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Cold Blooded

"I've felt compelled to write this, for reasons not known to me. Maybe it was the shear will to share my story with more than a few people, or maybe it was the relief of finally having my memories down. But, either way, I have still written this. Don't feel sorry for me, because there is nothing to be sorry for. You are not the one who has brought this all upon me. I want you to understand what it was, is, like to be me. My name is Rosalie Cullen, and this is my story." Co-written with Oh_ Mike How will I go on


1. Introduction

Rating 5/5   Word Count 2872   Review this Chapter

I've felt compelled to write this, for reasons not known to me. Maybe it was the shear will to share my story with more than a few people, or maybe it was the relief of finally having my memories down. Maybe I’m hoping if my memories are written they will disappear.

But, either way, I have still written this. I want you to read it, whoever you are, and I want you to cherish it. Don't feel sorry for me, because there is nothing to be sorry for. You are not the one who has brought this all upon me. I want you to understand what it was, is, like to be me.

Let me introduce myself properly, now.

My name is Rosalie Lillian Hale Cullen, and this is my story.

My story starts simple and sweet. At least for me. It’s strange how perspective can change everything. Some people would look at my life with loathing, to others it is an unattainable fairytale. At the time it seemed wonderful but looking back I feel the bitter irony of how the innocence I now crave lead me to a fate I would never have chosen for myself.

Innocence was bliss, and because of that reason alone my life seemed to be perfect. The perfect family, perfect looks, perfect children, perfect status. Perfection. While the Depression leeched the life out of starving Americans my family dined in the best company. Always looking forwards, onwards and up, that was my parents. They sought to climb the social ladder and reap all the riches it held on the way. They wasted no time utilizing what they were given.

In that way my beauty was like a gift to my parents, a way to get me into the very rich households. While I distain this ideal and cast a part of the blame on them for how my existence has turned out, I cannot hate them, nor can I curse them. My parents were simply tying to survive and create the best possible life for the family. They never understood how content I was with my lot. I may have been about as deep as a puddle but I cherished all that I had and sought only the natural course my life should take.

I was absolutely elated to Rosalie Lillian Hale, the beauty of the city. I enjoyed my frivolous fun, teasing and playing with the hearts of men and the affections of my friends. I found delight and joy in the envious looks and the gossip that people tried to spread. Nothing could touch me and I was respected for that. My siblings detested me for my strong personality.

I would happily have stuck to the natural course I could see my life taking had it not been for my parents. It seemed so simple; gorgeous man, big house, three perfect children, adoration for the rest of my life. My plan for life was a formula easy enough for any person with half a brain to remember. It was the easiest plan in the world, and because of my undeniable beauty, my plan surely wouldn't be hard to achieve. My shallow personality blocked out any doubt that I couldn't have access to any of these delightful things.

And yet my enjoyment in teasing men hindered me greatly. Perhaps if I had not judged every man on looks and social status I would have been happy. Just like my dear friend Vera. She married a mere carpenter, a boy I had once turned down. My actions haunt me still. Vera chose a man of character, someone who’s soul fit hers exactly and I wonder how much pain I could have been spared if I had followed Vera’s example.

Then, through the ever helpful actions of my parents, I found my Prince. I pitied Vera, as much as I now envy her. His almost snow white hair and pale blue eyes made him the perfect match for my own beauty. His face, mere perfection, was the main attraction in my nightly dreams.

At first I didn’t even distinguish him form the crowd of hopefully. I had never noticed the way his eyes would follow me, for everyone would look at me. It was only until I received a bouquet of roses that I realized his feelings towards me, which couldn't have been more then amusement. I was a new shiny and pretty prize to show off to all of his friends. If I suspected this I was too ignorant to mind, for his father was a very rich man. He owned the bank my father worked for, and the luxuries Royce had made my plan and dream possible. The gifts he would give me only added to my confidence of achieving my dreams. Royce was the little key to my happiness, and the wedding was the door that needed to be unlocked. All the pieces fit, a picture perfect tapestry of silver gossamer. I didn’t realize just how fragile the web I had woven was, until I lay in the tatters...

It was cold for a late, April night. The dim orange, glowing beams coming from the streetlamps lit my way as I walked silently down the black and scary street. The slick black glistened in the orange light and I barely saw my reflection in the rain puddle to my left. Little droplets and puddles lay all along the cobblestone, and they appeared as huge raindrops refusing to evaporate.

I huffed and raised my head. If this week long rain kept going we might have to move the wedding indoors. We had just found the perfect place, it would be such an inconvenience to have to host it indoors.

I gripped my jacket tighter to my body. I just passed a streetlamp when the sounds of drunken laughter and slurred words suddenly became obvious ahead of me. I shivered. I didn’t want to have to cross the group I could see in front of me. I turned around slightly. The clips keeping my hair pinned to my head tugged against my scalp with the movement. There was no one behind me, maybe I could just turn back and take a different route.
One voice called my name with a drunken slur. "Rose!"

With our wedding a week away, I knew exactly who it was.

With a sigh, I turned back to the group.

There stood Royce King, my fiancé, and a cluster of men gathered under a broken streetlamp a house down from the corner pub, laughing wildly. They were well dressed, I realized, as it was his rich friends of course.

I couldn't refuse him; that would be dangerous and disrespectful. So, with another sigh and a deep breath, I made my way towards him and his friends. He smiled drunkenly at me and pulled me close to him. He smelled of alcohol and tobacco, and the depth of it made my stomach churn.

"Here's my Rosie," he had said, sounding just as stupid as his friends as their hyena-like laugh filled the empty street. "You're late, my dear." He pointed to his watch and tisked in disapproval. "We're very cold, you've kept us waiting a long time."

I scrunched my nose as the man next to me examined me with clean, sober eyes. He looked at me like I was a prize purebred he was willing to bet on.

"What did I tell you, Johnny," Royce slurred, grabbing my arm and ducking me under his. "Isn't she lovelier then all of your Georgia peaches?"

The man that had looked me over was this Johnny person, and his eyes scanned my body once again. "It's difficult to tell," he mused, making his voice sound as drunken as possible. "She's covered up."

They all laughed, Royce's breath stinging my nose.

Without warning, he ripped my jacket from my shoulders. It was a gift from him, Italian leather. The brass buttons popped off of my jacket and landed in the street with a clatter as they rolled and scattered all over the street.

"Show him what you look like, Rosie!" He howled with laughter, as did his friends, and then he ripped my hat from my hair.

I cried out in pain, because my hat had been pinned to my head. I reached up and gripped my head tightly. All of the men howled with laughter again at the sound of my pain.

Suddenly they were all upon me, clawing at my sides and howling inhumanly. My arms were wrenched back as one of them tore the front of my dress. I yelped as one of their hands scrapped up my thigh, shredding the skirt of my dress. Their laughter echoed through the street.

"No," I begged.

Royce turned me around swiftly and wrestled the rest of my dress away from my back. His hands played with the ties of my bra. One of the others shouted at him to hurry up and I felt Royce’s laugh vibrating through my body as he released it.

"Stop!" I gasped, at the same time feeling the sweaty palms of another inching up the inside of my leg.

"Be quiet or I will make you be quiet," Royce growled. His friend’s laughter surrounded my ears once again and the cloth dropped from my body. I clutched at my chest but firm hands tore my arms away and I was forced forward into the light of the next street lamp. I managed to look up through the pounding that filled my head and stared straight into the eyes of Royce’s friend John.

"See, John? Isn’t she the prettiest picture?" My body was shaking on end, and John's eyes raked over my body, the lust in his eyes burning my skin with the trail they left.

"Hey, Royce. She looks cold!" One of the others laughed. "Why don’t we warm her up?"

I covered myself with my hands as my knickers were ripped away. Suddenly, two of his friends plowed towards me. One grabbed my breasts and the other scratched at my thighs. Pain slashed through me and I struggled against them.

"Royce, stop them!" I begged.

He replied with his hyena laughter once again.

I knew there was no help for me now. Blood pounded in my ears and my breathes came in gasps as the man with my breasts palmed them with so much pressure that it was hard not to scream. Their hands were all over me.

"Don’t touch me!" I screamed, ripping myself away from them. I hurled my body through the small gap between bodies, their finger nails tearing through my skin as I fell. The cold gravel of the ground was such a sharp contrast to their hot, meaty hands, I gasped.

"Ah, ah, ah. Not smart to fight, Mrs. King." Royce and his friends laughed.

Iron hands clamped around my shoulders, pulling me up at a dizzy speed. Then I was released only to feel the harsh impact of a wall against my back and head. Warm liquid started to ooze from the back of my head. More hands were on me again. Clawing, tearing, burning.

"Stop!" I begged once more. The pain was immense and a warm liquid trickling down my thigh alerted me that I was beginning to bleed. I tried to open my eyes but I could only make out blurry shadows against the soft glow of the street lamp. I tried to drown out the rest and focus on that gentle light. So warm and comforting and so out of odds with what was being done to me.

The sound of a zipper sliding down and more laughter tore me away from the little peace the street lamp afforded. My legs were parted and only the iron grip at my waist prevented me from falling to my knees.

I felt the searing pain. I screamed as I faced the blue eyes of the man penetrating me through tears.

"Please," I pleaded, begging him with my eyes just to pull out of me and run away.

"Please? So you want more? Do you think she deserves more, boys?" Royce howled.

They nodded and one man snorted with a roaring laugh that hurt my pounding ears.

"Then so be it," Royce whispered into my ear. He gripped my sides tightly and slammed into me.

"NO!" I yelped in pain, trying with all my might to push him away. My arms slapped pathetically against him and I realized how weak I was becoming.

He did not let go, however. He kept forcing himself on me. His palm would sting against my body as he smacked me. Cries and moans and screams of pain were torn from me. His friends stood there, laughing and encouraging him. Then I felt him leave me but the relief was short lived as another one stepped forward. He plowed into me and his fingernails dug into my hips.

Time passed so slowly after that. One after another maybe again and again they came and I was violated. I ceased all efforts at resistance and hung limp as they took me, not even the burning, searing pain could draw gasps from me. I was already dead inside.

The last man, John, had left me with the words I still wouldn't forget till this day. "You were fun, dearest. Its too bad you won't live long enough to see your little baby blossom."

My eyes widened as I realized what he meant. Royce was the first one in me, he would have the pleasure of having a demon child with me. A child I would never have.

And then no more came. No more hands held my remains up and it crumpled to the ground. I felt the cold wet pavement pressing against my body and knew it was over. My whole body was torn into pieces and there was no more left to hurt.

"She’s ruined!" One of them bellowed, half in rage, half laughter.

"She no fun anymore." Someone kicked my leg. I stared at a puddle, watching my dirty and torn reflection in the water. One of the boots stepped into the puddle and the water rippled, perfect serenity broken, just like me.

"Enough, boys! You have slayed my fiancée!" Royce crowed. They all laughed.

John sighed in dissapointment. "You'll have to find a new one, Royce. This girl is dead."

Royce's mock horror filled his voice. "Oh my! Not my Rosie!"

I kept very still, just waiting for the pain to come back. It was only then that I realized I had never been his Rosie. I never belonged to anyone.

The sounds of their howls and snorts and laughter slowly faded as they left. Or maybe I was the one that left my mind.

I trembled and shook. The pain rocked through my body and I wanted to cry out but I kept still, for the fear that Royce and his friends would return if they heard me. My head ached and my limbs felt heavy, as if they were filled with water.

I retched on the gravel next to me, the pain this caused was nothing in comparison to what they had done.

Little white crystals started to fall from the sky, and I vaguely remembered it as snow. Snow in April was uncommon, very uncommon, and to say I was surprised was a lie. I couldn't feel any emotion except severe helplessness, and I wanted to die.

Kill me, Lord, please.

My brain was rattling around in my brain as if someone was shaking it, a dull pounding sung in my ears. The snow was gathering quickly around me and I wasn't surprised to see scarlet tainting the crystal white. I was bleeding to death.

Kill me.

The air and snow were burning my cuts with each droplet that fell onto my skin. My heart was pounding in my chest. The junction between my thighs made me whimper in pain at the feel of it stretching once again when my thigh moved slightly to the right.

Death sounds lovely, I deserve at least that.

The crunching of snow alerted me that someone was coming. I was beyond caring. It was too late for any help. The dogs could have me for all I cared.

The crunching stopped and was replaced with a gasp.

"Rosalie Hale?" It was a male voice, although the sound it reminded me of was very much feminine, and I struggled to recognize the owner of the bell-like ringing.

I let out a whimper.

"Oh!" He rushed to my side. I felt his cold hands, colder then the snow itself, being placed on various parts of my body. "You are going to be fine, Rosalie," he said with sincerity, and for a moment I believed him.

Until I remembered I was dying.

The soaring pain was still there and though his cold touch soothed it in some way, it wouldn't rid of it completely.

"I'm going to care for you, Rosalie. My name is Doctor Carlisle Cullen."

Those were the last words I heard from the angel of death before I blacked out completely.