Maybe Rosalie hit my head too hard against the floor the last time I borrowed her shoes without permission, because I'm positive I'm hallucinating. This can't be real.

People like him simply don't die. Yes, there's the whole "immortal" thing, but in general, good people don't die. Or they shouldn't. Fate or whoever is messing around with our lives shouldn't be this cruel. Take me instead. Take any of us; I'm sure they'd volunteer. We'd all gladly die in place of him. He's just too alive to ever die.

There's a strange role reversal going on in the living room: Rose sitting lifelessly on the sofa while Bella paces angrily around the room, wearing holes in the rug with her glower. My older sister is usually the angry one, while sweet-tempered Bella sits out her grief quietly. Suddenly, with his death, our world has been turned upside down.

Bella's mumbling things under her breath, quiet, fury-filled little words and phrases, shattered to incoherence by anguish. I catch muttered snippets like "unfair" and "too young" but my brain seems to have gone too limp to work out the entire picture, or maybe there isn't one.

Esme and Carlisle have actually left the room, left our broken family without their seemingly never-ending patience and support-- further proof that this is all an impossibility. Or maybe we really have lost him, and it's driving everyone slowly to insanity.

I blink once before my gaze settles on Rosalie, who stares hollowly back, her irises charcoal with thirst and her limbs slack with horror. She seems to have emptied, pushed all the feelings out of her so she doesn't have to bother with experiencing them and the pain they'll bring. I'm reminded of the images of Bella that Edward described in agonized whispers, images from after he left taken from Jacob's then-taunting mind. Just a shell. A shell wracked with endless pain, that is. But a shell nevertheless.

Comforting arms encircle my waist, and I blink gratefully up at Jasper. As Edward walks slowly to embrace Bella similarly, something in Rosalie's eyes flickers and dies.

She'll be without his arms forever.

All right. I am totally prepared for the onslaught of criticism and "WHY THE CARLISLE HAVEN'T YOU UPDATED IN MONTHS??" that will surely follow this. If you even bother to read it, that is. But I'm determined to finish up this story and Stay With Me (improved title suggestions, anyone?) relatively soon so I can write random little oneshots without feeling guilty.

Disclaimer: Don't own it, don't want to.