Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters belong to SM, this plot, sort of mine :)

Thanks to the ever lovely Leelan Oleander who put up with me during "the drunken e-mail rampage of 2009" while I harassed her constantly by e-mail until around 4am I sent her this special little piece of weird. The things that pop out of my head after a bottle of wine scare me.

Anyway, this is my first story I'm posting, so if anyone ever reads this, please be nice! Enjoy my little one-shot of weirdness.

Rose Petals

Rose petals.

It's Valentine's Day.

It's been exactly one week since I made either the smartest or stupidest choice of my life. I'm still on the fence, but leaning towards smartest. Decisions made drunk are usually bad choices that lead to unfortunate circumstances. I dealt with the unfortunate circumstance. Or so I thought.

I come home from school today, giddy, it had been a great day. I got a mark back from my bio test – aced it! My shoulder was finally healed and I didn't have to wear a stupid sling anymore. This both made me laugh and frown. It's liberating in some senses, but I shouldn't have had to wear it in the first place. I'm a spazz and shouldn't be allowed to walk home drunk at night. It's not the guy's fault, he was just being friendly, and I freaked out and dislocated my shoulder trying to wrench my arm away when all he was doing was asking if I wanted to smoke a J with him and his friends. But even thinking about my own stupidity couldn't have ruined this day for me. I had the best friends in the world and I was looking forward to a great night out with the girls. Alice had sent me home to get "tarted up" for the evening. Apparently I had to be showing a decent amount of cleavage and if I wouldn't wear a skirt I should at least wear my black skinny jeans.

"And no glasses tonight Swan! I know you like the naughty librarian look, but seriously. Just put on some of those slutty clothes we both know you hide at the back of your closet, slick on some makeup and get your ass back on the train into town. We've got drunkening to do! Chop Chop!"

I love Alice, she makes my day. So I was on cloud nine as I waltzed in the door, walking down the hallway to the room I shared with Angela. I dropped my bag on the floor and turned around to fire up my laptop and play some mood music.

That's where it all started to shift.

Sitting on my desk, were two dozen long stem roses. They sure as hell weren't from the family I was living with. They sure as hell weren't from any of the guys from school. I wasn't THAT girl to any of them. There was only one person they could be from.


He and I had started dating less than a year ago. It was a strange dance. Warm beers, mockery, camaraderie, always pushing limits. And then on a warm August night, things had taken a turn. Bad decisions made while drunk lead to unfortunate circumstances. We were drinking at Quil's grandparents' house, as was fairly common for us. We were sitting on their front steps, drinking warm beer, smoking cigarettes, talking and laughing while he idly played the guitar. Suddenly he had put the guitar down, hopped off the steps and turned to me. He sunk halfway to one knee, held up his beer, cigarette dangling precariously from his full lips and uttered that fateful phrase.

"Bella, will you marry me?"

And my response? "Yes"

Sexy fun times were had.

It had seemed like great idea at the time, I was going away for a year for school, we wanted a way to make things last between us, we were in love. In the midst of this whirlwind romance, we had neglected a few things. He was broke. He had just moved back in with his father and his father's new wife, after living in his beat up Rabbit for a year. We'd only been dating 3 months. We hardly knew each other. He didn't even have a ring! We didn't think it through. He hadn't even planned to propose.

But we went with it, and we were happy. But then I went away. I was 17, I was reckless, I was exactly the kind of girl who gets engaged at 17 who is then whisked away from the object of her affection. Things happened. Things I couldn't even begin to explain to him. He looked past it, he went out and hocked his guitar to buy me a ring. I couldn't bear to tell him that I didn't like it. I left the ring with him when I returned after the Christmas holidays.

Less than two months later, I called and ended things. I know it was a shitty way to end an engagement, but I was 17, I was living in a different country for fuck's sake. What was I supposed to do? Hop the next plane to Forks, get expelled from school for unexcused absences and waste thousands of dollars? Just to end a dead relationship? I don't think so.

We didn't part on the best of terms.

So when I came home, floating on my cloud of awesome and saw those roses, I knew they were from Jacob. I didn't know if he had ordered them before or after we broke up, but I didn't care.

I grabbed the roses and went to throw them in the trash. Of course being me, Bella Swan, I knocked over the vase they were in and spillt water all everywhere. JUST FREAKING GREAT.

I couldn't be bothered to really clean it up, but I dried up as best as I could and hoped the desk wouldn't sustain any permanent damage. I dressed hastily, throwing on some sort of Alice-approved outfit without paying any attention, smearing some makeup on and rushed towards the door.

At the last second, I turned around and picked up the roses and took them with me to the train station. I certainly got some strange looks, but fortunately the train was fairly empty. I settled into my seat for the 10 minute ride into the city and ruminated on the roses. Why? Had he sent them before or after? What am I going to do with them? Why did I bring them?

I was snapped out of my musings by the sound of Alice shouting outside the train. I looked up to see Rosalie getting off another train and sauntering over to Alice and I hurried to join them. Rosalie was a great friend, but she rarely ever came out with us.

Alice and Rose both eyed me warily as I got off the train clutching tightly to my two dozen long stem roses, and I just stared back at them. As I approached them, I handed one rose each to Rose and Alice. Rose gave me a confused look, but Alice just accepted hers with a smile and handed me a small bottle. Yum, tequila! This is going to be a great night for us.

The three of us slowly walked into the city heading for our bar. Eventually I got sick of their pregnant, questioning glares and I explained to them that I'd found them on my desk when I got home, assumed they were from Jacob, and just didn't want them there when I went back.

They got it.

We made it into the city, and everywhere were couples. Of course there were couples, it was Valentine's Day. The holy day of love and co-dependency. Bitter much?

I had been toying with the stem of one of the roses, twirling it around in my fingers. I started getting really angry about the whole situation and my own stupidity and I took the rose and smashed the bloom into the ground.

Rose petals.

It was, beyond a doubt, the single most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

In taking something so delicate, so structured and perfect and committing an unjustified act of violence, I had created even more beauty. Instead of crumpling up and becoming ugly, it exploded out into a multitude of petals, which softly rocked in the wind and settled back into the ground.

We all stood there stunned, just appreciating the moment. None of us believed in true love, but you couldn't deny what that action represented. You can't destroy something like that. Perfection was perfection, and tearing it apart only made it stronger.

I'm still not sure why I brought them with me. Why I had them. Why. Why. Why. But I had quickly begun learning that there isn't always a why.

Again and again, we each took turns. Picking up these delicate blossoms and accentuating their beauty through violence. Taking out our frustrations and revelling in the consequences we had never experienced. Rape. Neglect. Betrayal. All the emotions that the three of us has been focused on for so long were released through this therapeutic action which only served to justify in us the grace and beauty underlying everything. Even though none of us could turn back, I know we all hoped that the beauty following these acts of tragedy could apply to us too. That beauty could come from our devastation, that even in the act of violence, of destruction, that we too could rise above and conquer, that our lives would appear that much richer as a result.

If only that could have been true for me and Jacob Black, but maybe I never loved him at all.

Thanks for reading (if you do) and happy holidays :)

PS If you want something much Awesomer to read, check out Encore by Leelan Oleander, the keeper fantastic of my sanity!