ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ sᴇᴠᴇɴ

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CHAPTER SEVENᴀɴɢʀʏ ᴅʀɪᴠɪɴɢ

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CHAPTER SEVEN
ᴀɴɢʀʏ ᴅʀɪᴠɪɴɢ

The radio crinkled and stuttered in Violet's workroom, sounding like muffled rain. It was most likely overplayed, run down from hours spent flicking between the few stations that were reachable on the outskirts of Forks. Eight hours, Violet had spent in the garage, waiting for the eldest Cullen to arrive to collect her car.  It sat neatly by the front, hidden behind an old shutter, lit only by a yellow light, swarmed with bugs amongst the pitch black of night.

The dark had never scared her- not when many late nights as such had been spent in the garage, the wide doors open deep into the gloom of the edging forest. But this was a darkness she was not supposed to see. This darkness, as she stared into it from where she leaned against the hood of her jeep, annoyed her endlessly.

She didn't know what made her wait up so long. There was pride hiding behind her feelings, and it was undeniable. As much as Rosalie Hale had loathed the idea of leaving her car to be fixed at one of the only two garages in Forks, she had done it, entrusting the beautiful thing in her care. Violet had spent hours on it, much to her father's delight. This shrug-off from the girl felt like being denied a well-deserved promotion of being stood up for a date.

Violet pushed herself from the jeep as the radio stuttered for the sixth time in the past minute. Her hands wrapped around the rusted metal and she lifted it, knocking the base against the wall, setting it down again when the song began to play again. Seconds later, it switched off altogether. Violet let out a groan and marched herself to the front doors, readying to close the garage.

The lights took a few seconds to flicker off as she slid the metal shutters closed over the front door, letting the crinkly racket fill the vacant night air. She fumbled for the torch in her pocket and pulled the small thing out. The yellowish light burst from the end, finding the space in front of her, revealing a pearly-white face.

Violet let out a screech as the torch dropped from her hands. She caught it, directing it forward again, only to find Rosalie Hale standing where the ghostly creature had been, her face set into a mild look of annoyance.

"Where did you come from?" Violet exclaimed as she realised she'd heard not a single footstep from the girl. Rosalie didn't answer but only looked at her expectantly. "Why were you late?"

"I didn't trust myself to drive while angry," Rosalie said, crossing her arms.

For a moment, Violet watched her as her pale face morphed into an expression of indifference, an improvment from that of the previous look. Annoyance still warmed her body, flushing her cheeks and making the back of her neck damp. Civility was supposed to be the clever thing to work from, and Violet was intelligent, too smart for her own good. But her pettiness wanted to refuse the pleasant answers. Not a word of apology had left Rosalie's lips, after all. But Rosalie Hale was a difficult person to ignore.

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