The Edge of Insanity | Rosalie Hale

Chapter 24: The Calm Before

She arrived with slumped shoulders and eyes already weighed down by imagined tragedies. Bella Swan moved through the parking lot as though she carried the burdens of an ancient soul. It might have evoked sympathy—had it not been her default expression.

He didn't bother hiding his scrutiny. From his place near the black BMW, he studied her gait, her hesitations, the way her hand tightened around the strap of her bag at the exact moment Edward stepped into view.

There it was. That look. Desperation masked as devotion. A longing so transparent it made him sick.

Rosalie emerged from the passenger seat, her presence grounding, sharp as ever.

"She's eighteen," Rosalie said finally, voice like glass. "You'd think someone just handed her a terminal diagnosis."

"She certainly dresses like it." His reply was posh, quiet, factual, without amusement.

He watched as Edward greeted Bella with a smile so controlled it could have been etched in stone. She lit up—clumsy, eager, and entirely unaware of how unbalanced the pairing appeared from a distance. He wondered if anyone else noticed the absurdity.

Of course not. They only saw what they wanted to.

Alice drifted past, her glance brief but knowing.

"I give her until third period," Rosalie muttered, adjusting the strap of her purse. "She'll cry, trip, or declare eternal love again. Possibly all three."

He let out a loud laugh. "Come on love, lets get to class"

They moved in sync without discussing direction. It was always like that—years of proximity bred a kind of unspoken choreography. As they crossed campus, the crowd parted instinctively.

Rosalie adjusted the strap of her purse again, eyes straight ahead.
"I liked it better when everyone thought we were siblings," she said. "There was less staring."

Daniel smirked. "They were staring. Just... differently. It is more scandalized now."
"Flattering."
"I do what I can."

"You know," he added, "I almost forgot what it felt like to live with the Volturi. But watching that girl wander through life like a Victorian ghost? It's bringing me back."

Rosalie gave a soft snort, barely audible.
"You're horrible."
"You love that I'm horrible."
"I tolerate it. With great effort."

She bumped her shoulder lightly against his, and it was more intimate than any kiss could be in a hallway full of humans.

By the time the lunch bell rang, the novelty of the day had long worn off. The noise in the cafeteria scraped against his nerves—laughter too loud, smells too artificial. They settled at their usual table, a pristine corner that might as well have been cordoned off with velvet rope.

He didn't sit so much as sprawl while Rosalie sat with all the elegance of a statue, back straight, gaze mildly bored.

"Tell me again," he said, without looking up, "why we're going to this party."
"Because Alice has a god complex and no one has the spine to tell her no."
"You could."
"I did, she basically told me to fuck off, just in a nicer tone."

Daniel snorted. "She's terrifying."
"She's five foot one."
"With the persuasive force of a nuclear weapon."

He leaned closer, voice lowered.
"Remind me to fake a migraine."
"We don't get migraines."
"I could start. For the cause."

Rosalie tilted her head toward him, one perfectly arched brow raised.
"If you abandon me at this thing, I will ruin you."
"Romantic," he said, grinning. "And people say we aren't affectionate."