I can't breathe! I screamed in my mind, knowing my father could hear me, from how he did before. I could hear my mother's screams in pain. Did I cause it this time? I remember a loud crack, her spine, but I hadn't kicked. All my mind could do was focus on one thing: I can't breathe, I can't breathe. I could hear my mother scream for them to "get him out." I could hear something scratching from above me, like someone scratching their nails against a sheet of metal. I could feel light against my eyelids, cold air against my skin, as two cold hands lifted me up, out of my mother. I could hear her heart faltering as I opened my eyes, gasping for air.
I could see. I could also feel a pull in another direction behind me; a heart, beating faster than Momma's had. Then I looked around and saw many different things: my father, windows facing trees, their leaves different shades of green, brown bark, grass, dirt, the sky, and then my eyes flashed to my mother as Daddy said in a soft, somewhat proud voice, "Renesmee."
So that was my name; Renesmee. I was not focusing on that now, though. Momma, I said in a demanding tone in my head. I saw a slight smile on my father's face.
"Renes... mee... Give her... to me," Momma's voice croaked in a hoarse whisper. Daddy handed me to her, her arms very delicately reaching up around me. I smiled for the first time at her thin, frail face, and she smiled back as best as she could. I could still hear her heart, slowly getting slower and more uneven. My instincts kicked in: I bit her right over her heart. Not out of the slight burning in my throat, but to save her. She gasped in pain as I bit, and I instantly felt bad.
Daddy instantly took me from her arms. "No, Renesmee," he chided. I attempted to apologize out loud, but I could not figure out how to speak. I just apologized in my head. And then I heard it, Momma's heart stopped. Daddy's eyes widened and I heard another gasp from the direction the pull I felt had been coming from.
"Edward, give me the baby," A woman with curly blonde hair insisted from across the room. "I'm under control now." Daddy hesitantly handed me over to her, her arms cold as well. I could hear as well; the woman's shoes clicking against the wooden floor, the sound of a television downstairs, and the forced beating of Momma's heart.
"I'm your aunt Rosalie," the woman whose name I now knew as Rosalie said, interrupting my thoughts. I looked at her and smiled, and she reflected a smile back at me. I remember hearing her voice not too long ago, but I couldn't make out the words yet. She carried me into a room with tile on the floor, a large bathtub against the wall, and a sink next to it. Aunt Rosalie turned the water on and squirted a bit of transparent purple liquid into the water, which was now turning into white bubbles. I could smell lavender and a small hint of vanilla.
"Let's wash that blood off of you, okay?" she asked me in a cooing voice. I nodded in reply and her eyes widened slightly, "you understood that, honey?" She watched me as I nodded once again. I still couldn't form a reply, not yet, at least. "You're very smart, I see," she said, a still slightly shocked expression on her face.
Aunt Rosalie carefully placed me in the water, which was up to my upper stomach. It was warm, but not too warm, and it smelled strongly of the lavender and vanilla. I wrinkled my nose; it smelled too strongly of it. Rosalie giggled at this a bit. She took a dark purple rag and washed the blood off of my me carefully, turning the water a very light shade of transparent pink. She took a bottle something, the front of the bottle said "shampoo." I could already read it, with only slight difficulty. She thought for a second and then picked up a second bottle of the same thing, opening the lids on both.
"Okay, Renesmee. Which would you prefer?" she asked as she held both bottles out to me. I leaned in and smelled each one. The first one she had grabbed; the color of the liquid inside was light pink, and it smelled very lightly of flowers, but I liked these ones. They smelled... slightly deeper than the others. Still strong, but it didn't sting my nose like the other had. I smelled the other one as well; the liquid was an orange color and smelled very citrus-y. I liked it, but I liked the other one better. I reached my arm out to the pink bottle of shampoo and tapped it lightly.
"Roses," she stated softly, laughing softly. What I smelled was roses? I liked them. I smiled back at her, and tried to form the word in my head. Rose, rose, rose, rose, I repeated in my mind.
"W...W..." was all that I could get out. Her face beamed at my attempt. I pouted slightly, I wished I could speak. As Aunt Rose, as I now called her, put one fourth of a handful in the curls that went down to my ears, she spoke softly to me.
"Aw, honey, don't be sad. You're actually very intelligent for your age, and very skilled." I smiled happily at her, and did what my first instinct was as she washed my hair: I softly placed my hand against her arm, showing her what I had smelled, the word I was trying to say, "rose." Once again, her eyes widened. She continued washing my hair.
"...Wow... Renesmee, you'll have to show that to your Grandpa Carlisle. I removed my hand from her arm and placed it back into the water and nodded at her. She smiled softly at me and rinsed my hair, instructing me to lean my head back so no soap would get into my eyes, and I did. After that, she carefully took me out of the bath, wrapping a light blue towel around me and lifting me up into her arms. I softly placed my hand on the side of her neck, showing her my like for the color of the towel.
"Blue," she said simply. I smiled and nodded, not trying to speak aloud when I could communicate this way. She carried me to another room. The walls were a light shade of yellow, with a white carpet. She sat me gently on a bed in the center of the room. I placed my hand on the blankets, petting them a bit. I was amazed by everything around me, even blankets.
Aunt Rosalie walked over and held up two outfits. Well, dresses, really. One was white with a very pale tan pattern on the bottom. The other was a bright red with white swirls on the sleeves. I pointed at the white dress; I thought it was pretty. She helped me get dressed in it and toweled off my curls, then brushing them out: it felt nice. She wrapped me back up in a pink blanket, in case I got cold, I figured, and lifted me back up, carrying me downstairs into another room.
This one had a small area in the back with fire in it, crackling. I thought it was beautiful. There were two couches, each on opposite sides of the room, and a chair, facing a television, with a coffee table in the center. Then I noticed it again; the burn in my throat. I urgently placed my palm against her throat, and she nodded.
"You're just thirsty, Renesmee," she said simply. She carried me into a room with marble countertops, a tile floor, and different cabinets. She took a metal bottle out of one and took the lid off the top. She proceeded to grab a bag of red liquid, blood, out of the fridge, pouring it into the bottle. She placed it into a small box, a microwave, for a few seconds. She then took it back out, placing the lid back on and carried me to a white couch, facing away from the stairs.
She sat down, holding me in one arm, the bottle in the other, and she handed it to me carefully, keeping her hand on it as I grabbed it, being careful to drink the blood out of it. It very easily soothed the burn in my throat. I continued sucking the blood out until it made an odd sound, and instead of blood I got air. Aunt Rosalie carefully took it from my hands and placed it on the table.
I could hear footsteps coming down the stairs as Rosalie lifted me up into the air a bit. In the few minutes we had been gone, not much happened: Momma was still dying, her heart being forced to beat. I felt... terrible. But then I could hear another heartbeat, coming from the direction of the footsteps. It was a heavy, hearty sound. I could also feel a pull in that direction, the same I had felt earlier. Aunt Rosalie paid no attention to him, but I couldn't help it. He walked closer, very quietly and carefully, and leaned into a dangerous looking crouch, anger and hatred burning in his eyes.
I looked at him, trying to figure out who he was. He was tan, much much more than anyone I had seen so far. He also appeared to be very tall and strong. His hair was jet black and short. He had dark brown, almost black eyes which were filled with hate. I noticed that he was shaking slightly, until I stared into his eyes. His shaking jerked to a stop and he slowly softened out of his crouch and fell softly to his knees. I could see, and almost feel, something changing. In the air, in who he was, in who I was. I felt as though I needed him here, to protect me, keep me safe, be my best friend. And then Aunt Rose whispered his name. She said it in a hateful way, through clenched teeth, but I felt the opposite for him.