AN: Yeah, this was written ages ago, supposed to be posted ages ago, and well, life is odd. I wrote it! Hurrah for me! Next one should be Bella or Edward, I think :)
Chapter Six: Rosalie wins a house and a life without fear.
There were seven different ways a grown man could enter Rosalie's condo, either through doors, windows, or using sledgehammers. She had every door locked with four locks, each window had bars on the inside, and she had a guard for night time, so she could sleep, although she only slept due to massive amounts of sleeping pills.
During the day she kept a watch on, and patrolled the interior of her condo every hour. Her heart would race, and although it made her feel a bit unsafe, because she could be snuck up on, she played old rock and roll to keep her blood pressure stable. The soft accent of Bob Marley or the beat to The Beatles made her feel protected, although never had he come back to find her.
Rosalie was draped in her satin, thigh length dressing gown, her long blond hair done in thick ringlets from sleeping in curlers, her dark circles gone from a morning lying in the dark with aloe vera smeared under her eyes, and cucumbers on top. She sat on her red velvet couch, in front of her television, and she contemplated her reflection in a silver edged handheld mirror.
Others may think that Rosalie was admiring her beauty, and that would be exactly what she would want them to think. But to herself, she was making every clogged pore, her too full lips, her transparent eyelashes into the worst faults imaginable, until her face no longer signified beauty to any part of her brain.
She looked down at her watch to see that it was four o' clock on the dot. She stood up, flipping on the music before giving herself time to panic.
Every little thing will be all right. Bob Marley crooned, as Rosalie took a deep breath before going into the foyer. She made sure the door was locked, on each of the locks, and looked outside, through the peephole.
Her heart stopped.
A man, dressed in a completely blue outfit, which is such a fashion no-no, was walking up her steps. He had a few letters in his hand and a giant yellow plastic envelope with black lettering.
He knocked on the door. Rosalie's heart started again, going too fast to feel normal. "What do you want?" She asked through the door shrilly.
The man in blue held up the letters. "I've got your mail." He called in, leaning towards the door.
She backed up. "Push it through the mail slot." She called out.
He held up the yellow envelope, although Rosalie couldn't see. "It's too big! Just open the door."
She contemplated running to the bathroom and calling the police.
Instead, fueled by the rock and roll songs playing in the background, she opened the door and poked her head out.
The mail carrier's jaw dropped. She pulled the door open further, wrapping her robe around her body self consciously. Maybe he would see the fat that gathered on the back of her ribs. Maybe he could see how distorted her face was, how imperfect she really was.
She held out her hand. "Mail?" She asked. He stood there, dumb struck for a moment, before handing it to her, his eyes penetrating any façade of beauty she might have put on, every second making her feel worse about herself.
Her eyes filled with tears. "Thank you," She said.
"Wait, are you okay?" He asked, but she closed the door in his face, locking each one of the locks and checking them twice.
She leaned against the door, and slid to the ground. It had taken so much effort into just opening the door. She looked around at what she had created for herself, a cage, to keep evil out, but in turn, kept her in.
She ripped open the yellow envelope that had cause so much misfortune. Inside were the words Congratulations! You've won your selected option in the nationwide lottery! You have either won; a) a two million dollar manor (furniture not included), or b) the money in cash (taxed accordingly).
She remembered buying the ticket online, gambling with her father's money. She had won. She had won the house that she had been dreaming about for decades.
She flipped open to a glossy picture book, her house on the cover. It had a wide green lawn and open windows, with greenery and flowers everywhere. It was beautiful. It was so unlike the prison she lived in now.
She was sick of living life afraid. If she moved away, she could start again, start fresh, and live life the way she was meant to.