A/N: Written for the Twilight Secret Santa Exchange
A silver heart necklace
Writing this fic was definitely a new experience for me. It was my first femmeslash fic, and a smut fic at that! Well, not much smut. I'm afraid I had difficulty taking it too far or making it too explicit. I hope you still like it dahlin_zermott because the rest is all definitely there. One of the most difficult things for me was just the simple use of pronouns. Because when I said, "she" there were two "shes" to which it could refer! LOL.
But I hope you enjoy it! Merry Christmas, dahlin_zermott!
Also, I'm sorry to those who have been waiting patiently for an update to "Of Curses and Cures," but life has been hectic and I commited to do this fic. But I have not forgotten, never fear!
Disclaimer: Don't own it. Not mine. Nothing to see here, just a poor college student. Besides, if Twilight were mine, I would still finish Midnight Sun for my faithful readers. *zing*
NOTE: This story should be considered an alternate universe, wherein the confrontation with the Volturi in Breaking Dawn was not just a small altercation, but a full-blown battle.
"Hearts live by being wounded." – Oscar Wilde
It's a funny thing—life. And a funnier thing, eternal life. She'd never really been one to think about her own mortality. Now, it's all she thought about. Or rather, she only thought about her lack of mortality. She tried killing herself a few times, even though she knew it was hopeless. She threw herself in front a train once, just to see if it could cause her any more pain than she was already experiencing.
So far, she'd jumped off cliffs, buildings, rammed cars into brick walls—all of them, nothing.
She didn't understand how she could be so indestructible physically—and still so broken in every other way. It was the cruelest kind of paradox.
She knew the one thing that could actually kill her, but she couldn't even think about fire without feeling the remaining pieces of her heart crumble away into even smaller fragments. Because when she thought about fire, she could still feel the heat against her skin, the scream tearing from her throat, and the shattering of her soul inside her chest.
And she could still see him.
He the lion to her lamb.
She cursed her vampire memory because she could never forget the details—the way the flames licked at his marble skin, the glow the fire cast on his amber eyes, and that last glance, her last moment with him for all of eternity.
He'd always been so stubborn… to the point of stupidity, really. It's how he was in life and in death. But she can't bring herself to be mad at him. She can be mad at the world, herself, the damn volturi, but not him. Never him.
He'd done it to save her, still thinking after the change and all her training that she was as weak as the day he first smelled her freesia scent. And he'd done it for Reneseme.
And that's really what it came down to these days. For Reneseme. That's the only thing that kept her going, the only reason she jumped in front of trains, rather than into flames.
But Renesme grew so quickly. She was a mere infant in her arms, then she was a toddler, a teen. It passed in the blink of an eye. And then her daughter was a woman, getting married to her old friend, old flame, Jacob Black.
And then she was alone.
Well, not completely alone, not really. She still had her family of broken halves. There was Carlisle without his beloved Esme. And the unsteady Rosalie without her rock, her Emmett. Alice and Jasper were the only two left together, but even they were wavering. The constant emotional turmoil took its toll on Jasper, and Alice couldn't cope with seeing a future where their family was three loved ones short. The remaining couple frequently took short vacations—much needed breaks from the sadness. Carlisle confined himself to his office—studying, researching, doing anything to keep the grief at bay. It didn't matter where Bella went or how fast she ran—the sorrow was always right on her heels.
Rosalie was the same way. They were very much so kindred spirits in that respect.
Bella wasn't really sure how it happened, but they both clung to the same thing in this endless life.
The new life that was saved by the sacrificing of the old.
Rosalie became like a second mother to Renesmee. They were an odd sort of family. Rosalie took on the fatherly role—laying down rules, disciplining when necessary, scaring the hell out of her daughter's boyfriend.
Jake had always thought Rose was a little on the crazy side, but that was nothing compared to the first time he showed up to take her pseudo-daughter out on a date. She'd been downright terrifying. And he wasn't easily intimidating.
And so the two broken halves did their best to mend their lives. Their breaks were jagged and far from a perfect fit, but as time passed and they tried to heal, they found themselves connected. The link was thin and fragile—like scar tissue over old wounds—but it was there nonetheless.
And when Reneseme was gone that bond remained. It was miniscule, a tiny thread only visible in the sunlight, but it was surprisingly strong. Unbreakable, perhaps.
She remembered what Edward always said about change regarding vampires. It isn't made easily, and when it is, it's permanent.
"Reneseme called." She said to Rosalie.
They're alone in the house. Jasper and Alice are off again, and Carlisle's holed up at the hospital.
"How's the honeymoon going?"
Bella sighed deeply. "Well, I assume. She didn't seem to want to elaborate, and I certainly didn't feel like prying."
Rosalie laughed. Bella liked the way it sounded. Musical, so much like Edwards, but very different too.
"I'm glad they went half-way across the world to do it. I might have killed that dog if he'd touched her within one-hundred miles of my presence."
Bella smiles, and lays her head in Rosalie's lap.
Rosalie played with her hair as Bella added, "You'll have to get used to it sooner or later. They're married."
"Don't remind me."
Rosalie's hands were soft, yet strong as they ran through Bella's hair. Bella felt comfortable against her… friend? What were they to each other? Not friends, not really. They'd never been friends. But that connection was there, they just didn't know what to call it.
"You have to know that they're having sex."
Rosalie groaned, "Ugh. Don't say that word when it involves werewolves."
"They're planning on having children. That will require sex, you know. It's what parents do."
"Not all parents." Rosalie whispered.
And suddenly there's tension that Bella had never noticed before now. A heat where the back of her neck meets the skin of Rosalie's thigh. And it was unknown, yet familiar.
Blonde hair cascaded over Bella's face, and it was like silk against her cheek.
"Bella." It's a whisper—tiny and frail—like this bond they shared. It sent shivers down her spine, and warmed their hearts.
It started with cheek pressed against cheek, warm breaths, wrapped in a tight embrace.
Rosalie's hands grasped at Bella's shoulders fiercely.
"I'm tired. So tired of being alone."
Bella decided she was too.
And then they were kissing. Rosalie's lips were softer, fuller than Edward's.
She wrapped a hand around the blonde's neck, cool to the touch, but boiling hot too.
She blinked, and Rosalie was hovering over her, the silver heart necklace Bella had given her last Christmas hanging down between them. And then the necklace disappeared as one body approached the other.
She felt Rosalie's curves lightly brushing against her own. It was an entirely new feeling, but it spread through her like lightning. In response, she wrapped an arm around Rose's tiny waist, and pulled her tight against her.
It was strange, feeling another set of breasts against her own, but she didn't hate it. They continued kissing until Rosalie's legs were settled between Bella's open thighs.
She couldn't help but reflect on the differences between this situation and every other one she'd ever experienced. Things went smoothly, elegant—truly like a dance. Everything was softer, like liquid silk.
The kiss was unrestrained and passionate. Bella thought that Rosalie tasted sweet and slightly minty, but the blonde seemed reluctant to make the move to take things further.
So Bella did. She slipped a hand under the hem of Rosalie's blouse, and began to drag it upwards. She stopped thinking with her head, and started following her heart—her broken, tangled, incomplete heart.
Rosalie took the hint, and their clothes were removed in blur of vampire movement. Skin touched skin, and Bella suddenly realized that maybe she could bear living without Edward for eternity if she got to feel like this.
There was something incredibly intimate about this moment. Their eyes were open wide and locked on each other. Both had hands buried in the other's sex, and they stared at each other long after they reached their climaxes.
Because maybe they were broken. Maybe the death of their husbands had left them a mere half of their former selves.
But they couldn't deny that two halves made a whole.
Broken or not.
"The pain passes, but the beauty remains" – Pierre Auguste Renoir