"What the hell is all this?" I spluttered.
"You didn't really think he would make you sleep on the couch, did you?"
I mumbled unintelligibly as I stalked forward to snatch my things off the bed.
"I'll give you some privacy," Alice laughed. "See you in the morning."
After my teeth were brushed and I was dressed, I grabbed a puffy feather pillow off the huge bed and dragged the gold cover to the couch. I knew I was being silly, but I didn't care. Porsches as bribes and king-sized beds in houses where nobody slept-it was beyond irritating. I flipped off the lights and curled up on the sofa, wondering if I was too annoyed to sleep.
In the dark, the glass wall was no longer a black mirror, doubling the room. The light of the moon brightened the clouds outside the window. As my eyes adjusted, I could see the diffused glow highlighting the tops of the trees, and glinting off a small slice of the river. I watched the silver light, waiting for my eyes to get heavy.
There was a light knock on the door.
"What, Alice?" I hissed. I was on the defensive, imagining her amusement when she saw my makeshift bed.
"It's me," Rosalie said softly, opening the door enough that I could see the silver glow touch her perfect face. "Can I come in?"
7. UNHAPPY ENDING
ROSALIE HESITATED IN THE DOORWAY, HER BREATHTAKING face unsure.
"Of course," I replied, my voice an octave high with surprise. "Come on in."
I sat up, sliding to the end of the sofa to make room. My stomach twisted nervously as the one Cullen who did not like me moved silently to sit down in the open space. I tried to come up with a reason why she would want to see me, but my mind was a blank on that point.
"Do you mind talking to me for a few minutes?" she asked. "I didn't wake you or anything, did I?" Her eyes shifted to the stripped bed and back to my couch.
"No, I was awake. Sure, we can talk." I wondered if she could hear the alarm in my voice as clearly as I could.
She laughed lightly, and it sounded like a chorus of bells. "He so rarely leaves you alone," she said. "I figured I'd better make the best of this opportunity."
What did she want to say that couldn't be said in front of Edward? My hands twisted and untwisted around the edge of the comforter.
"Please don't think I'm horribly interfering," Rosalie said, her voice gentle and almost pleading. She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them as she spoke. "I'm sure I've hurt your feelings enough in the past, and I don't want to do that again."
"Don't worry about it, Rosalie. My feelings are great. What is it?"
She laughed again, sounding oddly embarrassed. "I'm going to try to tell you why I think you should stay human-why I would stay human if I were you."
"Oh."
She smiled at the shocked tone of my voice, and then she sighed.
"Did Edward ever tell you what led to this?" she asked, gesturing to her glorious immortal body.
I nodded slowly, suddenly somber. "He said it was close to what happened to me that time in Port Angeles, only no one was there to save you." I shuddered at the memory.
"Is that really all he told you?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, my voice blank with confusion. "Was there more?"
She looked up at me and smiled; it was a harsh, bitter-but still stunning-expression.
"Yes," she said. "There was more."
I waited while she stared out the window. She seemed to be trying to calm herself.
"Would you like to hear my story, Bella? It doesn't have a happy ending-but which of ours does? If we had happy endings, we'd all be under gravestones now."
I nodded, though I was frightened by the edge in her voice.
"I lived in a different world than you do, Bella. My human world was a much simpler place. It was nineteen thirty-three. I was eighteen, and I was beautiful. My life was perfect."
She stared out the window at the silver clouds, her expression far away.
"My parents were thoroughly middle class. My father had a stable job in a bank, something I realize now that he was smug about-he saw his prosperity as a reward for talent and hard work, rather than acknowledging the luck involved. I took it all for granted then; in my home, it was as if the Great Depression was only a troublesome rumor. Of course I saw the poor people, the ones who weren't as lucky. My father left me with the impression that they'd brought their troubles on themselves.
"It was my mother's job to keep our house-and myself and my two younger brothers-in spotless order. It was clear that I was both her first priority and her favorite. I didn't fully understand at the time, but I was always vaguely aware that my parents weren't satisfied with what they had, even if it was so much more than most. They wanted more. They had social aspirations-social climbers, I suppose you could call them. My beauty was like a gift to them. They saw so much more potential in it than I did.