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we all write letters we'll never send and everyone knows it's all pretend

Edward/Tanya, Edward/Rosalie.

Written for twilight_t00bs and twilightprompts on LiveJournal.

1. we all write letters we'll never send and everyone knows it's all pretend

Rating 4/5   Word Count 995   Review this Chapter

Before you tear up this letter, give me the chance to tell you what I have to say.

You at least owe me that much.

I'm going to try and help you choose the right path, Bella. It's up to you to listen. It's up to you to take the chance I'm giving you and change your life for the better. Right now, you're on a crash course for disaster and your direction is steady. Turn the wheel and make for the freedom I'm offering you.

There's only one way to do it. Trust me on this one.

You need to stay away from Edward Cullen.

I'm sure you think I'm only in this for my own personal gain. It's Rosalie, that Cullen bitch, the damn arrogant one who thinks she's so far above everyone else. And why wouldn't you think that? Why wouldn't you eat up all the stories I've fed to the rest of this godforsaken town? For years they've believed everything we told them. Money buys everything, don't you know, and what money can't buy, beauty does. These humans will do anything to rub elbows with the elite, even if it's all a sham.

It's all a sham.

Can you feel the decades of regret pouring off the page? I certainly hope so. Perhaps that would help convince you to finally listen.

Listen good and hard, because there is only one thing you have to understand, Bella. But it's important, and it is fundamental to your mental health and your emotional well-being. I know you're going to fight tooth and nail against the truth. But if I'm being honest, enamel and iron can't compete with our granite.

(His heart is made of stone, too. )

Accept this fact, this one tiny sentence, and your life will be infinitely easier. You will be infinitely happier, I promise you. Perhaps you can run off and have cute little werewolf babies. Or I'm sure you could find a dorky blond human boy to open doors for you and call you "ma'am".

(I think you might come to like that, someday. As you get older, your heart yearns to...settle. Stability is all you need. But you're probably too young to understand that anyway.)

Are you ready?

He doesn't love you.

Forget everything he's ever told you. Forget the whispered words in your ear at night when you feel like you're the only ones alive.

Forget those phrases that you remember the next day, the ones that make you actually believe he loves you.

They're all lies.

I have been on the receiving end of those cliched lines, ones where he swore to be there for me forever. How many times was I called his "only"? How many times would I have bet my life -- such that it is, of course -- on the fact that he loved me?

We were the most beautiful, perfect couple. Stolen kisses to the soundtrack of creaking weather vanes -- but I'm sure you don't want to hear about that, do you?

Maybe you should hear about it; maybe it will help you understand. Maybe you should hear about the way his fingers trailed down my spine, biting my shoulder like freezing wind and leaving a mark. I still have that scar, the imprint of his teeth, his perfect dental record in my skin. I'm not sure I would want to get rid of it -- it reminds me of those days when lust and love were overpowering and I couldn't see past arms' length.

And they call me self-centered now?

Funny, but until I really talked to Tanya for the first time, I was quite happy as a vampire. She opened my eyes. Oh, how I could finally see.

As far as we know, Bella, you're not the first in this little web of his. He's an actor, and he's memorized those lines better than he should have. He's recited them at least three times by now, probably more -- who knows how many small-town girls and upper-class heiresses he's managed to seduce?

Seductive glances and a suggestive touch were all it took to get Tanya in his bed. After a while, she thought it might be a bit more than just lust. This is where the flowery language comes in, because as you may have heard, pretty poetry works rather well on girls.

He's recycled these lines so many times, dear. You're probably not going to be the last.

Does it hurt? That wasn't my main purpose, here. I have no use for the tears that you shed so ungratefully. I did not set out to write this to make you cry. If you like, you can go running to the man you think will save you. Go on. I can wait.


I wrote this to try and help you, Bella. I want to be the one to save you. Oddly enough, I don't have any idea why. I think I see a part of myself in you, actually -- the innocent wonder at everything in the world. And I would do anything to be able to go back and time, to be able to keep that innocence I once had.

I suppose this is the next best thing.

(Before you ask -- you make a mistake in thinking that he'll read my mind. He avoids my consciousness. I think the truth hurts too much for him to handle.)

I try not to blame you for his mistakes. I try not to look in your eyes and see everything I could have had with him. I think some of it is pure jealousy -- the rest is vanity. I've had him the longest of them all, you see.

But after a while, you get used to rejection.