A/N: I've always wanted to write an Edward and Rosalie one-shot. I recently went back and reread all the gut-wrenching drabbles and stories on LJ for this pairing and fell in hardcore love all over again. These two break my heart, just... guh, seriously. If you're a fan of Roseward, I highly suggest you go read some fics on LJ. No lie, if you thought /Twilighted authors can pull at your heart strings, well...

This is short and to the point, I wish I could write these two longer, but it's too much heartache and angst and unghf. I can't do it. Sorry.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or it's characters.

"How could the world have turned so ugly
I am dying
Could you touch me again?"

-The Swan Song, A Fine Frenzy

She leaves on a sunny day.

Her purposeful strides are made permanent by the black mark they leave across the white floors of the Cullen mansion and he couldn't follow her if even if he wanted to.

He figured their time was short-lived. Stolen hours of someone's else's happiness, memories, laughter. She had never belonged to him, after all.

The darkness seeps in and he stays in his room. The old habits settling in, welcoming him back to the surface of his reality. He had never belonged to the human world, the proof burned into his brain. "He can give me things you can't, I'm so sorry."

He submerges himself in Plato, Dante, Bach and Stravinsky and pretty soon his fingers are gripping the frail leaves of paper, digging into their ink, smothering the black on the faded yellow creases.

He isn't sure what he throws first. He figured it might've been the stereo because Debussy snuck it's way into the play list and Claire de Lune had never filled him with such rage until then.

His hand flies and in a record two minutes, his room is in chaos. The shredded papers and pillow feathers falling like snow above his glorious frame. Resolute in destruction.

He tries to scream, anything to get that feeling in the pit of his stomach out, but his mouth has clamped shut and it won't open. There's a familiar lump lodged in his throat and it's preventing any oxygen from entering his brain, his lungs never needed it.

The foreboding creaking of the stairs is feather light as he hears an all too familiar mind hover beside the door.

"Edward?" he hears her voice as his door opens and he can't believe that she had the audacity to confront him, in this state. All he can think is not now, and how perfect.

His screams are harder than any physical force she's ever encountered and they're almost pushing her back from this mess, this room, him.

She can sense the pain he's in by the monstrosity in his eyes and she knows it would only cause him pleasure if she were to acqueisce to his demand.

She stays her ground. Rosalie has never been one to crawl back in fear in response to Edward's tantrums.

"You foolish, immature boy." she spits, "just look at you, weeping for a girl who obviously has no care for you." She radiates pretentiousness and scorns him for the grief he cannot control.

Rosalie had always claimed Edward to be sanctimonious, she had figured that when she had been changed, Edward's soul had ripped in half and a piece of it had binded with hers. And vice-versa.

"Shut up." is his sole response, close to breaking at the end, but it's the strongest he has sounded in weeks.

Because it has been days, weeks, months, since Bella has played this game.

She laughs derisively, her eyes flashing with amusement, a sharp remark on the edge of her tongue. She thinks she's winning this game, she can't remember when it turned to one either. This had not been her original intention.

She doesn't have time to think as she's suddenly pushed roughly against the wall and her mouth is still hanging open in surprise.

His fingers dig into her cold flesh as the pressure merges into real pain. She almost lets out a gasp, but she has enough self-composure to act as though nothing is wrong, as though nothing is hurting her.

His breath is coming out in shallow gasps, smothering the air between them.

His lips momentarily hover above hers as they finally graze past her ear, his growl reverberating through her canals.

"I told you to shut up and get out." He digs his fingers deeper, as Rosalie smiles into the strain of his neck.

"Just look at you, begging for an excuse to be near me."

"I'm not the one who's begging." He growls as his mouth turns into a smirk and she knows exactly what he's talking about.

She doesn't leave room for thought as her hand strikes the side of his cheek. The resonating sound parallel to the unspoken past they both hid so well.

She's aiming for another as he quickly captures her wrists, hard, the echo of his words hitting her harder than any of her futile attempts.

"Let go of me." She hisses as she lashes against his grip. But he doesn't budge and his twisted amusement only fuels her own animosity and pretty soon she isn't struggling against his grasp; she's tugging him closer and he doesn't object.

She is a fury of gold and ivory and everything that she wasn't and, god… she's coming right at him.

Her lips are like magnets on his as she desperately brings his hips against her own and his hands and her wrists wind around his neck, pulling him closer.

He's sobbing into her mouth and she's remembering the ghosts she locked in her closet, the ones she's been harboring in her chest ever since Emmett came along.

A growl escapes his throat and she pulls him nearer, begging him with her mind to keep touching her.

All Edward can remember is the nights she was curled next to his body as she feigned sleep and the rainy days spent next to a foggy window, her hand curled against his.

It's imperfect and hateful and it's been too long.

The pieces don't fit and they're bending them to their breaking point; the dissonance can be heard throughout his room, reflected on the broken records scattered throughout the floor.

She pulls back suddenly as she stares at him harder than she's ever done, her smile turning more and more into a smirk as the seconds tick by.

"I'm not some plaything Rosalie. You can't reach into your toy box and pull me out whenever life gets dull."

The flash of hurt is too fast to decipher but he swears she's going to slap him again.

"You really are an idiot Edward." She glares, but she doesn't let go.

He says nothing, he's sure he understands but he doesn't want to take any chances.

It doesn't take long for him to crumble in her arms, crashing against the full weight of his dead heart. He swore he had heard it beating when he was with her.

They never belonged together, after all.

Love it? Hate it? Edward and Rosalie literally own my soul, as I have said time and time again. So, any feedback on this would calm my nerves. I would hate to not do them justice.