Hey guys!

Happy Thanksgiving!

I am SO thankful for all the support you have given me with this story. I really do love you all.

I am so so sorry that it has taken me so long to update with a new chapter. In all truth, I have been working on a new fanfiction project that I truly hope you all will enjoy. But, I am not one to not finish what I started, so here comes the final few chapters of Wanna Bet!!!

Once again, I apologize for the delay.


I sat in the janitor's closet with the lights off and my arms wrapped around me, my nose buried into the too long sleeves of Emmett's leather jacket. It smelled like him. The janitors didn't know I'd found the spare key to the basement level janitor's closet one day and transformed it into my own haven. No one could get to me in here. I stayed curled up in the corner crying so hard I couldn't breathe. You know when you're trying to fight the crying so hard that your sobs come out in shrieks and gasps you cannot control? That's exactly what was happening to me. I hadn't cried so hard in all of my life. I couldn't even feel my lungs they were burning so relentlessly. I screamed a piercing scream that was bursting through my lungs and I knew I was so far down in the basement of the school's janitorial unit that no one could hear me.

I shouldn't have let him touch me. I shouldn't have let him stay close to me. I shouldn't have let him into my heart again. I wasn't ready to face him like that. I wasn't ready yet to feel his arms around me and his lips on mine again. I wasn't ready to hear his voice. I most definitely wasn't ready to hear him tell me he loved me. Because I was always asking myself the same question in the back of my mind…

Is it possible for someone like him to love someone like me?

I took an inhale of his scent and stood up. I dried my eyes. I breathed in and out. The sun still rose and set so I went on with my life.

He'll go on with his. I'll go on with mine. The sun will rise. The sun will fall. I'll breathe in. I'll breathe out.

There may be no more reason, but there is life.

One Week Later.

95! 95! 95! 95!....


I smiled. Really smiled, as a much better number tainted the red, bland numbers of my best friend and my worst enemy.

My scale.

I looked down at myself standing in my underwear in my bedroom and traced the outline of my hipbones and ribs with my eyes closed. I kept my frail arms wrapped around my waist and inhaled. I was getting closer and closer to my magic number.


Only a few more pounds. Only a few more ounces. I kept my eyes closed and breathed deeply with a slight smile on my face. Things were finally turning around.

There was a knock on the front door and I heard my father open the door slowly.

"Rosalie… it's for you." My father called with confusion in his tone. "They said it's important."

My heart skipped a beat. Emmett had tried everything to try and get in touch with me the past week. 18 missed calls... Even used Alice's phone and tried to call me a few times. He'd tried talking through Bella and Edward, (who had finally made up a few days ago) but that couldn't happen because Bella said she gave Emmett a nose bleed when she punched him when he was over at Edward's house while she was there. Emmett had asked about me Bella said. He saw me at school and tried to speak with me. We did speak, occasionally…

But it was always the same.

Emmett: Rosalie, I'm sorry. I love you. *reaches out for my hand, and/or gives an extravagant bouquet or gift*

Rosalie: Yes, I know. I loved you too. *pain of this stupid love ripping her into smithereens*

Student body: Kill them both! *pulls out pitchforks and stakes from their pockets*

Rosalie and Emmett: *conversation over*

Yes, Emmett ravished me with the most wonderful gifts money could buy. And money is what he had a lot of. Every class, a different bouquet of roses waited on my desk with an envelope. I opened the envelopes hesitantly, and cried some more in my own little janitorial closet haven as I read the envelopes contents. He had copied some love letters written from some of the worlds most influential men to the ladies that made them who they were. Some letters were from the black, cold hearts of wicked rulers like Henry the VIII who seemed incompetent to truly love, but others came from artists and men like Mozart whose hearts poured emotion through the words. But both the same, every man loved intensely. Passionately. His love might have been the only redeeming quality he possessed. Like Napolean Bonaparte, a ruthless soldier living for the kill, whose love for Josephine seemed like the only positive emotion he possessed. Each letter stabbed my heart the same no matter the writer.

The first of the letters I decided to open in the janitorial closet in the basement, because I didn't know how I would instinctively respond to something so passionate and loving and… from Emmett.

You fear, sometimes, I do not love you so much as you wish?
My dear Girl I love you ever and ever and without reserve.
The more I have known you the more have I lov'd. In every way - even my jealousies have been agonies of Love, in the hottest fit I ever had I would have died for you.
I have vex'd you too much. But for Love! Can I help it?
You are always new. The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest.
When you pass'd my window home yesterday, I was fill'd with as much admiration as if I had then seen you for the first time.
You uttered a half complaint once that I only lov'd your Beauty.
Have I nothing else then to love in you but that?
Do not I see a heart naturally furnish'd with wings imprison itself with me?
No ill prospect has been able to turn your thoughts a moment from me.
This perhaps should be as much a subject of sorrow as joy - but I will not talk of that.
Even if you did not love me I could not help an entire devotion to you: how much more deeply then must I feel for you knowing you love me.
My Mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it.
I never felt my Mind repose upon anything with complete and undistracted enjoyment - upon no person but you.
When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window: you always concentrate my whole senses.
The anxiety shown about our Love in your last note is an immense pleasure to me; however you must not suffer such speculations to molest you any more: not will I any more believe you can have the least pique against me.

It was a letter from John Keats.

I couldn't finish without a tear staining the paper Emmett's handwriting wound beautifully upon. I could feel him as I traced my fingers over the perfect manuscript. I was glad I'd decided to retreat to the closet. I needed to break down and cry, burying my face in his leather jacket. I couldn't let anyone see me like this. I would always keep his jacket in the haven closet so I could fetch it whenever I needed him close to me…

The second was a small reminder of how much Prince Rainier loved Grace Kelly.

My darling,

This is to tell you in a very mild way how terribly much I love you, miss you, need you and want you near me always. Safe trip my love. Rest, relax, and think of me burning myself with this terrible longing of you, for you. I love you so.

The third letter was from Henry the VIII to his secret affectionate, Anne Boleyn.

My mistress and friend: I and my heart put ourselves in your hands, begging you to have them suitors for your good favour, and that your affection for them should not grow less through absence. For it would be a great pity to increase their sorrow since absence does it sufficiently, and more than ever I could have thought possible reminding us of a point in astronomy, which is, that the longer the days are the farther off is the sun, and yet the more fierce. So it is with our love, for by absence we are parted, yet nevertheless it keeps its fervour, at least on my side, and I hope on yours also: assuring you that on my side the ennui of absence is already too much for me: and when I think of the increase of what I must needs suffer it would be well nigh unbearable for me were it not for the firm hope I have and as I cannot be with you in person, I am sending you the nearest possible thing to that, namely, my picture set in a bracelet, with the whole device which you already know. Wishing myself in their place when it shall please you. This by the hand of your loyal servant and friend…

Henry ordered Anne to be beheaded later. I wondered absently if Emmett knew that fact before he sent me this letter.

I laughed.

Really laughed when I thought of that.

I think Emmett knew I was going to laugh.

That was the soul purpose to begin with. He knew I would smile…

Then, over the next few came the letters that brought me such passionate emotions I couldn't do anything but cry even though I didn't think I was sad.

These were from Napoleon to Josephine…

These were the letters that hit me the hardest.

Come soon; I warn you, if you delay, you will find me ill. Fatigue and your absence are too much.

Your letters are the joy of my days, and my days are happiness are not many.

Junot is bringing twenty-two flags to Paris. You must come back with him, do you understand?

Hopeless sorrow, inconsolable misery, sadness without end, if I am so unhappy as to see him return alone.

Adorable friend, he will see you, he will breathe in your temple; perhaps you will grant him the unique and perfect flavor of kissing your cheek, and I shall be alone and far, far away.

But you are coming, aren't you? You are going to be here beside me, in my arms, on my breast, on my mouth.

Take wing and come, come! But travel gently. The road is long, bad, tiring.

Suppose you had an accident, or fell ill; suppose fatigue- come gently, my adorable love, but I think of you often.

The second letter from Napoleon, was even more passionate and emotion filled. It sent me crying through the entire lunch period (which I normally spent down in the closet anyway)

I awake all filled with you. Your image and the intoxicating pleasures of last night, allow my senses no rest.

Sweet and matchless Josephine, how strangely you work upon my heart.

Are you angry with me? Are you unhappy? Are you upset?

My soul is broken with grief and my love for you forbids repose. But how can I rest any more, when I yield to the feeling that masters my inmost self, when I quaff from your lips and from your heart a scorching flame?

Yes! One night has taught me how far your portrait falls short of yourself!

You start at midday: in three hours I shall see you again.

Till then, a thousand kisses, mio dolce amor! but give me none back for they set my blood on fire.

Even though the words were short, the meaning meant no less. I ached for Emmett. I loved Emmett

But the third and final of the letters sent me over the edge. I thought I was strong enough to open this one in class. I was proven wrong. This was the one that sent me sprinting from class to the janitor' closet, kissing the letter over and over, his leather jacket draped around my trembling shoulders.

You love me less; but you will get over the loss. One day you will love me no longer; at least tell me; then I shall know how I have come to deserve this misfortune. ...Farewell, my wife: the torment, joy, hope and moving which draw me close to Nature, and with violent impulses as tumultuous as thunder. I ask of you neither eternal love, nor fidelity, but simply...truth, unlimited honesty.

The day when you say "I love you less", will mark the end of my love and the last day of my life.

If my heart were base enough to love without being loved in return I would tear it to pieces.

Josephine! Josephine! Remember what I have sometimes said to you: Nature has endowed me with a virile and decisive character. It has built yours out of lace and gossamer. Have you ceased to love me?

Forgive me, love of my life, my soul is racked by conflicting forces. My heart obsessed by you, is full of fears which prostrate me with misery...I am distressed not to be calling you by name. I shall wait for you to write it.

Farewell! Ah! if you love me less you can never have loved me. In that case I shall truly be pitiable.


I'd cried out for him though I knew he couldn't hear me. I skipped two classes because I'd been hit with a wrecking ball of emotions and I couldn't control myself long enough to even breathe. I kept the flowers in their vases around me, I already had 40 bouquets, because of eight classes a day, a bouquet on my desk every time. But that didn't count the flowers and jewelry sent to me before school, after school, and between classes. I had at least $2,500 in jewelry from this week. Even more on flowers…

But the gifts didn't matter. He still hadn't taken me away like he did what seemed like an eternity ago to speak with him face to face. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. I just breathed in. Breathed out. Lived my life and walked one foot in front of the other.

Back in the present, my father called me once again, snapping me from my trance of this past week's events.

"Rosalie! It's important." My dad called me again and I swallowed in anticipation. Wait.

But Emmett had never shown up at my door step! This wasn't him. This wasn't him was it?

I felt my stomach lurch and the bathroom I was in was far enough away so no one could hear the sound of my gagging. I cleaned up, and within a minute I was downstairs trying to crush the sliver of hope that maybe just maybe he would have come to see… me.

A blonde, smiley lady that reminded me of a Stepford Wife stood on the front porch and I exhaled knowing that wishing only wounded the heart.

"You are Rosalie Hale?" The woman asked me in a soft, motherly tone.

"Yes." I hid my now scarred pale hands behind my back.

"My name is Samantha and I'm with the National Eating Disorders Association." She spoke directly to me. "I'm here to help you."

The world spun and I clenched my mangled hands into fists. Who would have done this to me?! Bella?! My father?! Someone playing a joke at school?!


I shoved the thought from my mind quickly with a pain shooting through my veins. I actually wanted to be helped… I wanted someone that could tell me what I could do to be perfect. What I could do to move on.

"What?!" My father boomed in incredulity.

"Pack your things please Rosalie." Samantha told me. "You will be staying with us for a while."

"What are you saying?!" My father was frantic as he looked between Samantha and me.

"Your daughter was diagnosed with severe cases and it has been brought to our attention recently so we at NEDA want to do all we can to help." Samantha continued and I was already trudging up the stairs to throw things into my suitcase absentmindedly. It didn't matter what I wore anyway.

"Rosalie!" My father grabbed onto my arm and I turned around. "Rosalie… tell this lady she can go home… Y-you don't need her help right?" My father's voice cracked and I shook my head.

"What should I pack?" I asked softly and Samantha smiled a sympathetic smile.

"Anything dear. You'll be fine in anything." Samantha nodded and I felt tears pushing their way through my eyes as I trudged up the stairs and into my room. I heard my father being interviewed downstairs.

"Mr. Hale, have there been any traumatic experiences Rosalie has been through that might have motivated her to this path?" Samantha asked in a formal voice as I threw my favorite worn out green long sleeved shirt with paint splotches on the front into my bag.

"Yes." Father answered and I froze. He wouldn't tell her.

"And?" Samantha pushed.

"Well there was this boy…" My father murmured and I wouldn't hear anymore. I threw a hairbrush, toothbrush, toothpaste, hair elastics to tie my hair back with, and everything else in my bathroom cabinet into my bag.

"Ahh… I see." Samantha acted like she understood. But she didn't. No one understood.

"You don't understand." My dad stood up for me. "He… made a bet with his friends he could turn her into the prom queen…" I tuned out the rest of the story, knowing how it was going to end. I was still living the ending although it felt like life had already ended…

I threw some random clothing items into a bag, tossed in some belts and accessories and dumped my underwear drawer into a bag. I basically packed my entire room. All my clothes fit in two large suitcases. I packed a few photos of Bella, my dad, me and my mom and looked on the far corner table indecisively. I decided and snatched up the love letters Emmett sent me, folding them perfectly and placing them gently in my purse.

"So he made her conform to be… what he needed her to be." Samantha acted like she knew what was going on. "That brings things into perspective Mr. Hale, it will really help the way her counseling goes by what you've told us. Thank you very very much. We hope to cure your daughter in no time." Samantha reassured him as I brought two bags and a purse downstairs.

"Rosalie… Why? Rose, why didn't you tell me?" My father breathed.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I'm sorry Dad." I whispered to him hugging him tight before I exited the house behind Samantha.

"Rosalie!" Bella called from inside as she raced to my side giving me a huge hug. "I'm going to miss you so much." She told me, not letting me go yet. "You'll be better Rose. Listen to them. You're beautiful."

"Thanks Bella." I half smiled as I got into the back seat of Samantha's car driving away from Forks. Driving away from the city that held everything I loved most. Away from my troubles. But never away from my memories.

Maybe they'd erase them where I was going.