VIOLENT DELIGHTS | Rosalie Hale

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MY HAPPY ENDING

 I COULDN'T REMEMBER WHEN THE dreams had first started, only that I looked forward to them now. They were soundless, but I watched his mouth move. I watched his lips curve into that now familiar, mischievous smile. His dark eyes bore at me, warm and full of promise. Promise that reflected in the gleaming silver band on his ring finger.

But he was older. His hair was lush and full and white as snow, flowing back behind his head down to his ears like a romance novel character. His pale skin, nearly every inch visible covered in tattoos, hung wrinkled like over ripe fruit. He was skinnier, frailer. He sat beside me on a porch in some dreams, and somewhere nice and indoors in others. There was always sun. Too much sun, it beamed and washed over us like some ethereal filter. There was always some kind of water, a lake, a beachfront. And there were always children. Faceless teenagers, adults, toddlers. It depended on how old we were in the dream. Like I was flicking through a reel of potential futures on a ViewMaster toy.

I began to have these dreams so often I was convinced they were premonitions.

But the shrill ringing always stole me away into reality. I was starting to really hate my alarm clock. My body jerked too hard to the sound, as if I had some form of PTSD. The little calendar in the corner of the clock's display informed me that today was September thirteenth.

They were only dreams, but at the very least I was getting closer to making them a reality. Today was my birthday. Our birthday. Bella and I were officially eighteen years old.

It was going to be a big year.

All through the perfect summer — the happiest summer I had ever had, the happiest summer anyone anywhere had ever had, and the rainiest summer in the history of the Olympic Peninsula — the red X's on my wall calendar started building in numbers. I didn't feel any older, but that didn't matter. Eighteen meant a lot of things.

Eighteen meant Charlie couldn't enforce his curfew anymore, because I was a legal adult. He could try to argue that as long as I lived under his roof I had to follow his rules, but we both knew I'd leap at the chance to move out and in with Adam. And I could, now. Because Eighteen meant I could live legally by myself. Eighteen meant we could go on road trips together and stay at book motel rooms without using my fake ID. Eighteen meant I could vote. Eighteen meant I could get my first tattoo and Charlie would never have to find out. I could not be more excited for Eighteen.

Adam had graduated from high school but he was waiting for me before we'd both go to Washington State together. Since the summer, he was working at the Forks Forest Ranger's Department and still keeping his weekend shifts at the grocery store to save up for college. The two jobs kept him swamped, and still somehow he found time to fix up the old cabin his brother had left him to move to LA. I spent most of my summer working on the cabin with him. The plan was to build a life together. To build a home. A family.

The Camaro sat parked on the opposite side of the road from our house. It had rained the night before, so the droplets remained all over the shiny paint job. I'd given it a full superficial makeover for Adam's birthday in April. The Rust Bucket was no more, fully transformed into the beautiful "Wex-Machine", as the boys had dubbed it. It was as black as night with thick white double racing stripes along the hood. Thin white lines along the front and back fenders, the chrome work absolutely gleaming. I'd spent a good chunk of my car fund on it. And now, I got to drive it more than Adam, waking up a half hour earlier than even Charlie just to drive across town to pick up my boyfriend and drive him to work before school. It might have seemed like a ridiculous thing to do every single morning, but if I could avoid driving with my sister I would.