The Illusion of Something More

The Illusion of Something More

The cold was back with a vengeance after deceiving the unsuspecting population of Portland with the illusion that spring had been just around the corner. The wind was howling around the corners of the houses and tiny specs of snow fluttered around for small eternities before they landed on the icy ground.

Rosalie shuddered and blew her hot breath into her cupped hands. She couldn't remember it ever being this cold on Valentine's Day before and she desperately wished she was back in her small one bedroom apartment, wrapped tightly in her robe, her feet shuffled against the heater and a steaming cup of tea warming her hands. It was the best description of heaven she could come up with at that moment.

It was sheer insanity to walk around outside dressed the way she was. Her black leather skirt was much too short for temperatures below thirty and the fish net stockings offered no protection from the cold either. Her toes were almost frozen in the black stilettos and the black leather jacket warmed just as little as the red tube top underneath. It was too bad her profession didn't offer seasonal uniforms, Rosalie mused to herself.




"My tits are gonna freeze off," Victoria wailed, effectively ending Rosalie's train of thoughts.

She looked at Victoria who had her arms wrapped around her torso and was stomping on the pavement with her red heels. The heels matched her red sequined dress, as well as her short red leather jacket, the red purse and the red lipstick on her lips. It did not, however, match her red hair very well. Earlier Lauren had asked her why the hell she was wearing red when her hair obviously clashed with the color and Victoria had all but assaulted her. Rosalie decided to just keep her mouth shut – her teeth were probably going to start clattering if she opened her mouth anyway. And last time she had told Victoria her honest opinion about the clothes she was wearing, the slut had clawed her in the face. Rosalie had then given Victoria a black eye, immediately receiving one in return from James. Yep, that had been a great day.

Rosalie offered a small wave to the small group of scantily clad and thus freezing girls, desperately needing to get away from Victoria, and walked slowly and stiffly down to the next corner, all the while feeling like The Little Match Girl watching all the happy people inside of the warm, cozy restaurants and being unable to go inside and join them.

Ironically Rosalie had always loved Hans Christian Andersen's story about the little girl with the matches. She still cried every time she read it just as she had as a little girl when her grandmother had read it to her the first time. But it was not very glorious living the modern version of it and she only hoped that she would be alive in the morning.

There were not many people out on the streets, and those who were out came in pairs. - Except Jessica who Rosalie met at the corner. She gave a tight smile and they huddled together as they shared a cigarette. Rosalie didn't usually smoke, but when it was cold it offered the illusion of warmth and she desperately needed something right now. Even illusions.

"Th-this is absolutely miserable!" Jessica whined, teeth clattering around the cigarette. "I can't believe we're even out in this damn c-cold."

"Why are you?" Rosalie asked. "Last I heard you were working as a waitress at that café down the street. What happened?"

Jessica frowned. "My boss suddenly remembered having seen me before. I sure as hell didn't recognize him, but he claimed that he picked me up last year and although I was good enough for him to get off on, I'm not good enough to work at his stupid café."

"Well, fuck him," Rosalie offered. She envied Jessica as much as she pitied her. Jessica was not satisfied working the streets, she wanted to be something – the only problem was that she didn't know what and didn't know how to change things. She would start some kind of low paying job every few weeks but within days she would be back on the streets because it hadn't worked out. It was a knock on the head every time but at least she had the courage to try.

"Been there, done that," Jessica quipped. "Apparently."

Rosalie snorted.

"Oh, why the hell are we even out here? This is a night for romance, not anonymous sex," Jessica huffed before a random little giggle erupted from her. "God, the last time I had a date for Valentine's Day was in high school. I had the biggest crush on a guy called Jeremiah and when he asked me out on Valentine's Day I was thrilled. We barely spoke ten words to each other the entire night and a few weeks after he came out of the closet with his best friend, Peter. Epic, huh?"

Rosalie shook her head in mock sadness. "Men suck and so does this stupid day. According to James there are plenty of johns out there who would gladly pay for the illusion of a Valentine's date because they can't score one on their own," she said, not masking the disgust in her voice. Then she sighed. "And I have to agree, they just need a few hours to come out of the woodwork. I made a killing last year."

"Stupid James," Jessica muttered. "And his stupid, disgusting and absolutely revolting pony tail. Honestly, ew! Does he ever wash his hair, you think?"

"I haven't actually given it much thought," Rosalie deadpanned, considering leaving Jessica and finding somewhere else to stand around and freeze.

Before she got the chance, one of Jessica's regulars pulled up. Jessica practically squealed and jumped into the warm car.

Rosalie just scowled. Why couldn't one of her regulars pull up and save her from getting frostbite. She would go as far as kissing Mike on the mouth if he pulled up in his mom's white Toyota right now. He really was a dear. He was so shy and awkward, blushing and averting his eyes at first every time she got undressed – he was so unlike any other john she had ever come across. She couldn't help but wonder why he wasting his attention on prostitutes when he could be out dating nice girls. But perhaps he was just too shy. Rosalie had seen him hang around for weeks before he seemed to strike up the courage to approach her.

The likes of Royce and that creepy old Mr. Banner were a lot more stereotypical than sweet-faced Mike. Royce was always too rough and left bruises no matter how many times James went after him to threaten, complain and bitch. And Mr. Banner was just a weird old man who had some deranged ideas sometimes. Rosalie shuddered but this time it wasn't from the cold.

Her favorite among her regular johns was an exotic looking guy by the name of Laurent who had the most darling hint of a French accent. He treated her better than anyone else – which was probably why James didn't like him and tried to keep him away even if it meant less business.

James was like that. He preyed on his girl's weaknesses and when he found out that something meant something to them, he took it away if he could. He found pleasure in it, even. The cold, cynic smile said it all.

Rosalie tolerated the man who called himself her boss, but she avoided him the best she could. Tonight it did not seem possible, however. He came striding down the street, Lauren doing her best to keep up with him in her heels.

"Evening, Rosalie," James greeted her with a sleek smile.

She nodded and offered a tight smile to Lauren.

Lauren unnerved her. The blonde girl seemed happy as a lark with the way she lived her life it confused the hell out of Rosalie. Everyone else struggled to get off the street and find something better – and if they didn't actively try to get out, they at least dreamed of something better – but not Lauren.

Rosalie knew personally that it was a hell of a lot easier to get into prostitution than it was to get out. Bad decisions coupled with bad luck had made her work the streets as a way out of starving and now she was stuck like so many other girls.

"Victoria just took off with one of her regulars," James said, scanning to the streets with his beady black eyes as he spoke. "And a doctor in a fancy car picked Angela up twenty minutes ago. Apparently there's a medical conference in town today and tomorrow. It's a golden opportunity, girls."

James turned his gaze to Rosalie, scanning her body slowly. "I like the stockings," he commented. "But you could have gone for some higher heels."

"There's ice everywhere," Rosalie muttered, knowing that when it came to looks, James had nothing to complain about with her. She had always had a difficult time biting her tongue when she spoke with him, but experience had taught her that it was worth it. Biting her tongue, even if it was literal, did not leave bruises. "It's difficult to fuck with a broken leg, especially since only one of my regulars like missionary."

James only had time for a sneer before a car stopped at the curb. It was a silver Volvo S40 with probably a T5 engine. Rosalie sighed. Car magazines were her guilty pleasure, substituting the actual cars that she couldn't afford.

While Rosalie salivated over the car, James was talking with the driver and Lauren was posing, pulling out every sultry and alluring look she could manage.

Rosalie felt oddly deflated tonight. It wasn't just the cold and the symbolism of the day that put a damper on her mood. She couldn't explain it to herself, and she could also not get into the right state of mind – the state of mind that shut off everything that she was feeling and had her acting with a confidence worthy of an Academy Award.

There were cracks in her armor tonight and she allowed herself a brief moment to think about Emmett and everything that could have happened if things were different. - Big, adorable, dimpled Emmett who had wanted her and wanted to love her but who deserved so much more than she could ever hope to offer.

She had been weak when she met him and allowed him to take her on a few dates. They had bonded over shared interests in cars, war movies and all things ice cream. He had made her laugh and in return she had lied to him, keeping her occupation a secret from him. He had spoiled her and in return she had left him, not wanting him to leave her first. And he would have, that she was sure of, as soon as he found out what an empty shell of a human being she really was. Because she was not even a whore, she was just the empty shell of a whore and that was even worse.

"Rosalie!" James' sugar-sweet voice pulled her out of the thoughts that hurt much more than the cold biting her cheeks and making her lose feeling in her fingers and toes.

"The doctor's in town for the conference and has requested your company for the night," James said, overdoing the whole sweet-thing to a sickening degree and Rosalie kind of wanted to tell him to knock it the fuck off.

She walked closer and when she reached James, he grabbed her arm and pulled her close. "He's paid up front for the whole night, so you stay until he kicks your ass out, understand? And you do whatever he wants, too."

Rosalie nodded, pulling away from James and lifting the corners of her mouth into a wide smile before she bent down and looked in through the open car window.

"Evening, doctor," she drawled lazily.

Rosalie recognized him immediately and took the humiliating blow in stride, not allowing any kind of emotion to show on her face. Her smile was automatic, dazzling and fake.

She had gone to high school with Edward Cullen. One of the most shining moments of her life was when they had been crowned prom king and queen together and he had held her hand and smiled like she actually mattered. They had shared the traditional dance afterwards and for a few divine minutes as he held her in his arms she had been able to pretend that he wanted her.

But Edward Cullen had never wanted her. She had thought he did for a brief moment in the eighth grade when he had given her a Valentine's Day card – pink with red, glittery hearts. She had enjoyed a few minutes of heaven until she had found out that he had given a card to every girl in their grade because he had wanted to outdo his friends and get the most Valentine kisses. Rosalie had descended quickly back to earth.

He was as devastatingly handsome now as he had been then. His eyes were the most mesmerizing shade of green and in her teenage naivety she had written many a poem about them. His hair was still a little too long and a little too messy and the light inside the car highlighted the odd bronze color. His strong cheekbones and chiseled jaw took her back in her mind to a time where he had been the hero of every single one of her daydreams.

Back when she still dreamed…

Not aware if Edward had returned her greeting or not, she complied silently when he motioned for her to get into the car, noticing his lingering gaze on her thigh as her skirt rose up when she sat down on the seat.

The car was pure heaven. It was warm and comfortable and…Rosalie mentally shook her head at herself – who cared as long as it was warm.

Edward was silent as he drove through the streets. Rosalie kept her mouth shut as well, although she wondered how he would react if she brought up their shared past. Not that she ever would. It really was for the best if he didn't recognize her – it was too embarrassing.

His cell phone rang and he seemed annoyed as he glanced at the display and then at her.

"I can't really talk right now, honey," he answered it and then listened to the reply.

Rosalie's eyes rested on his wedding ring and wondered what kind of man he had turned out to be. He had probably not changed much at all since he was talking to what was probably his wife on the phone while sitting next to a prostitute he had just picked up.

"I'm sorry I can't be home too, but it's a really important conference. I will make it up to you when I get back," Edward insisted into his phone and Rosalie suppressed the urge to snort loudly. She couldn't count how many times she had heard some version of that excuse in the past. God, men were just a bunch of lying crap piles.

"Yes, I'll call you back after we finish off tonight. I love you, honey." He snapped his cell phone shut and deposited it back into his pocket. He did not glance at her again and the silence engulfed them.

Rosalie felt the urge to tell him not to treat someone who obviously loved him like that. But she couldn't. She was a whore too, only she just betrayed herself.

His hotel was nice, of course. Very nice. She had been there a few times before, always with out-of-towners in Portland on business. His room was one of the nicer ones, too. Of course it was. Rosalie had always known that Edward Cullen got what he wanted and he had wanted success, so obviously that was what he had now.

Rosalie was hardened after working as a prostitute for over five years. In the beginning she had been acutely aware of every single second that she was with a john. Now she could lose focus for minutes at a time and be completely unaware of what had happened while she had been out of focus – she could have become undressed, the john could have gotten off or she could have accepted her money and be on her way.

She had become a malfunctioning robot.

But she was suddenly scared when she found herself naked with Edward Cullen and no recollection of how it had happened. A glance to the floor showed a ripped pair of panties and she bit her lip, wondering if there was such a thing as becoming too hardened. Too detached. Too cold. Too careless.

She raised her gaze and met his. He smirked, slowly stroking his growing erection while she tried to ignore how much she wanted him.

"On the bed, please," he said. "On your back propped up against the headboard."

Rosalie did as he asked – it was what she was being paid for, after all. It was ironic that she would have paid money for this in high school. Now he was the one paying.

Edward continued stroking himself, standing at the foot of the bed watching her intently. She was uncomfortable under his gaze, something that irked her and bothered her immensely because usually she liked having a man's full attention. "Spread your legs," he ordered. "Touch yourself."

It was not a strange request. Over the years Rosalie's boundaries had stretched to a point where nothing seemed strange anymore. She had also learned to read the johns and right now she knew that Edward was in no rush, so she trailed her open palms slowly around her breasts before palming them fully, squeezing and zeroing in on her nipples. She stubbornly kept her gaze on his face as she pinched her nipples, rolling them between two fingers and arching her neck slightly in response to the sensations the actions caused inside of her.

Keeping her left hand on her breast, she trailed the right one down her stomach until she could sink one finger in between her folds. She bit her lip when she came in contact with her clit. Her legs fell further apart and she moaned, slipping her finger down to coat it in the increasing wetness seeping out of her and then back up to her clit, circling it slowly.

Her eyes fell shut as she lost herself in the self-administered pleasure, only to shoot open again when Edward's strained voice rang out in the room again. "Fuck yourself with your fingers," he said. When Rosalie looked at him again, she noticed that his movements had stilled and he stood with his erection in his hand and all muscles in his body tensed to the point where it looked uncomfortable.

She scooted down on the bed a little, pleased with the way he was reacting to her. Raising her finger to her mouth, she swirled her tongue around the already wet digit, refraining from smirking at the moan erupting from Edward. Suddenly she had a little of her usual power back. Replacing the finger back on her clit, she pinched the little bud before letting her finger slide further down and disappear into her pussy.

Sliding the finger in and out of herself, she sped up her movements and continued to tease her nipple with her left hand. She added a second finger to her pussy and her labored breathing filled the room. Barely able to focus her eyes on Edward any longer, she arched her back and flopped her head back against the headboard as she finger fucked herself to the brink of an orgasm. She opened her eyes with great effort and made eye contact with him again, silently asking for his unnecessary permission to let go.

His eyes were ablaze with lust and although clearing his throat as if to speak, he just nodded curtly.

Rosalie groaned as she steered herself over the edge, feeling her orgasm erupt from deep inside of her and stop time as she knew it for a second or two where nothing existed except the pleasure.

She lazily swirled her finger around her wet, quivering clit, drawing out the sensations as she gradually regained use of all her senses. When she opened her eyes, Edward was sheathing himself in a condom and when his eyes met hers, it took a few seconds for his cocky façade to return. When it did, he smirked and ran a hand through his hair.

"On your hands and knees."

She did as asked, willing her body to comply even though it could have done with a few minutes to rest. When she could no longer see his eyes, she suddenly felt vulnerable and the strangest sensations spread inside of her.

Lust spread like a wildfire in her body and she nearly gasped out loud because that wasn't supposed to happen. She would get aroused when she was with a john just as she had moments ago when she had fingered herself, but it hadn't been lust – it had been a little more than usual because Edward was an old crush but she had not felt real all-consuming and overpowering lust in a very long time and certainly never with a john. She had always been careful to be too detached. It confused her as well as scared her but she filed it away in the back of her mind, chalking it up to ghosts of old feelings resurfacing at the wrong time.

Her body was ablaze with lust. Edward's touch was white-hot – his fingers ran lightly up her spine, softly caressing the side of her breasts before roughly grabbing her hips in stark contrast.

She gasped when she felt the tip of his cock at her entrance and cried out, letting her head fall down on her hands, when he thrust into her, filling her to the hilt. The feeling of him filling her so completely felt much too amazing.

"Oh God…" Rosalie breathed out in a throaty moan, echoing the one erupting from Edward.

As abruptly as he had entered her, his movements stilled and he bent down, resting his cheek against her back for a moment. Rosalie held her breath and all she heard was his hitched breathing and her own pulse thundering in her ears like loud gunshots.

After a moment, Edward drew back out of her so only the tip of his cock remained in her. He slammed back in with force, making her grip onto the covers on the bed and moan breathlessly. The front of his thighs met the back of hers with a loud slapping sound and his grip on her hips tightened with each thrust.

"Fuck yes…" he groaned. He pressed down on her back between her shoulder blades, and she willingly fell down on her elbows, changing the angle of his thrusts a little, making him able to hit deeper.

Rosalie felt herself on the brink of an orgasm and seconds later she clenched around Edward's cock, crying out until she was out of breath.

Edward slowed his pace down a little, allowing her to catch her breath a little. He then picked it right up again, resting one knee on the edge of the bed and bending over a little, hovering over Rosalie. His hands left her hips and grabbed her breasts roughly, squeezing and pinching the nipples between his fingertips. She arched her back up into him, meeting his sweaty torso.

Picking up his pace even further, his hands once again found her hips and he straightened up to get as much force behind his thrusts as possible. Their moans were mingling in the room and Rosalie's breathy sounds hitched when Edward reached forward to grab her hair in a pony tail in his hand. He pulled slightly, making her arch her back and met his thrusts a little more forcefully.

"Touch yourself," Edward panted, letting go of her hair and sliding his hands down her thighs, grabbing onto the front of them as he slammed himself into her.

Rosalie slid her hand down underneath herself, finding her slick clit, circling it before extending her fingers to touch Edward's cock as well.

"Fuck," he hissed. "God…damn…"

Rosalie's fingers returned to her clit, rubbing it furiously. It took very few moments before her orgasm hit her full force and her mouth opened in a silent scream as she clawed at the covers, clenching violently around Edward, whose orgasm followed hers immediately. He thrust into her sloppily a few times more, tensing up and groaning as he collapsed on top of her in a shuddering mess.

Rosalie struggled to breathe and finally Edward found enough sense to roll of her. He sprawled on his back and with one last effort he deposited the condom in the waste basket beside the bed and slung an arm over his eyes.

The sound of their breathing filled the room and Rosalie couldn't help but wonder if she would ever find the strength to move any of her limbs. She was fucked every day but rarely was she as well fucked as tonight.

"Can I ask you a question?" Edward asked after a while of complete silence in the room. He was still on his back with his arm slung over his eyes while Rosalie was lying on her stomach.

Rosalie took a deep breath, readying herself as much as possible for what she feared was the usual question. Why are you a prostitute?

"Sure," she muttered.

"Your…um…the pony tail guy…" Edward struggled to find a way around the word pimp and Rosalie almost snorted in bitter amusement.

"James," she helped him out eventually.

"Well, James no doubt told you that I paid for a whole night, but if I let you go now, will you go home or back out on the streets and freeze half to death before dawn?"

Rosalie frowned and as if Edward sensed it, he elaborated with a sigh. "It's supposed to be the coldest night in years tonight and as a doctor I'd prefer not to have a hand in you freezing to death."

This time Rosalie did snort, struggling to keep the laughter in as she bit down on the bed covers. She wished she had realized in high school what an epic asshole Edward Cullen was. "Trust me," she finally managed to say. "There's no way I'm going back out on the streets tonight. No matter when you kick me out, all James will ever know is that I was here all night."

"Good." Edward seemed relieved as he sat up. "Go on home, then. I'm sure we could both do with some rest."

Rosalie shrugged and nodded, sitting up too. Who was she to tell a john what to do with the time he had paid for? She dressed under his intense gaze and the room felt like it was closing in on her as she struggled with her stockings and now messy hair.

"Goodbye, Rosie," he said calmly, sitting on the bed with his back propped up against the headboard and not bothering to cover himself with the sheet. "There's a tip in the envelope on the table by the door. I'll come look for you the next time I'm in Portland."

Rosalie nodded and grabbed the envelope before exiting the hotel room. She felt like she couldn't breathe and she was halfway to the elevator before it registered what he had called her. Rosie. She gasped. She had not been Rosie to anyone since high school. He had recognized her. Humiliation and embarrassment filled her to the brim and she went right by the elevator to the stairs. She needed air and she couldn't bear the thought of being cooped up in an elevator right now.

Out in the stairway she sunk down on the stairs. She felt like a tornado had destroyed her, leaving her altered, broken and clumsily balancing on the edge of a steep cliff. Something – and she wasn't sure exactly what yet – had shifted. Changed. And somehow she had to change with it.

The only thing she was sure of was that Edward Cullen had just been the last person ever to pay for sex with her.