This is about the daughter of the Sons of Anarchy. How does she handle "the life"? She deals with her own life, meanwhile her mother pushes her to hold the title she currently holds. Read to find out about the one and only Rosalie Morrow.
~ book is...
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- Rose winced as she watched Gemma inject the cortisone into Clay's hands, knowing whatever happened a couple days ago between them, did not help the awkward interaction. She sighed as she left from spying on the two, to taking a shower.
She got into sweats, figuring she would be at the house until she had to leave for the dance class she was teaching. She felt nauseous about what she did the other night, but continued to push the thought to the back of her mind.
When she went into the kitchen realizing Clay left and Gemma didn't, she knew tensions were still high between them. As Rose prepared herself some breakfast, she thought about getting her own gun. It was easier to just take some from their personal supply, so that's what she was planning to do anyways. She went into deeper thought as she poured the milk into her cereal. When Gemma called her name, she jumped, causing her to jerk milk all over the table. She sighed, grabbing a towel.
"Huh?" Rose yelled, her voice echoing once again.
"Just calling your name," Gemma frowned as Rose's surprise, as she got her stuff together on the dining room table.
"Oh." Rose mumbled, cleaning up the mess.
"You sure you don't wanna come with me?" Gemma pursed her lips and ignored Rose's stand-off-ish mood, as she headed to T.M.
"I have to teach later. And I also have class." Rose smirked proudly.
"Oh really, what's that?" Gemma smirked back.
"Physics." Rose dropped her smirk, as Gemma laughed.
"Alright. Well, have a good day, baby." Gemma grinned as she cupped Rose's face before kissing her forehead.
"You too." Rose grinned as Gemma left. Once she saw Gemma drive off, she immediately jogged to the closet. She dug around the shoeboxes, trying to find two she liked. She would stand up, and hold them as if she was aiming them at the wall. Rose tossed the ones she didn't like, before finding a couple that felt right in her hands. She checked the barrels, making sure they were loaded, before tossing them on the floor and putting the others away.
She examined them as she walked over to the table, before stuffing them in her purse. She smirked as she tossed her purse on her shoulder, enjoying the heavy feeling of the guns.
She sighed, knowing she needed Brea for this. She wanting to make the guns her own. Give it her own signature. Meanwhile, Brea was the only friend she knew who was extremely artistic. Plus, this was just her excuse to get her friend back.
As she tossed the purse back onto the table, she changed into clothes for the dance class she was teaching. Leaving her in only a sports bra, and leggings. She tossed a sweater on, along with slipping on some converse.
There were two hours to kill the class she had to teach. So as she got her things together, she contemplated how to say sorry to Brea, and how to convince her to do this. She didn't blame her if she refused, but Rose practically wasn't in her right mind when she decided to swing at Brea. They've been friends for too long, and Rose was the outcome of that incident. Acting out was her way of coping.
