieces. With my new strength and body, it would be ridiculously easy to tear his limbs off, one by one, like breaking apart a head of lettuce. His head and shoulders would be the last to separate, naturally. If only there were a way to start with his head, so that he could watch himself be pulled apart…
I suddenly heard a strange ripping sound – too real to have imagined. I looked up to find that the book Edward had been reading was now in two, split roughly down the spine.
And it occurred to me: if he could read minds… then he'd been aware of that violent daydream.
Worse: he'd been perpetually re-living Saturday night, just as I'd been.
I felt violated all over again, and a sharp hiss escaped my lips before I could stop it. Not that I would've, honestly.
Did my own mind even belong to me?
"I'm not trying to do it," he snapped, still looking down at the broken book. "Believe me."
When I was alive, I was the kind of girl who would've held her tongue in a situation such as this. Except, I realized, that's exactly the attitude that had gotten me killed.
I growled to myself – a new development that I hadn't quite learned how to keep under control – as I analyzed my dilemma. My curiosity had been piqued; I wanted to know how Edward knew he didn't feel any guilt. Even more, I wanted to know how he'd known Royce was guilty in the first place, when I'd overheard him talking to Carlisle as I burned.
But I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of asking.
And by the time I'd reached that conclusion, he'd already heard the question in my thoughts.
So I told him out loud to go fuck himself and turned up the radio.
After a few moments of tense silence, I realized that he was still reading the book he'd ripped through, holding the bindings together with his left hand and thumbing through pages with his right. He looked like an idiot.
Must be some book, I thought.
"Anatomy textbook," he grumbled back.
I scoffed. "And that interests you?"
His gaze remained on the page. "Correct."
I considered that. Reading, as a hobby, seemed like an incredibly tedious activity. I hadn't been much of a bookworm before my life ended, and I didn't see myself developing a habit of studying now.
Unless that book contained information about how to keep a man alive after separating his head from his shoulders to witness his own dismemberment, I couldn't be bothered.
I'd thought the words before I'd even realized how deep the truth of them was rooted within me: I wanted Royce dead.
I looked Edward's way to gauge his reaction. Maybe we could pretend I'd never said it – thought it. Maybe he'd keep it between us.
This time, he was looking at me.
There was a strange expression in his golden eyes, a different kind of apathy than he'd expressed towards me previously.
Not like he didn't care about me.
More like he didn't care if I entertained that thought.
I opened my mouth to inquire, but his attention was already back to that fucking book.
—-
I wanted so badly to be shut in my room, alone with my misery, for all hours of the neverending daynight. All I wanted was to wilt, dry up, and crumble away. Like the roses and violets shortly after I passed them off to Vera.
Naturally, fate had other plans.
I had to be taken out into the forest like some kind of uncivilized brute every few hours to hunt.
My astonishing red eyes only remained ruby red for a bit. They darkened to an ethereal black within hours of replenishing my appetite. I thought, at first, that maybe my eclipsed eyes would look more human-like. They didn't.
If I'd known I'd never crave normal food again, I would've eaten something other than grapefruit and celery for the last few weeks of my life. Now, my tastes were significantly less refined.
I only let Esme come with me. Carlisle offered every time. I declined every time. Edward never offered. I never asked.
I was learning to use my heightened sense of smell as a guide. If I knew what to look for, I'd know where to go. It was largely instinctual.
As in, my instincts did not want me to drink animal blood.
Esme had to redirect me the first time I caught the scent of some deer. I could smell their blood, no doubt – it just didn't appeal to me. While I could understand that it was technically consumable, it smelled like wet dirt.
When I first smelled it, I wrinkled my nose. "Really? Are you serious?"
Esme gently steered me towards the offending scent. "You'll learn to override it quickly," she assured me. "And some animals taste better than others."
I did find carnivores much more palatable than herbivores. But in the end, nothing could satisfy the ache in my throat. Nothing could quench the thirst entirely. I would always have the pain. I would never be able to resist, even if I wanted to.
I wanted so much to hate the act of feeding, but my body wouldn't let me.
The monster within would overcome me every time. It was just a matter of how long I could keep her at bay.
Human blood could satisfy me, in theory. For a little while. But that was out of the question.
I wouldn't let myself near the town, even if Carlisle, Esme, and Edward would allow it. Which they didn't.
…But I was tempted.
I wanted to see my parents again. I wanted to see my little brothers, Henry, Vera, Fred. I even wanted to see the ugly salesgirl at Walters Bridal Boutique.
More than anything, I wanted to see Royce.
I wanted to find out for myself if he really felt no guilt about what he did to me. I suspected that he must. He couldn't just be going about his daily life carefree, as if he hadn't raped and murdered me.
The longing for revenge burned hotter than the thirst. And I knew that was a desire that I could satisfy.
So I had to keep my thoughts in meticulous order. I was confident that Edward would rat me out at the first chance he got. Carlisle and Esme, being pacifists, surely wouldn't approve of my need to kill. In fact, they were actively trying to train me out of it.
The difference was that I wasn't craving Royce's blood. I craved his demise.
I didn't want to drink his blood. Probably, when I could smell it, I'd want to. But I knew myself outside of my newborn instincts, and I knew that I didn't want any part of him in me. There could be no instinct of mine strong enough to change that.
I wanted him dead, but I didn't want to consume him. When he died, I wouldn't drain him. I'd have to be very careful not to spill a drop.
I was confident that I would be able to override my instinct to kill him… so that I could kill him properly.
But not yet.
Once I'd mastered my ability to keep my… urges under control, I would have my revenge.
And in the meantime, I had four other dummies to practice on.
I had a long way to go. I itched to go back into the forest after only a few hours. At this rate, it would be months before I was ready. Maybe even years.
Unacceptable. I'd use my spite to propel me forward.
Plus, it wasn't like I had anything else to do. Time stretched forever in front of me. It was dreadful, and incredibly boring.
I didn't have any more centimeters to drop from my waist. I didn't have any more leftover flowers to deliver to Vera. I couldn't hold Henry on their back porch.
Planning and preparing for the wedding had taken up every second of spare time I'd had. Otherwise, I realized, I hadn't really thought about anything at all while I was human.
I yearned for the bliss of thoughtlessness. Simultaneously, I cursed myself for living so thoughtlessly.
/
It's getting fun now, yeah? :) it's Cullen time! LMK what you think!
