CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The days went by too quickly for Rosalie's liking.
Alaska was in bloom in the summer. As they drove through the long roads, windows down, the air was cool and calming, the sky blue and dotted with wisps of clouds. The days rolled by easily as if they'd been doing such a thing for years. Violet never wanted anything to change.
She tried not to think of the goodbyes that were yet to come. As soon as the summer ended, so would her relationship with Rosalie- if it could be called that. They hadn't talked about it but Violet hadn't wanted to. She didn't know what hung between them, but she knew that it was strong and unending yet knew it would soon change. Rosalie's presence was unwavering.
Being alone with her for hours on end was easy. The silence was comfortable, the talk effortless. Violet was sure she had never felt such a way before- so serene and unbothered, so able to be herself at each minute of the day. When she looked at Rosalie, she felt calm. The fact surprised her. When she sat in the passenger seat, tucked up under a blanket as they drove through the night to their next destination, Violet would look at her and wonder where the standoffish and proud girl had gone, would wonder if Rosalie had ever been that girl or if it had just been a mask. Violet had a feeling Rosalie knew that she was looking and let her stare anyway.
At night, when their eyes became too tired, they lay the seats down and draped their blankets together. It was then that they could deny themselves no longer. Violet liked the fire behind Rosalie's lips, the ecstasy that laced her tongue. For so long that taste had been hidden by the prickled thorns of Rosalie's words and now Violet could rip them away to feel the soft petals of her lips. Rose's hands would always find her waist, fitting there as if they had been designed with the right shape to sit there- a lock and key. Part of Rosalie wished that she could freeze time and let them remain like that- together- for the rest of time. But she knew it was selfish. Unlike her, Violet had a life to live and a living family to do it for.
As they reached Anchorage, the truck had barely rolled to its stop before Violet pushed the door open and stepped out into the fresh air. In the distance, the mountains seemed to roll on forever. They were great, protruding figures, carving out the horizon with a commanding largeness. Even the dabbing of powder-white snow could not make them look gentle.
Though she could not see the water, she could smell it. The salt-tainted air reminded her of La Push.
"What do you want to do first?"
Violet turned, unable to keep the grin from her face. "Me? We're here because of my choice. It's your turn to say what you want to do."
They'd already planned so much: their theatre tickets, their time frame for hiking the glacier trail, and more. Today, the city was theirs, and Rosalie wished to use it.
"Let's just look around the city, see what there is, yeah?"
"Anything you want, Rosalie," Violet said, taking her by the hand and leading her to the signs that pointed them to the centre.
The centre was bustling with life. Rosalie could hear everything and fought hard to keep the loudness of her ears down. It was easy to do with Violet by her side, pointing out the shops they could look at and the restaurants she would like to try.
"Let's go in here!"
The air smelled old and rustic inside, and it was so very still. The far wall was covered in clocks in all sizes, the nearest one painted in vintage posters, some from wartime propaganda. For a while, they drifted between the shelves and the bookcases, stopping momentarily to glance at leather-bound books and odd trinkets. Rosalie was the first to pick something out.
