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Blast from the Past

What would happen if the Cullens ran into someone from their human past?


1. Chapter 1

Rating 5/5   Word Count 512   Review this Chapter

The hustle and bustle of New York ebbed and flowed around me, the pulse of human life making me feel almost alive. The lights of the city glimmered and danced, making my long dead heart race with excitement. The night was cool and overcast, and Alice predicted rain. But nothing and no one in the world could bring me down. I was in my element. Beautiful, powerful.

At least that's how I felt as I walked down the street, heading toward the crowded nightclub. My short red dress barely covered my thighs. Men frequently stopped in the street and stared openly, mouths agape.

I smiled. This was a weekly ritual for me. I would take a break from my studies at Columbia and go clubbing. Dance and flirt with and break the hearts of human men. Emmett didn't mind. He knew it was harmless, and that it was essential to my sanity to get away from the family, if only for awhile. To pretend, for however short a time, to be human.

I ducked into the smoky nightclub and headed for the bar. There was a mass of humanity shoved uncomfortably into the small establishment. Everything from potheads to frat boys danced under the pulsing lights. That's what I loved about these weekly excursions. I could be any college student, out for a bit of fun. Here, my life was uncharted, apt to take any path. My future had not already been decided for me.

I sat myself down on a barstool and surveyed my surroundings. I watched couples in dark corners, friends laughing together at some private joke. Usually I was right out there, in the midst of it all, but for now I was content to merely observe. A sudden burst of laughter punctuated my thoughts.

"Yes! Aren't you proud of me? I got an A on that paper, even it being as hard as it was." I turned towards the excited voice. The girl sat on the stool next to me, talking to the handsome young man beside her. I smiled. Her enthusiasm was catching.

Then she turned, and I felt my stomach drop away, and heard a faint roaring in my ears. The face that stared back at me was my own. The same eyes, ice blue, haughty, regal. The same lips, curved in a mocking smile.

"What are you looking at?" she asked defensively. I quickly thought of an excuse as to why I would be starring at her so intensely.

"Your necklace. It's gorgeous. Where did you get it?" I know where she got that necklace, of course. It was mine, the one my father gave me on my eighteenth birthday. The day I died, I had taken it to the jeweler’s to get the clasp fixed.

She smiled, delighted at the compliment and the chance to be talking about jewelry. "This old thing? It's a family heirloom. Belonged to some dead aunt of mine. I was named for her, actually."

I already knew the answer when I asked her her name.

"My name is Rosalie. Dreadfully old-fashioned, isn't it?"