Living Dead Girl
She just wanted it to end, all of it. The bloodlust, the wanting, the depression, the hurt; just wanted it gone' A look into the life of Rosalie Hale as seen through her eyes, a one-shot
1. Chapter 1
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That was the only way she could figure it, and she hated it. Absolutely loathed what she was, and what she wasn’t. She was just a fragment of a spirit of her former soul; residing in this cold, despicable body they called a vampire.
She didn’t even get to be the interesting kind, with fangs and fear at all times. Not that she enjoyed scaring people, far from it, but she also hated doing things half-way. What had she done to deserve this? She was a good girl, listened to her parents, got good grades in school and was a faithful fiancée at her time. So why was she cursed with this…this, disease?
It wasn’t fair.
She wanted to live. She wanted the need to breathe, wanted to know what the relief of a fresh breath felt like, wanted to know what a simple haircut would feel like. She wondered what it felt like to get cut, to have a life source in her. She wanted this cold dead heart to beat, just once if that was all, just to know what it felt like.
She couldn’t feel anymore, at least not with severe force. There were perks of course, her husband was number one and she loved and cared for him with all her heart. She never wanted him unhappy, which lead to frequent rendezvous too far off places. Sure she had plenty of passion for him but she wanted a guarantee that he would stay with her, she didn’t want another repeat.
God, what she would do for him. Anything, that’s what, she saw him that day in the woods, open wounds gushing blood and unconscious for the most part and yet all she truly saw was that little boy with the dark curls and dimples. She was accused of being cold-hearted (metaphorically of course) and cruel but was quite the opposite. When she loved, she did whole-heartedly and for all time. She was just…cautious. She was used to loss. Of all kinds:
The list went on and on and it angered the hell out of her. What had she done? That’s all she wanted to know, what had she done to get this half-life? She heard Edward moan over the fact of lost life, and never finding love, but honestly she thought he was selfish. He should be glad that he doesn’t have to inflict this on someone else.
She just wanted it to end, all of it. The bloodlust, the wanting, the depression, the hurt; just wanted it gone. But what could she do, nothing, so she put on a façade of anger and cruelness and trudged on through eternity with her family and husband.
Every time she looked in the mirror, where one would see beauty and elegance she saw a marble figurine with no emotions, no life in it, a simple prop, a mocking excuse for a life.
She was, quite literally, the living dead girl. She’d rather be the dead part if she could.