literature

Esme - Part One

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I feel I should warn you, this is pretty long. Hope that doesn't make anybody run screaming the other way, I encourage you to read anyway. Thanks ^_^



Esme’s feet dragged as she climbed. Her breath came in ragged gasps as her legs continued to carry her up the steep incline. Her eyes were unfocused, unseeing as she stumbled on, trying not to think of the reason she was going to follow through with her plan. The light of the single candle she carried flickered as a strong gust of wind blew her caramel waves of hair about her face. Esme cupped one hand around the tiny blaze, half hoping it would blow out despite her feeble efforts. Vaguely, she wondered how strong the wind would be once she emerged from the thinning trees. Would it alter her course, change her destination? She shivered and pushed that thought to the ever-expanding forbidden corner of her mind. It would all be over soon anyway.

As she stepped out of the thin forest, Esme tore her eyes away from the black earth and her bare feet, looking outward to the dark horizon. The moon was almost exactly in the center of the sky, she noted, huge and full, bathing everything in it’s silvery glow. The world had turned black and white; how fitting.

Another furious whip of wind nearly tore Esme off her feet, and she realized she had com to a standstill. She pulled the miraculously still-lit candle closer to her chest, almost cradling it. The sweet scent of vanilla and roses wafted up from the tiny pool of liquid wax that had gathered under the flicker. A sob suddenly rose in Esme’s throat, and she sprinted the last few steps to the edge of the cliff, hurling the candle over with all the strength she could muster, given her five foot six inch height and soft, slim build.

Hot wax flew back into Esme’s face as the third gust of chilly wind blew her backward. She halfheartedly threw up a hand in response, only earning more pain as the searing liquid coated her palm as well. The moment it touched her skin, the wax began to harden in the cold night air, sealing itself to her like a molding. But the acid-like burning was nothing compared to the pain the vanilla-and-roses scent sent ripping through Esme’s heart, and she scrabbled at the hardened wax, ripping it free from her, taking some of her creamy skin with it. She didn’t care about that, didn’t care about the horrible sting the rich air was imposing on her newly exposed flesh. Anything to get that smell off of her.

The wind had died down a little now, and slowly, very slowly, Esme approached the edge of the cliff. She looked down at the drop, half wishing she could see the hard ground and sharp rocks looming up at her from below. It certainly wouldn’t make her change her mind. Her arms trembled as she spread them wide, closing her sapphire eyes. It was now or never.

Taking a deep breath, Esme allowed the large, forbidden corner of her mind to flood her thoughts, accessing them one last time. The face of her newborn son burst forth, perfectly preserved in health and happiness, as if it had been stored away just for this moment. Esme crumpled, sobbing, sending pebbles tumbling she didn’t know how many feet to the ground below. Different images of that perfect baby were forming in her head now; that first little cough, the first big cough, the first time he coughed up something, the first - and last - time he wouldn’t stop coughing, staining the shoulder of her white dress red. He smelled of vanilla and roses the whole time.

Even at this point, that was too much to think about. Esme ripped herself out of her thoughts, sprang to her feet and flung herself over the edge of the cliff.

Her sapphire eyes flew open as the black air whooshed past her. What a strange sensation, falling in total darkness. Almost as though she wasn’t falling at all. It was then Esme realized she shouldn’t be falling in total blackness. Almost too gracefully, she flipped herself over to look at the sky. That too was completely dark, and she seemed not to have flipped over in the first place. How disorienting.

It was then she heard snaps and splats, but felt nothing.

* * *

The next thing Esme felt was hurried footsteps, much too fast for any normal human, but unmistakably shoe-clad. A pair of icy arms lifted her too easily, and then they were gliding through the forest. Esme struggled to turn her head and look at whoever was carrying her. After a few unsuccessful attempts, she managed to roll her neck so her face was pointed up at the still-black sky. The face she saw took her breath away and would have stopped her heart had it no been beating so feebly already. Odd, that she should feel her stuttering heartbeats but her body was still almost completely numb. There was still no pain, when she knew there should be.

At her pause in breathing, the man carrying Esme looked down at her, his face so captivating and full of concern that he didn’t look completely human. His skin was white as snow in the little bit of moon that had decided to peek its way around the clouds, and nearly as cold. Impeccably smooth, he seemed to be made of some kind of stone, and but comfortable stone that shaped around her. That wasn’t right. His hair looked like pale gold in the moonlight, with eyes to match. She supposed she could have brushed that all aside though, if it wasn’t for his face itself. His features seemed to be perfect, perfectly symmetrical, perfectly carved into his pale face. He was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him. Esme wanted to reach up and touch that face, almost more than she’d ever wanted anything else in her life. But her arms wouldn’t obey, nor would her lips, and before she could try anything else, she blacked out.
* * *
This time it was the pain that brought Esme to consciousness again. She felt like she was broken into pieces, and it was all she could do to keep her head enough to analyze her surroundings. She was lying on a bed now, and the room around her was all whites and greys and grey-blues. She was in a hospital.

Esme turned her head to one side, keeping a shriek inside her lips as spasms of pain screamed through her entire body. Moving had been a mistake. She willed her eyes to focus on shapes now as well as colors, but it was difficult; she had never been much of a fighter. She took in the forms of several other beds like the one she was lying on, all with wheels. What was odd about all the other beds, however, was that their occupants seemed to have all covered themselves in white sheets and become unnaturally still. Like they were dead.

It was then Esme realized that they must actually be dead. They were too still, and there were too many of them.  Nobody in their right mind would put that many sick people in the same room. Someone had taken her to a hospital alright; straight to the hospital’s morgue. Even though she had somehow survived her fall, she obviously wasn’t expected to live long. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad at this point. Esme squeezed her eyes shut tight and fought back a shudder, knowing that would only worsen her pain. She longed for that blackness again, for some form of escape.

Her longings were interrupted by footsteps, so soft she though for a moment she was imagining them. A door was opened, then closed just as quietly. Esme mentally kicked herself for not choosing to turn her head toward that door. She knew she wouldn’t be able to make a sound, nor turn toward it. She could only hope that whoever was there noticed her ragged, uneven breathing.

Her wish for blackness was nearly granted as Esme gasped as the newcomer swiftly rounded to be on the same side of the bed she was facing and knelt. It was the same man who had carried her through the woods, now dressed in a doctor’s attire, complete with white coat. Embroidered above the left pocket in blue was the name C. Cullen. His liquid topaz eyes stared straight into Esme’s, so full of anxiety she wondered once again if she was dreaming.

“Esme?” he asked softly. His voice matched the rest of him, a slight musical lyric hidden in the gentle English accent. With all her heart, Esme wished she could answer with words or a touch, but all her body would allow was a slow and careful blink.

It was enough though. Slight relief broke through the concern for a moment, but then his impeccably smooth and perfect forehead readopted its wrinkle lines. And again, Esme wanted to reach out and touch that forehead, to smooth out the lines and tell him everything was alright. But of course her body wouldn’t allow her to try.

“My name is Carlisle Cullen,” he said, just as softly, eyes never leaving hers. “I’m here because I’d like to help you. I’d like to make your pain ease. Would you like me to do that?”

She blinked again, hoping he would interpret that as a yes.

He did, but the anxiety still didn’t leave his face. “Of course. Unfortunately, like a lot of things, this is going to get worse before it gets any better.” His voice broke on the word worse, and the concern in his eyes intensified until it was on the verge of becoming anguish.

Esme’s own eyes widened a little. How could her pain possibly get much worse?

Carlisle continued. “It’s completely your choice, Esme. I can heal you, but it won’t be pleasant. I wish I had more time to explain what was going to happen, but time is something we don’t have much of right now. It’s a frightening prospect, but…” He trailed off.

Esme was still mesmerized by his butterscotch eyes. She was looking deeper into them now, seeing something she hadn’t before. Though the angst ran deep, there was another emotion hidden inside. Esme wasn’t quite sure what it was, and the moment she thought she saw it, it disappeared, like a rare bird. Still, she sensed it would be worth finding out. Slowly, ever so slowly, she blinked once more.

A pained smile broke out across Carlisle’s perfect face. “Thank you,” he murmured, almost to quiet for her to hear. He took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, and yet somehow not causing Esme pain. His skin felt exactly the way she remembered it; smooth and hard and cold, like frozen marble. But the warmth in his eyes and tone made up for that as he stood and bent over her upturned face.

“I’m so, so sorry Esme,” he said, and she heard the tortured note in his voice crack before he tightened his grip on her hand and sank his teeth in to her throat.

Esme shrieked as he bit down, then pulled away, caressing the wound with his tongue as if to seal it shut. She didn’t understand what Carlisle was doing as he moved along her body, carefully biting specific places; the crease of her elbow, the inside of her wrist, the underside of her knee. But suddenly, that didn’t matter anymore.

Fire was spreading throughout her body from the marks Carlisle’s teeth had left. But it wasn’t ordinary fire, oh no, this was an acidic flame determined to destroy Esme’s body beyond repair. The pain she had felt before was a flow of silk over her skin in comparison, and Esme continued to scream as it only worsened. Just outside her range of hearing, she thought she might have heard a shuddering gasp, a slight choking sound, and she no longer felt new points of fire begin to ooze their way through her limbs and torso. It wouldn’t have made a difference though, and she longed once again for that unfeeling blackness, even for death. She would have welcome death like an old friend at this point.

Vaguely, on the edge of the torture chamber her body had become, she was also aware that Carlisle was still holding her hand, in both of his now. She thought she heard him speaking quietly as well, but at the moment she didn’t have the power to stop her shrieks long enough to hear the words. Instead, she concentrated on his tone, something other than her pain.

After a while, Esme calmed a little, though the fire only grew more unbearable. She had come to the conclusion that screaming was doing no good. She also realized that Carlisle had stopped talking, though he still held her hand in both of his, his grip icy and strong. Too strong. Though he was by no means hurting her - not that much would, the way she was burning alive from the inside - she sensed that nothing she could have tried in a normal state would have broken through.

“Esme?” he said, voice gentle, trying to be soothing. It still had an achy quality, as if he were exhausted, which he probably was. Who knew how long she had been lying here, wishing for sweet escape.

There was truly no way for Esme to respond now though. Her eyes were shut tight, and she hadn’t a prayer of opening them, let alone moving another part of her body. Speaking, too, was out of the question.

“Esme,” Carlisle began again, “I - I’m going to explain what’s happening to you - again. I’ve already described it once, but I don’t have a way of knowing you heard me, so I’ll repeat myself.”

Of course Esme couldn’t acknowledge that she’d understood. She heard Carlisle take a deep breath and begin.

“I don’t know how much, if anything, you’ve guessed by now,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice slow and rhythmic, “so I’ll start from the beginning. This is no ‘once upon a time’ tale, but I’m hoping there will be a ‘happily ever after’.” He laughed once, all humor absent from the still melodic sound.

“You must be wondering, first of all, why I bit you. The truth is, though it may seem absurd, is that I’m a… a vampire.”

If Esme had been able to laugh, she would have doubled over in hysterics. Not because it was funny, but because although it was far-fetched to the extreme, she believed every word of it. The biting, the pain, Carlisle’s indescribable appearance, could all be explained by this fact, what was jus a moment ago a myth.

All this thought had taken place in the short second Carlisle had paused for breath. “I’m sure you must have read somewhere, or been told that one vampire can create another by biting them and letting the venom spread. Now you’re thinking, If it’s so easy, why aren’t there more vampires? The truth is that it’s not easy at all. Once we taste human blood, a sort of… frenzy begins,” he paused again, swallowing loudly. “and it’s almost impossible to stop.

“But those are rules that can be explained once the transformation is complete, I shouldn’t be getting so off topic. I’m sorry.” Esme felt his hands tighten around hers, as if to stress the apology. “And I’m also sorry that you have to endure the pain like you are. If I could find a way around it, I would.”

The short silence that follow these word was heavy. Esme felt her breathing accelerate in response, but it was also due to the fact that she had nothing to distract her from her pain now that Carlisle had stopped talking. The fire ripped through her again, and Esme clamped her jaws around her cry of pain, letting out slow whimpers instead. Her back arched slightly, as if her body was trying to run from itself. Almost as though Carlisle could sense her increased agony, he began to speak again, from where he left off.

“To go into a bit more detail - I’m still not one hundred percent sure how - as the venom spreads throughout your body, it changes you. For example, you’ll no longer need to breathe, though it‘s very disorienting because to smell, you need to inhale. It becomes force of habit to breathe anyway. Also, you’ll no longer have the need for a heart.” As he spoke, Esme felt her heart accelerate. “Ah. It’s already happening,” were Carlisle’s quiet words. She felt him press something to the back of her hand - his lips? “It’ll all be over soon, Esme.”

Again, as if her body was taking commands from him, the fire began to lessen in her fingers and toes. It was slow progress, sure, but at least something was happening. Unfortunately, as the burning crawled from her limbs, it grew even hotter around her heart, as though the acidic flames were all migrating there. Esme felt a fresh scream building up insider her again, and did her best to keep it from bursting forth.

But she had never been much of a fighter.

Esme’s mouth opened, seemingly on its own, and she let out one last bloodcurdling shriek that would have shattered any glass present in the hopefully soundproof room. And yet the fire around, within her heart somehow continued to accelerate along with her heartbeats, until they were so close together it was one steady sound, and then…

Nothing. Her heart had stopped beating altogether, she was sure. The fire was gone, for the most part. A much smaller but still uncomfortably present flame seethed in her throat, like a scar leftover from the burn.

Was she dead?

No, someone was still holding her hand. But it couldn’t be Carlisle, for the hand felt warm, and though its grip was still strong, Esme felt sure she could break it with a little effort. Instead, she opened her eyes.

A little gasp escaped her smoldering throat as Esme looked up at the simple tiled ceiling of the hospital morgue. Nothing she had ever seen before had ever been so clear, so perfect. How could she have missed all the little imperfections in the craftsmanship? And the air, she could practically count the little dust particles floating in it. It wasn’t until then, when she sucked in a breath to blow them around, that Esme realized she wasn’t breathing.

Letting out a little, “Oh!” of surprise, she sat up. The action took less than half a second. But the subsequent, “Oh!” was due to more than that; her voice had changed so it was fluid and musical, similar to Carlisle’s. The smell was also part of her exclamation; two different fragrances fought for control of her respiratory tract. The first was easily identifiable as the smell of dead bodies, disgustingly sweet. The second was something she was unfamiliar with, but it was intoxicating. She wrinkled her nose at the strength of the combined odors, as if that could somehow make the aroma less potent, then turned to face whoever was still holding her by the hand.

It was Carlisle all right, but through Esme’s new eyes he might as well have been someone completely different, more beautiful than anything she could imagine, let alone recall from her weak human memories. Even biting his lip anxiously, Esme couldn’t help but ogle a little. He chuckled at her expression, and the sound rang like bells through her new ears. Esme started, leaping to her feet, again in less than a half second. New reflexes, too. Carlisle jumped up with her, the wary look back in his eye.

“Are you alright?” he asked, stepping forward just a bit, palms turned upward in a non-threatening sort of way.

Esme opened her mouth to answer, but the burning in her throat stopped the words halfway there. Her eyes grew wide, hands flying to her neck in less time than it had taken to sit up. Carlisle understood. He took Esme by the hand again, leading her swiftly and silently out of a back entrance located just around a corner she hadn’t noticed before, Carlisle taking off his white coat in the process. They darted across the dark back lawn of the hospital, into the cover of the trees. Once they were safely hidden, Carlisle looked back over his shoulder and smiled, sending Esme’s head spinning.

“Get ready to pick up the pace,” he said, and began to run.

Of course this was no ordinary running. They moved so swiftly through the trees that Esme was sure human eyes would hardly be able to see more than a blur of motion. She marveled at the fact that, despite the pace, it was all too easy to avoid the obstacles that sprung up in her path. Flexing newfound strength in her legs, she easily kept pace with Carlisle.

Suddenly, a mouthwatering scent drifted through the trees, intensifying the burning sensation that lingered in Esme’s throat. She stopped in her tracks, torn between inhaling more of that sweet flavor and keeping her internal fire from growing any larger. It took only a second for Carlisle, who had stopped beside her, to sense the dilemma.

“Of course,” he said, slapping a hand to his forehead. “How could I have forgotten? You’re thirsty.”

Esme nodded vigorously, staring in the direction from which the warm scent was still oozing, practically taunting her.

“Well, this at least shouldn’t be difficult,” Carlisle said with a strained smile. “It’s as simple as following your instincts. Now, what do you smell?”

Esme inhaled deeply, trying in desperation to rein in the fire and form a coherent sentence all at once. “It’s very… warm,” she said, distracted once again by the sound of her new voice.

“Yes. What else?”

Another deep breath. “I can smell it’s blood.” She forced out the last word in a rush, with a tainted mixture of reluctance and lust. “It’s big, too. And… hairy?”

Carlisle chuckled at her distaste. “Very good; it’s an elk. You’ll get used to it.”

Esme took an unwilling step toward the smell, looking over her shoulder at Carlisle, uncertain what to do.

His chuckle became a full laugh at her expression, the sound once again echoing like bells through the dark trees, but more open this time. “Go on,” he said, still grinning. “It’s not hard, you’ll figure it out. I’ll be right behind you.”

Esme shook her head to clear it, still enthralled by his dazzling smile. Still slightly unsure, she took another step forward, then another. Quickly, she figured out to walk silently, creeping through the woods in the direction her nose pointed her. It wasn’t long before her prey came into her new, much sharper line of vision. Just as Carlisle had said, a large male elk.

Instinctively, Esme dropped into a hunting crouch, crawling her way along. She was completely reliant on her senses now, the action of thought all but forgotten. She was roughly six or seven feet from the buck when he sensed her presence too, but by then it was too late. Esme zoned in on her target, the neck below his jaw, and sprang. It was over quickly. Though the buck was large and healthy, Esme was far stronger, driven by her maddening thirst. In a matter of minutes, she had completely drained the corpse.

Carlisle stepped out from the trees to Esme’s left, taking care not to startle her. “How do you feel?” he asked, muscles tense in case she was still in hunting mode.

He needn’t have worried; Esme straightened and felt her stomach in a way that would have sent razors through her torso before the change. “Excuse my tactlessness, but as though I drank too much, actually. And I look a bit more than a mess.” She held the fabric of her dress away from her body. The white cotton was covered in scarlet down the front. Gathering the end of her sleeve in one hand, she wiped her face with it. The dress was ruined, anyway.

“Not that bad,” Carlisle contradicted, moving to her side. “That was quite proficient for a newborn vampire.” He smiled at her again.

Esme looked down at the ground. If she could have blushed, her cheeks would have been bright crimson. Shaking her head again, she looked up and changed the subject.

“I do have a question though,” she said. “How is it that my throat is still burning a little? I’m most certainly full, but I feel as though there was something, well, missing from my… meal.” She grimaced a little on the word meal.

Carlisle put a hand on Esme’s back. “Let’s walk while I explain,” he said. “As graceful as that was, I’m not going to argue that you need a change of clothes.” Esme felt him glace at her through his peripherals before continuing. “As for your question, you just about got it right. Animals are not intended to be our natural prey, as I’m sure you know.”

Esme’s eyes widened. “Humans?” she asked.

Carlisle nodded grimly. “Humans,” he repeated.

“Being a doctor, don’t you find that a bit repulsive?” Esme inquired, one eyebrow arched.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “There’s no a bit about it,” he said. “Which is why, when I was first turned, I rebelled my instincts, refused to harm a human being for the sake of my thirst. I hated what I was.” He fell silent for a moment, and Esme didn’t press the issue. “But I discovered I didn’t have to be that creature. That it was possible to survive on animal blood alone. But I would compare it to living on vegetables and water as a human; it keeps you strong, but never fully satisfied.”

It was Esme’s turn to nod. “I see.”

“Yes. I think it’s only fair that I warn you now, while we’re on the subject, that this lifestyle takes some getting used to. For the next year or so, your biggest personality trait is going to be thirsty.”

Esme looked up into Carlisle’s face, alarmed. “An entire year?” she sputtered.

A smile played across his lips. “It’s not nearly so long as it sounds. After all, when you’re going to be around for eternity, what is time?” he replied consolingly. “You’ll also no longer need to sleep, so you’ll have more of that fickle thing on your hands. Besides, our kind are very easily distracted.”

Esme tilted her head back, studying the patches of stars the peeked out in between the clouds, enthralled by the clarity her new eyes gave. “You can say that again.”

“Besides, our kind are very easily distracted.”

Esme laughed, the sound all silver, prodding her new friend gently in the ribs. Carlisle laughed with her, draping an arm casually around her shoulders. It was odd, not having this send her heart fluttering, but internally Esme was grateful for it.

They emerged from the trees a moment later, and a very out-of-place white house came into view. “Welcome home,” Carlisle said, opening the door and gesturing her inside.

Esme smiled timidly at the word home, but let it be. Where else would she be able to go? Stepping through the doorway, her eyes scanned the pleasant little vestibule. Everything was light in color, she assumed so Carlisle’s pale skin wouldn’t be so contrasting if anyone visited. Still, her lips pursed at his decorating skills. If she were going to live here in any sort of permanence, she might have to make some changes. Still, she couldn’t deny that she liked the atmosphere the house brought with it.

“What do you think?” Carlisle asked, watching Esme’s reaction with curiosity.

“It’s quite lovely,” she replied, smiling more naturally now.

“Thank you,” he said, crossing to a door on her left. “This is the living room.” He pointed across at the door on the right. “The kitchen. Not that it’s ever much use, but one must keep up the human charade. Every house seemed to come with one.”

Esme giggled as he wrinkled his nose, then followed him into the living room, which was just as light and cozy as the front room. Two more doors were built into the wall opposite.

“The right one is the bathroom. Not used much either. The left leads upstairs; I’ll show you to your bedroom.”

Opening said door Carlisle ascended the stairs, Esme just a few steps behind. When they emerged onto the landing, Esme found herself looking down a short and narrow hallway. Not much of a hallway at all, really. There were only three doors; one to the left, one to the right, and one straight ahead.

“This isn’t much to look at,” Carlisle said, correctly interpreting her contemplating expression, “but it allows the bedrooms to be larger. Come on.”

He stepped forward a few paces and opened the door on the right, standing back to let her enter the room before him. She brushed past quietly and a small gasp escaped her lips. There was nothing in the room, but all the same it’s far wall was, from ceiling to floor, made entirely of glass panels that could be opened and closed on a whim. Immediately, Esme loved it.

“I’m surprised you didn’t make this your living room,” she said, moving closer to the spectacular view and pressing her hands against the glass like a child. “It’s so open.”

Carlisle smiled, moving up beside her. “It’s the one place we don’t have to hide,” he replied, eyes also scanning the landscape. “All three of the upstairs rooms have them.”

Esme was about to respond, stepping backward so she could look Carlisle in the face, when she saw something in the glass that made her start. Esme’s reflection gazed back at her, face full of a combination of awe and horror underneath the initial shock. It was not the same reflection that had been looking back at her for twenty-six years; this was that person remodeled, perfected. Her features had become more finely sculpted, more symmetrical. Her skin was icy and pale, hard as steel. However, she had managed to retain things from her human life. Her glossy caramel waves of hair still tumbled about her face and shoulders, and the curves of her body were still soft. Somehow Esme felt better as she noticed these things, and she stepped forward to get a more detailed look at her face.

But upon meeting the eyes of this new reflection, Esme recoiled. Under the thick lashes, her irises no longer shone sapphire blue; they smoldered a fierce blood red. What had happened there? Quickly, she brushed it off, deciding it didn’t matter much on top of everything else. Hesitantly, she stepped forward again, fingertips meeting those of her new reflection. Her new self. This was who she was now. Esme stood in front of the black glass, drinking in this new self-image. It could have been mere seconds or long hours; she didn’t bother to keep track. Vaguely, she was aware of Carlisle beside her, just as motionless. He had one hand on her shoulder, somewhere between a comfort and a restraint.

The reverie broke at the sound of a door closing quietly downstairs. Esme instantly tensed, but Carlisle tightened his hand on her shoulder momentarily before turning to speak. “It’s just Edward,” he said, voice somewhere between tight anticipation and eagerness.

He had barely finished the sentence when someone appeared in the open doorway; Edward, Esme presumed. At once obvious was the fact that he was also a vampire; cold and pale, exceptionally attractive. He looked to be about seventeen or eighteen, with somewhat disgruntled copper hair and a tall and lanky build. His eyes were the exact shade of honey-gold as Carlisle’s.

Edward looked from Carlisle to Esme and back again before speaking. “Who might this be?” he asked, voice carrying that same tuneful tone as the others.

“Edward,” Carlisle replied, the tense note in his voice winning out ever so slightly, “this is Esme. She is, ah, new and will be staying with us for a while. Esme, this is Edward, my adopted son for all intents and purposes.”

Esme nodded and smiled at Edward. “Lovely to meet you,” she said.

Edward inclined his head politely in return. “The same to you.”

Carlisle shifted his weight from one foot to the other as though he was uncomfortable. Odd, Esme thought, as it wasn’t really necessary. Vampires could remain immobile for indefinite periods of time.

Edward spoke just then. “It’s a habit essential for human interaction,” he said. “A bit irritating, yes, but things such as fidgeting, blinking, and most importantly breathing are patterns that need to be learned before one can truly act human.”

Esme nodded and was about to ask another question when something clicked. “I - I didn’t say that aloud, did I?” One hand drifted to her lips as her eyes darted from one companion to the other.

Edward smiled, part amused and part bitter. “No, you didn’t.”

Esme’s eyebrows moved closer together as his answer only made her more confused, lines forming on her stone forehead.

Carlisle cleared his throat, disguising a laugh. “Yes, you see, sometimes in the change from human to vampire, something of the human’s potent traits are strengthened. Edward, for instance, must have already been somewhat aware of the thoughts of those around him as a human. Therefore, after the change had taken place, this ability grew stronger, and now--”

“You can read minds?” Esme asked, astounded.

Edward’s smile got bigger, and Esme noticed it was somewhat crooked in a charming sort of way. “Yes,” he said.

“Not all vampires end up with a special talent though,” Carlisle added. “And no two talents I’ve ever seen have worked in quite the same way. Sometimes, it’s simply that the person’s most potent personality trait is amplified in this life.”

Esme nodded again, processing. Millions of questions were racing through her new, spacious mind, and she laughed as she remembered she’d have forever to ask them all. Edward chuckled with her, and Esme realized that as long as he was around, private thoughts would be nonexistent.

“It’s strange at first,” Edward answered her contemplation, still smiling, “but people - to use the term loosely - say you get used to it. I, of course, wouldn’t know.”

Both Esme and Carlisle laughed at that. The overall mood was becoming more lighthearted, and Esme was beginning to feel the homey affects. She decided to pose the first of her many questions.

“So,” she said, “I was just wondering; why is it both of you have gold eyes, but mine are red?”

“Dietary habits,” Carlisle answered simply. “Because you were just changed, your human blood still lingers inside. As you dilute it with animal blood, your eye color will slowly water down to be like ours.”

Esme nodded, lost in thought once again. Her eyes drifted downward to her messy apparel.

Edward heard the slight disgust in her thoughts. “Carlisle, don’t you think it’s time we got our guest some clean clothing?” he said pointedly. “She must be less than comfortable.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Carlisle replied. “One moment…”

He darted out of the room, moving so quickly that he was back before the door could swing completely shut. “Here you are,” he said, handing Esme a neatly folded dress with shoes on top. “I though purple would look nice on you.”

Again, Esme would have blushed if it were possible. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “A moment to change, please?”

“Of course,” Edward echoed. “Carlisle, I’d like a word anyhow.”

They let the room, Edward closing the door softly as he exited. Esme waited a moment, then pulled her ruined dress over her head. Unnatural grace, she noted. However, she paused before unfolding the new dress, just to genuinely admire her new reflection. She couldn’t help it. She was, of course, beautiful, but at the same time she still took comfort from the little things she found leftover from her human years. They were part of who she was.

Still, it wasn’t until she had pulled the dress on that Esme noticed something new. A double-crescent shaped scar stood out on the left side of her neck, two half-moons not quite joined together. A second later she realized what it must be; the scar left over from Carlisle’s first bite. She wondered why it lingered; all of her other such flaws had been healed. Rolling back the sleeves of her dress, she saw that the other places his teeth had sunk into only bore shadows, not even there in the right light. Curious thing. It was then her new, sharp ears picked up the brewing argument downstairs.

“…you thinking?” Edward was saying.

“She was dying, Edward,” was Carlisle’s quiet reply. “They took her straight to the morgue after I’d left her for a moment. Straight to the morgue, and her heart still beat.”

Esme could hear the quiet outrage in his voice, hard as Carlisle was trying to hide it. She moved swiftly to the door, pressing her ear against it.

“Lots of people die, Carlisle,” Edward said coldly. “Every day. What made - what makes - her so different?”

“I told them she fell. She jumped,” was all Carlisle said.

“So she even wanted to die!” Edward hissed.

“No, I don’t think she did.”

“Then why did she jump?”

Esme didn’t hear Carlisle’s response. Her hands folded across her abdomen as she remembered that reason. A fresh wave of grief washed over her, but only part of it was due to her loss. The other was also due to maternal instincts though; her hatred of being a burden to others.

Swiftly and without much thought, Esme recrossed the room to the glass wall, pushing open one of the large panels. For a split second, she hesitated, judging the height of the drop and where the windows in the living room were positioned. Deciding Carlisle and Edward wouldn’t see her, she gracefully dropped from the second story window to the ground, and took off running as fast as she could. The dark trees were like the blanket she had played under as a child, enveloping and safe. Her pace didn’t slow for a long time as she wove in between them, still doing her best not to think. After a time though, she did stop, wondering where she would go from there.

It was then something drifted through the trees; a scent so mind-numbingly succulent that Esme immediately dropped into a hunters crouch, creeping soundlessly toward it’s source. She was a predator now, her wish of not being able to think granted. It wasn’t long before her prey came into view; a mindlessly whistling middle-aged hiker. Esme assessed the gap between them and the obstacles in her path, then leapt, taking the man down before he even had time to utter a sound. His scent was nearly driving her mad with thirst, throat ablaze, and Esme wasted no time in placing her fatal bite. She drank him dry in a matter of minutes, her burning thirst at last satisfied.

A second later, Esme dropped the lifeless corpse with a sharp intake of breath. What had she done? Taken the life of another, simply to satisfy a craving she could have fulfilled with an animal? What if this man had had a family, friends? Had someone been waiting for him at home? Esme’s breath continued to come in horrified, shuddering gasps as her mind flicked through the possibilities. Her hands were tearing at her caramel waves, and she wished that somehow she could undo her actions, or regurgitate the blood, or at least cry over what she had done. But Esme didn’t know how to cry in this new body yet; no tears would come. Instead, she sank to the ground beside the limp form she refused to look at, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. And it was like this Carlisle found her.

“Oh, Esme…” he said, at once realizing what had happened. But instead of being repulsed, he was instantly at her side, one hand on her shoulder. His touch seemed to wake something within her, and Esme found herself weeping tearlessly. Carlisle wrapped his arms around her in comfort, softly pressing her face into his shoulder and rocking her back and forth, all the while repeating her name in a reassuring manner. “Esme, Esme, Esme…”

After a while, the repeated gestures soothed Esme like a lullaby, and she regained control of herself. Her breathing became more regular, if ragged, and she pulled her face away from Carlisle’s shoulder. He kept his arms around her all the same.

“Thank you,” she said, sincerity woven through every syllable of the simple words. Her lovely voice was hoarse, eyes sore from her dry sobs. “But, why? After what I did…” She swallowed hard.

One corner of Carlisle’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Esme, you slipped up,” he said, brushing a stray wave of hair out of her face. “You’re barely a day old. It’s more than perfectly understandable.”

Esme looked away from his face, down at the ground. “That doesn’t make my actions forgivable.”

Carlisle put one hand under Esme’s chin, turning her head in a slightly rough manner so she was forced to look at him. “Don’t. Ever. Say. That,” he growled. The intense ferocity in his topaz eyes was strong enough to frighten Esme a little. For the first time, he actually looked like a vampire. He continued. “That was one mistake. You are a vampire. Humans are your natural prey.” Esme flinched a little, but Carlisle went on. “you are upset with yourself because you did what came naturally; you are upset with yourself because you did what you are supposed to do. That it simply and outlandishly foolish.”

Esme found it within herself to shove his hand away, yanking herself from his arms as she stood. “That doesn’t matter!” she half shouted, half hissed. “What if he had a family, Carlisle? Not even that, what if he had something as simple as a dog, or a horse? How am I supposed to live with myself knowing that someone who loves him will never see him again? That it will cause them grief? That they’ve been torn apart? How am I supposed to live with myself knowing that it’s my fault?”

Carlisle stood too, stepping forward and placing his hands on her shoulders, his grip so tight that it would have shattered human bones. “That’s the food chain,” he said, miraculously much calmer now. His hours spent at the hospital were showing through, the endless patience that had come with them taking the stage. “That’s nature taking it’s course. Yes, it can be horrifying to think about, but sustaining oneself on animal blood alone takes time and practice to learn. No one is expecting you to be perfect, Esme. Do you have any idea how many times Edward slipped up in his first year?” When Esme shook her head, a hint of a smile danced across Carlisle’s face. “Neither do I,” he said. “More than he’d like me to know.”

Esme stood her ground for a moment more, but her resolve crumpled, and she sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, looking at the earth between their feet.

“There now,” Carlisle said, loosening his grip on her shoulders. He brought one hand up under her chin again, but much more tenderly this time. “See reason. Don’t be.”

For a long moment they stood there, two stone figurines in the wilderness. It was Carlisle who broke the silence again. “Don’t be upset,” he murmured, “but I want to try something…”

And slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned closer to her, softly brushing her lips with his. The moment they touched, it was as though a spark had erupted between them. Carlisle’s hands moved to Esme’s back, and Esme locked her arms around his neck. Both their breathing became more labored as the kiss became more passionate, and Esme felt herself sinking into it, pressing the full length of her body against Carlisle’s. She couldn’t have said how long they stood there, entwined in each other’s arms. Eventually, Esme turned her head to gasp for breath before remembering she didn’t need it. Carlisle’s lips moved along her jaw line and down her neck, one hand coming up to brush her soft caramel waves out of the way. Esme opened her eyes, then closed them again, absurdly blissful. She turned her head to catch Carlisle’s lips again before he could retrace his path down her neck, but he pulled away.

“The body,” he said, face turning toward the hiker, whom they had all but forgotten. “We should do something about it him.”

“How are you still talking?” Esme asked, stretching up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Not sure,” he answered, eyes drifting back to look briefly into hers. “Three hundred-plus years of practicing self control and it’s still difficult to pause this for a moment. But we really should see if there’s someone we can bring him back to. For peace of mind.”

Esme sighed and nodded, untangling her arms from around his neck. Carlisle moved over to the corpse, carefully turning him over and untying the straps of the bundle on the man’s back. After a moment’s rifling, he produced a letter in an envelope. It looked well-read.

“His name was Jim Francis,” Carlisle read. “And this letter is from a Lillian Francis. Wife, judging by the handwriting, but we can’t rule out other female relatives yet.”

“You can deduce the relationship between them just by the handwriting?” Esme asked, approaching him to get a better look.

“Not definitively. It comes back to all the years of reading doctors handwriting.” He chuckled at his own joke, and Esme smiled a little at the sound.

“Address?” she prompted.

“Yes… 2046 Middleton Road. Not far from here.”

“We should bring Jim back to Lillian, then.”

“Agreed,” Carlisle said, stowing the letter back in the man’s pack and redoing the ties before picking him up. “I can go alone, if you prefer,” he added.

“No,” Esme said firmly, face set. “I think I need to be there.”

Carlisle darted to her side in a blur of motion and bent to kiss the left side of her neck, right on the scar his teeth had left; a monument for the both of them. “Of course you do. Let’s go, in that case.”

As they ran through the woods, they cooked up a story for what had happened. Jim had been tired and lay down on the forest floor to sleep. While he slept, a ravenous mountain lion had stumbled upon him and attacked; the injuries looked about the same. Carlisle and Esme, walking in the woods, had heard he attack and ran to help.  The lion, surprised, had left Jim and taken off at their appearance. Despite their efforts to save him, Jim had bled to death.

“I hate lying,” Esme said as they walked away from 2046 Middleton Road and a grieving Lillian Francis, at a human pace.

Carlisle turned to look at her, and with the hand that wasn’t holding hers reached up and smoothed the worry lines from her forehead, as she had once wanted to do for him. “It’s not as if we could have told her the truth,” he said.

“I know,” Esme sighed. “But that doesn’t make it any easier.” To that, Carlisle was silent, merely clasping her hand more tightly as they once again took to the forest’s cover and began to run.

Upon reaching Carlisle’s house a while later, Esme’s eyebrows pulled together in discomfort and the lines on her forehead returned. “Edward?” she asked.

Carlisle shook his head, smoothing out the lines again. “He won’t be here for a few days,” he answered. “He wanted to scout out a new place for us to live in case something… happened.” Almost subconsciously, he hung his head a little. “In my distractions, I’m grateful for it.”

Esme cupped her free hand against the side of his face. “I apologize for being the cause of the move.”

Carlisle looked up at her. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “I think Edward secretly likes these little missions. Besides…” he paused for a moment, dropping Esme’s hand and sweeping her off her feet in one smooth motion. “It gives us some time alone.”

He ran her into the house and up the stairs, through the door at the end of the tiny hallway; his room. The walls, aside from the all-glass one, were nearly invisible due to the numerous bookshelves and paintings that adorned them.

“No bed,” he said, setting her on the comfortable couch instead. “Why have one when it’s not going to get used, after all?”

“No, it’s perfect,” Esme replied, standing right back up so she could kiss him again. Carlisle gladly let her, but after a moment he stepped back a little again.

“I do have a question,” he said, almost searching her eyes for the answer.

“So do I,” she mumbled. “Really, how on earth do you do that?”

Carlisle chuckled before speaking. “It’s not easy,” he said, burying his face in her hair. “My question is on a different topic though; I was curious as to how well you restrained yourself back in that little town when we were delivering Jim home. Not to pick at healing wounds, but it usually takes years to develop that amount of self-control.”

Esme thought about that for a moment, picking at a loose thread in Carlisle’s shirt collar, her head resting on his shoulder. “Well,” she said slowly, “I think most of it was simply because I was so repulsed by myself for killing one human, I couldn’t bear the thought of killing another. And I’d just hunted, so I wasn’t quite as thirsty as I might have been earlier. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t easy, but I knew I just had to be able to do it. I couldn’t even consider the alternative. And…” she trailed off.

“And what?” Carlisle whispered into her hair, his cheek resting on the top of her head.

“And, well…” Esme pulled away to look him in the eye. “I knew you wouldn’t let me.” Her frozen heart melted as Carlisle smiled widely at her. Since it had stopped, it had never felt closer to beating again.

“Sounds about right,” he said, a pretend look of contemplation on his face. “Now, where were we?”

With a playful growl, Carlisle pushed Esme back so they were on the couch, his body hovering over hers, catching her lips just as they turned upward in a smile.
Well... err... this is something I've been meaning to get up for a really, really long time. It was a bit of a nightmare typing it on the computer, you see (I handwrite all my stories), and I was procrastinating. Imagine that.

Anyway, the idea for this was sparked right after finishing the Twilight series for the second time. Carlisle and Esme are my favorite couple, and my two favorite characters after Alice. So I decided to try out the fanfic genere and write a little something about them. I think it turned out pretty well.

Please, if you comment, fav, and vice versa. I'm trusting you guys not to repost this. Anywhere. For anything. Ever. If you want someone to read it, send them a link. Thanks!

Twilight and all it's characters (c) Stephenie Meyer
This particular piece of literature (c) me
© 2009 - 2024 musical-miss
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tamst's avatar
OMG seriously! You should become an author :D Love it ;)