She recalled reading a newly published book in 1969, written by a Swiss-American psychiatrist called Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. She hadn't particularly cared for the sciences then, nor indeed reading- but the title of the plain book had caught her eye. On Death and Dying. As someone afflicted with the unique disposition of chronic death, Rosalie Hale could only see the book as a self-help guide rather than a bereavement theorist's study of the proposed stages of grief.
The first stage was Denial. Rosalie had assumed Jules would not want to talk about her impending death, and yet she discussed it as casually as if she were bringing up the weather. This confused her, at first, until Rosalie realized Jules had skipped straight to the final stage- acceptance.
Which brought her to feel all the stages for her human best friend instead.
Lately, however, she seemed to linger on a singular emotion that encompassed all else. Her eyes burned with the bitter feeling, fists clenched so tight beneath the table that the whites of her knuckles actually looked paler than her porcelain skin. She was not glaring directly at Edward- pretending to be lost in thought with furrowed brows gazing outside the window- but she didn't have to glare at him for him to hear exactly how she felt about him within the confines of her mind. Or the boy would have- if he weren't so distracted by her friend.
They had grown closer over the past few weeks, noticeably enough that the students of Forks High had begun to whisper about a potential new couple. They would make for a pretty pair, even Rosalie had to admit, but the burning jealousy within her would never allow it. It was Rosalie's shoulder Jules was supposed to lean on for support, Rosalie's arms she was supposed to seek for comfort. It was supposed to be her job to take care of her, to watch her, to guide her into their new life. Rosalie hadn't had a true friend since she was human, one that accepted her for all that she was—and now Edward was stealing her away. Taking up valuable time of Jules' human months from her. Ruining her.
And the worst part was that Rosalie could not even tell if there was something more. It felt like it. It felt like the two shared secrets no one could understand, Jules' eyes lit up with roguish amusement, dancing with mischief as she stared directly into his with her jaw cupped by a hand, her elbow on the table next to her meal. Occasionally, she would eat something off her plate- too distracted with whatever she was thinking of to do it properly. Rosalie would watch as her fingers toyed with a green grape, raising it to her lips and not biting until she finally remembered its presence, sucking the juices as she went in vain as they slicked the tips of her fingers. In the micro-clarity of vampire sight, the subconscious act seemed on purpose. And maybe it was. Rosalie had never seen Jules flirt before, and perhaps she was the only one to bear witness to it from where she stared out the window beyond Jules' shoulder.
If it was, then she certainly was not the only one to be affected by it, she theorized irately. Edward's lips were stretched in a crooked, sly grin, eyes dancing with rare mirth. Gone was the morose boy she was least fond of out of her family. The brooding, sullen Cullen she had known all her immortal life was replaced by a charming, delighted boy—and she had never seen him express such prolonged happiness in the time she had known him. She felt insulted by his joy. Although Rosalie herself had never been attracted to the beautiful boy, she had always been offended that he shared in her mutual dislike. Rosalie had come to reason that her brother couldn't be attracted to anyone if he wasn't attracted to her or any of the Denali sisters. And now she could see this was not true with her own two eyes, and she could not help but blame Edward for it- because how could she blame Jules?
Jules was the sun. She exposed her, left her bare, and yet embraced her with such warmth and such genuine love- how could anyone not care for her? How could anyone not find delight in such a creature as her? No, she could not blame Jules, not even if she was flirting with her brother right in front of her- but she could yell at Edward in her mind all she liked.
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Téméraire: A Rosalie Hale Fanfiction
FanfictionC'était l'appel du vide. Juliette Rowe believed it was her sole responsibility to live her life to the very fullest, for she had too much to live for. She had done it all by herself. She had packed up her whole life, moved across the Atlantic, and...
