seeing red is all a matter of color coordination (rosalie, edward) pg
title: seeing red is all a matter of color coordination
fandom: twilight
character(s)/pairing(s): rosalie, edward, esme, carlisle
rating: pg
word count: 475
spoilers: eclipse (rosalie's backstory)
summary: to say edward and rosalie started off on the wrong foot would be a gross understatement.
“It doesn’t bother me.”
Rosalie keeps her eyes on her toes, the nail polish brush between her fingertips. She doesn’t dare look Esme in the eye because, even despite her distraction, she doesn’t believe herself. How irritating.
“Edward is just stubborn. He’ll come around.” She’s relieved the woman doesn’t say you’ll love him like a brother because that would just be too much.
She grates her teeth because of course he will, it’s just the fact that someone needs time to like her that’s got her on the defensive. It didn’t used to be this way.
She’d started with anger, seething rage. She’d tipped over tables and raked her nails through the curtains until they bled sunlight and marred her with shimmers. But that only seemed to make him smug. As if she was proving his point.
So she sits. Calm. Collected. It frustrates him and she likes it.
“I’d like to be alone.” It’s a lie and, again, she hasn’t managed to fib even herself. She’s alone too much these days. But Esme nods and leaves anyway, choosing to believe her words at their face instead of the untruth in them.
Her eyes dart up to meet the mirror, marveling at the scarlet tint of them. It’s fading; soon she’ll have the same butterscotch gaze as the rest of her family. She hadn’t noticed that the redness matched her nail polish. Just as well. They both will contrast perfectly with the bright white of her stolen wedding gown, suited for a ghost.
“…no good Carlisle. How can you just sit by as she murders them? She’ll be satisfied for a while and then what? Don’t you see the potential disaster here?”
Rosalie doesn’t need to glance in the mirror to know that her eyes are constricting to slits as she hears the arrogant boy’s accusations. So what if she worries over the same thing? That a part of her is nervous Royce won’t be enough to satiate her need for vengeance. What business is it of Edward’s?
“She’s been careful, Edward, and responsible. Surely you can understand her desire for revenge. It may not be right, but I’m not her father.” You don't even know me.
“She’s vain, Carlisle, self-involved. You can’t see her thoughts but, trust me, they are of nothing but herself.”
What makes him think he has room to judge? From what she’s seen, Edward wears the crown of self-involvement.
She’s so overcome with sheer indignation that the nail polish bottle in her hand cracks in two, spilling on her ankle. A huff. She pitches the broken glass and glares at the red stain, cutting a swath across her pale flesh like a gash bathed in blood.
He’s managed to wound her even from another room. Even though her hide is as impenetrable as stone. Even though she’s immortal.
Damn him.