AN: Before you read… thanks for reading. I haven't done much on this site in a while. I've left Aurora (my other story, check it out and review if you haven't already) at it's preface, but not for long. You see, I wrote plenty more, but it was deleted. I got a new computer, which I love, but which got terribly confused and deleted my files. Discouraging, I know. I'll get back to it. Probably while I work on this one. This story sort of… hit me. While I was cleaning, which, oddly enough, is how I get most of my ideas. I'm most relaxed while I clean, it's almost therapeutic. Well, anyway, I got this idea and… I couldn't shake it. So I sat down and started writing. This chapter sort of skirts around the edges of the plot. It was fun to write, but annoying too. I just sort of wanted to come out with the actually storyline. The rest of the fanfiction will NOT be written from CPOV. Sorry if you enjoyed it. I might bring it back in another story I have in mind, though, so let me know what you think of my interpretation of him. PLEASE check out my profil and the preface to Aurora. It would mean a lot. I also would love to have a hardcore beta. PM me? Thanks. Also, I am super nervous about this story, moreso how it's written than the plot itself. If you could review and let me know what you think, that would be fantastic. The more reviewers, the quicker I update. I have a coulple questions I would love to have you answer in your review. Don't feel obligated but… please?
-What did you like?
-What didn't you like?
-What did you think of the POV?
-What questions do you have?
But say whatever else you need to say. If you review my story, I'll most likely review yours. Love you, darling readers (:
Alexandra.
Somehow I'm leading someone else's life
I cut a star down with my knife
And right now I still see the way the moon plays this tune
Though our nights died
~ Someone Else's Life [Joshua Radin]
CARLISLE'S POINT-OF-VIEW
"You need to hunt." It was a statement. The sky is blue. The Earth is round. The world is cruel. Simple, blunt, clear. Why then, did my mind toss the words around like pebbles; ponder as if there was a hidden intent stalking her soft voice. The voice of my wife. Yes. Hunting. Her eyes scanned my features, pooling with neither lust nor curiosity, merely concern. "Love, you need to hunt." More of a whisper, this time, I noticed, but her breathy speech carried an intensity that was impossible to escape. Her fingers brushed the flesh beneath my lower lids, her subtle gawking remarking at the indigo shadows she found there, and the pitch of my irises that skin contained.
"Yes, dear. I… need… of course…" I managed, before contrarily collapsing in the gently reclined chair behind me. The leather of its seat moaned with my weight. I glared at the scud marks this very appendage of the barren waiting room had no doubt caused which adorned the dirtied floor. Esme brushed the golden hair from my eyes and landed a tender kiss upon my forehead. "Hey-" She placed the manicured nails of her first and second fingers beneath my chin and tugged at my head, pulling my attention from the tiles below my and into the gold of her eyes, "Hey. We can call Jasper. We'll phone him and he'll meet you somewhere nearby… perhaps further from Forks if that would make this easier for you… Neither of you have fed recently and, quite frankly, he's the most detached of the lot."
"Are you asking me to subject him to this, Esme? Your son?" I regretted the words the moment they spilled from my parted lips. She gasped quietly, took a humble step backwards, and adjusted the alignment of the buttons on her blouse, nervously."
"I… never would I… Carlisle, I meant nothing of that nature. Never would I expect him to swallow your emotions. Not in a lifetime." Her voice faltered with her final words, nevertheless I noticed her resolve fortify with each inch her hands drew themselves away from me.
"No… Es- no." My palms, of their own accord, outstretched themselves in her direction, longing for the pressure of her fingertips against mine, before falling once again to my uncharacteristically wrinkled khakis. "Damn it," I mumbled, just loud enough for her sensitive ears to catch.
Her face contorted into and expression of apprehension and… fear? Yes, she was frightened of what I had become, this mangled being, this broken man, shattered by a girl. A human girl. Just a simple stranger who, among all other possible candidates, had been the one to shatter me.
"Darling…" she murmured. She danced forward before nestling herself in the dwindling space my lap provided. Her hands wove themselves around my skull and found their home at the base of my neck. Her taut grip suggested that perhaps she dreaded the sobs wracking my frame would thicken, and rid her of the haven she sought and established in my open arms. Her lips parted ever so slightly and met the very tip of my nose, before drawing back. She did so not playfully, rather, in the dead hope of awakening my spirit. She was so fragile, so light in my swollen grasp, yet here she was, comforting me.
"The boy is sensitive, I'm sure. But if it is what you truly need… his calm… I'm sure he would see reason in it… Not as an obligation, of course," she had seen and quickly misinterpreted the panic in my eyes, "but as a gesture. A gesture towards his father." She nodded, pleased with her answer. If only I could feel the same… certain. Sure of my means of salvation. I cleared my throat and drew her wandering eyes back to my vacant countenance in wonder.
"I think, Esme, that… I need to be alone. For just the time being. If that's alright with you…" Her arms slowly unraveled themselves as she digested my words. I had never denied her before. A strand of hair slowly tucked behind a petite ear, the very tail of a violet top untucked and tucked once more into a dark pencil skirt, and fourteen and a quarter silent seconds later, the hurt I'd inflicted upon her was masked behind a wrinkled brow and dissatisfied grimace. Her head fell to the left and her mouth opened as her suddenly cold voice began to speak.
"No. Alice said to stay. She said you might be… difficult. She said I would help and… damn it, I'm going to Carlisle." And with that, she kissed me, rather sheepishly, my own pale lips giving way to hers until her mouth fell away from my own. "I love you. I'm here, now. We can speak or we can remain silent. We can smile or we can weep empty tears. We can return home or we can sit in this filthy chair and mourn the loss of a stranger. That you can decide. But I will choose for myself, and I choose to stay by you."
Alice. She was the explanation for Esme's sudden appearance to my solitary office, hidden in the fourth hallway of this dismal building. Two lights were lit in the entirety of the often overlooked establishment, both visible through the many wide windows which faced the damp road. The first of these was my own, a golden table lamp with a transparent green shade and a beady pull-string that Edward had delivered to me years before, reminding me to remain inconspicuous. A human wouldn't very well sit in the dark flipping through the dusty pages of foreign encyclopedias, minds void of all but the small-printed words on the page. I'd seen it as a thoughtful gesture, and the silver glint in his tawny-colored eyes had told me that he was eighteen shades of pleased with himself.
Esme, of course, had shunned the accessory. She offered to purchase a flashier episode of what she labeled an "antique monstrosity", perhaps in a royal blue to add color to the solemn grey walls and dark oak desk that fortified my retreat, my humble office. But the idea bothered me, to exchange a gift adorned with the love of my son, a token of his affection beyond the nearly forgotten years of his rebellion, with a commercial, an advertisement of my wealth and my wife's "taste" for the sake of color seemed a betrayal. With the delicacy of her emotions in mind all-the-while, I declined her offer, and the replacement lamp she had been planning to employ as a last-minute Christmas donation was regifted to Rosalie and Emmett, inspiring the redecoration of a South African cottage they simply hadn't known what to do with besides remodel in preparation for the new year.
Edward wouldn't have liked it if I'd tossed that lamp. He wouldn't have spoken, or let his crooked smile falter, but his eyes were the pivoting organs of his emotion, raging oceans they would have been, upon which he was stranded. Instead, his lopsided grin forced his rightmost eye into a cheery slit, the other a simple globe of pride and glee. Little made him happy, made him glow as he did that day.
I never once regretted my decision to change him. He was my son, the sunrise to the life I actually began to live, the family I began to so carefully construct. If I could have ordered him myself, as if off of a menu, he would remain his own selfless, stubborn self. Except… I might have indulged myself into the secret behind his smile. To know just what revealed his plump lips and startlingly white teeth as darkness gave way to light, to bliss. For sometimes his disgust for humanity frightened me, and I only wished to lighten his mood. Edward's smiles confused me. He could cement a harsh poker face to his features for months on end, only breaking into untamable chuckles finally with a crude joke of Emmett's, or a snide comment of Rosalie.
If only he could see me now, practically cradled by sweet Esme, his mother for all intents and purposes. Would his look be disapproving? Pitying? What did he know? Furthermore, what had Alice told him? I lived off of their opinions of me as their father, as their creator, their mentor, their equal. It was a pathetic, needless, yet thriving existence. And as I considered the two of them, perhaps the most lively of my children, I couldn't help but become only more anxious. What. Did. Alice. Know?
Had she not seen the tragedy that was to take place? Was she clueless? Had her omnipresent mind made a leap over that very moment, nine hours and thirty-seven seconds ago? Was she occupied with searching the soon-to-be for the trivial? Maybe the way the sun would reflect upon the wall she'd just chosen a paint color for in her quaint, warm bedroom? Or the anniversary gift Jasper had been avoiding shopping for just yet? Or, I sidestepped the thought, was she occupied with Jasper himself? But, I reminded myself, she'd sent Esme. Esme… who was still staring, alarmed, and my troubled appearance. I quickly rearrange my expression into one of curiosity rather than worry.
"Esme… what exactly did Alice say to you when she… sent you… here?
Her brow furrowed once more, likely considering my sudden mood swings. She was still unaware of the scenario that had pressed me to this point, and whilst I appreciated her ability to ignore her mind's pleas for answers, it was I who needed this revelation.
"She… she'd been having headaches all day, poor thing. Not quite like it was with the wolves, though. She still catches glimpses, and what she does see isn't clear, she said. Spent the entire day in her room, poor dear. Jasper took care of her but I don't think it helped much. Said she wasn't in pain but he noticed a lot of anxiety, whether her own or belonging to those in her visions, he wasn't sure. Just after, I assume, it must have… happened…" she frowned, and I let my fingers trace the curve of her lips, pulling them into a reluctant smile, "she dragged Jasper down the stairs, gave him quite a shock, too, must have leapt right out of bed. I'd been doing some cleaning and having a pleasant talk with Emmett. He's quite a boy; actually, he told me this peculiar story about…" Her eyes, which had been fixed somewhere above my head, me mine with remorse. She'd been digressing, and she knew. "Sorry, truly. Later, I presume. Anyway, she came rushing down the stairs as fast as those little legs could carry her, her palms pressed to either side of her head, her finders spread out like wings. She was having a vision, I knew. Her expression was as vacant as they come, but her head turned in my direction near the couch and she merely said 'Carlisle. Hospital. Help him. He's… hurting…'" she recited.
I waited for more as she took a breath and dove further into her everlasting memory.
"I guess you could say I… pressed." She smiled devilishly and I did the same in encouragement. "She was aggravated by that. She wanted me gone, that much I knew. She finally focused, for perhaps an eighth of a second, and her eyes left the dreamland her visions deliver her to. 'Carlisle. Now, Esme. He's hurting. He wants… he wants… not you. But he's hurting. Help him, Esme. It's happened and he's hurting. Go." Esme shifted, uncomfortable with Alice's words. "And… that's about when I grabbed my yellow tweed coat and ran into the snow, I never turned back to close the door… Emmett must have gotten it." She nodded to herself. "And… Alice went upstairs. Yes, she went upstairs and Jasper just sort of looked after her. I think it was beginning to be too much for him, her… emotions."
The two of us flinched in unison, her, most likely, at the memory of her request to add further, excruciating pain to the anxiety our family's empath was prematurely experiencing by means of his wife. My reaping chill was that of a father, a husband, a doctor, who knew the rest of the story, the way the lady in the violet blouse and yellow tweed coat had forgotten both key and car, and had instead run through the snow, her feet bare save a set of once pure white socks, now brown with dirt, and kept as quiet and invisible as possible. I knew of the way she had seen the light of the green lamp she so hated and climbed agilely through the window leading to my dreary office and had grabbed me around the shoulders, rocking back and forth gently for some time before switching off the bulb without a word of disapproval for the fixture. I knew of the way she had then grabbed my hand and guided me through the dark and toward the faint red "EXIT" sign which hung over the main doorway. I knew of the way she had turned, without a word, and, with just a glance in my eye, strode away from that escape, her hand in mine, before leading me here. But more than all of that, I knew what had happened before. I knew of the way the doctor had crumpled, had sat alone in his office, had cried though nothing flowed and then cried that his body, rid of the salty tears, was restricting his capability to grieve. I knew of the way the screams still haunted him… those screams. I still heard them.
Perhaps I was mistaken about just why Esme had flinched. Perhaps she heard the distant screams as well. Perhaps she was terrified as to what they could mean… as was I.