Téméraire: A Rosalie Hale Fanfiction

CHAPTER XVIII: MISS AMERICAN PIE

Sunday morning began with a hard click and a familiar soft guitar melody before the full track kicked in on her radio clock. Her kaleidoscope eyes fluttered open, her mind dredging itself out of the blissful dark abyss of dreamless deep sleep as she stared up at her blank ceiling. For only a moment, she felt out of place, as if she had not yet laid within the confines of her own body, not settled within the space of her own mind.

Welcome to your life, there's no turning back. Even while you sleep, we will find you-

And then she remembers the events of the day before, flickering like static images in a View-Master toy.

-acting on your best behaviour, turn your back on mother nature. Everybody wants to rule the world.

Jules groans lowly rolling over stubbornly to bury her face into her pillow, unable to ignore the adhesive patches on her back underneath the large faded pink t-shirt now twisted around her. They served like reminders now, her aching bruises. Sore mementos she could not ignore.

It's my own design, it's my own remorse. Help me to decide, help me make the- most of freedom and of pleasure, nothing ever lasts forever. Everybody wants to rule the world.

She wished she could pretend the day before had never happened. That if she just shut her eyes and fell asleep again she didn't have to face the morning, try to delay facing reality. It isn't long before she succeeds, surrendering into the lull of darkness once more as she hugged the pillow her head lay upon, curling her long legs up beneath the warmth of her twisted comforter. Her sense of time and space fades off as the song continues on behind her.

The rapping on the door is loud enough to wake her with a jump as she launches upright. Five successive knocks in a rhythmic pattern, a pause, and two more solid ones- it wasn't the sound of the knock that confuses Jules, it's the door it comes from. The blank backdoor she had painted a smooth white halfway through last week to prep for her next mural- the one no one ever really came to and the one she snuck into the house through when she snuck out for a date.

She drags herself out of bed begrudgingly, rubbing her eye with one palm as the other reached out for the door handle, only frowning in confusion at the blonde smiling at her in the dismal morning light. Rosalie wore a light brown coat over a colour blocked sweater with a slightly scooped cream turtleneck that her swanlike neck still peeked above from, olive coloured skin-tight pants nearly coating her toned thighs like paint before her knee high black boots began. Her golden hair was twisted up away from her face in a loose updo that Jules instantly recognized from her Mamie Éloise's collection of vintage magazines. It suits her face far too well, the classic red painted lips briefly stealing her breath away. "Morning."

"I thought I told your family I needed some time to process." Jules' deep voice was hoarse with exhaustion, crackling like a fire as she groaned and stretched out her arms above her head, cracking her shoulder. She stifles a yawn behind the back of her hand, missing the way Rosalie's smile grows.

"And you'll have it." Rosalie promises with a soft chuckle. "You can have the rest of the day with Chief Swan but I'm not leaving you to mope alone in bed all morning until he comes home. We're going for a drive."

"Oh we are, are we?" Jules raises both her eyebrows unimpressed, her tone dry.

"I was going to surprise you but someone decided to sleep in past her alarm last minute." Rosalie shot her a look, still smiling. "Come on, get dressed and meet me out front. We can have pancakes at the diner."

Jules is a little more awake by the time she comes out her front door, only to back up a little in confusion with a hand out as if to steady herself and a double take with her chin dipping in at the unfamiliar car on her curbside. Rosalie leans against its hood with a wickedly smug smirk like a model for a high fashion magazine spread. It's shiny and red like her brand new BMW, but the classic late '50s corvette's polished exterior is the colour of fine wine and dark rouge lipstick, deep and decadent in shade with shiny chrome fittings really highlighting it's perfectly restored condition. Even from a distance Jules could see that the gorgeous car had been cared for like a prized work of art, and as a car enthusiast she could not help but to ogle.