I Write Sins, Not Tragedies [An Emmett Cullen Love Story]

Chapter Fourteen

I Write Sins, Not Tragedies 

Chapter Fourteen: Stacks of Boxes 

"Mary?" An angelic voice rang through my ears; it was echoed and it gave me a little wince, although it was concerning. "Mary, are you alright?" I the roughness in my throat was preventing me from using my vocabulary to answer the voice that I had now recognized as Rosalie's so I groaned in response, hoping she would get the memo. 

"Oh, thank god you're awake!" I felt her cold iron grasp squeeze my hand a little too tight and I winced, this time out loud. Rosalie loosened her grip, her voice apologetic. "Oh, right, sorry." 

I finally mustered the strength to open my eyes, but the light was too much, and they closed again immediately. I began to move my body which was when I really started to feel the pain shooting through the nerves in my side and spine. Rosalie forced my body to remain still, "You need to lye still, Mary." 

I wanted to speak whole sentences, to spew a bunch of questions at her, but the only request I could make was a mere croak. "Water." I felt her tap my arm reassuringly followed by a swift breeze on direction, and then again the opposite way less than a second later. I only knew it was Rosalie because cold water was running over my lips and down my parched throat immediately. 

"How do you feel?" She asked as she pulled the cup away and set it on the table. I finally opened my eyes to look at her. 

"Tired." I answered her plainly, immediately getting to my questions. "What happened? Am I... you know... like you?" 

Rosalie laughed, it still sounded like bells, and she ran her cool hand over my forehead, moving my hair from my eyes. "No, Mary. You are still human as ever." 

I let out a sigh of relief, relaxing a little into the soft bed. I was somewhat positive that I was going to wake up one of them; like I had remembered Carlisle saying in the clearing, I had lost too much blood. I was about to ask Rosalie how he had managed to keep to my wishes in such a fatal outlook, but she beat me to the answer. 

"It took quite a few blood transfusions and a few times sewing you back up, but Carlisle is an amazing surgeon, and very courteous to say in the lines of your wishes; when he knows them." Rosalie added the last part as if there was a wound in her. It was then that I realized that I had never spoken to her about becoming what she was. 

"Rose?" 

"Hmm?" 

"How did you..." I wasn't exactly sure how to ask this; as I had never asked a vampire or anyone else for that matter how they had died. "I mean...what happened to you...how did you become what you are?" 

Rosalie sighed, but it wasn't out of irritation or as if she had taken offense. "It was a long time ago, Mary." I had thought that that was going to be her only answer to me. I had shifted in my bed a little, and was caught by surprise when she spoke again. Her eyes were very distant; far away now. 

"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.