Admiring the View
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Smeyer owns all.
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I know what he is thinking. He's thinking no one can see him out here in the wilderness while he takes his meal. He thinks what he's doing is entirely private.
I am far enough away that he can maintain that thought. But my new vampire eyes are keen enough that I can see him, every detail of him, from my distant perch in a tree.
I always liked hiding in trees.
He sinks his teeth into the elk and moans with pleasure. I hate and love it when he does this. It makes me think very inappropriate things.
He tilts his head and laps the animal's remaining blood with his tongue. He has a small tongue. At least small for a grown man. But then I wouldn't really know as I tend not to stare at grown men's tongues.
But I love Carlisle's tongue. I find it very worth staring at.
His lips aren't bad either. Again, small. But they are shaped nicely and they suit his face.
I would kiss him if he asked me to.
I know that would never happen, but still. I can dream.
I sigh to myself as I watch him lift the lifeless animal over his shoulder. My body tingles. He's so strong. All us vampires are, but I'm still new to the concept of our superhuman strength. I know deep down that I'm actually stronger than he is at this point in my newborn phase, but I still tend to think of Carlisle being the stronger one between us.
He's stronger than me in many other ways, control being the most important.
I sometimes wondered what kinds of things might make him lose that control.
He slaps the elk's corpse onto the leaf-strewn ground and begins digging with his bare hands to bury it. I love how his hands look when they're dirty. I'd like to see how his whole body would look smeared with streaks of mud and nothing else.
The image in my mind makes me shiver. He keeps digging. Grunting. Bending and twisting and putting his muscles to work.
When he realizes the hole is deep enough, he slides the elk into the ground and begins to bury it, packing the dirt together with his lovely hands. He spends too long trying to make the surface look natural, arranging leaves on the top of the dirt so no one could see anything suspicious about the space. No one ever comes out here except us. I don't know why he bothers.
After he finishes his work, he stands up and steps back to admire it from a distance. It looks more like art to me. Really brilliant art.
So maybe I am biased.
He turns away from his makeshift burial site and takes in his surroundings. He tilts his head up toward the overcast sky, and I think his expression is a little silly. Kind of spiritual. I don't understand him sometimes.
He's still breathtaking.
The wind blows his hair, and it shimmers like strands of pure gold, even though there's no sunlight out here. He breathes deep and opens his eyes, all bright yellow from his recent feed. I don't know why, but Carlisle's eyes scare me when they're that bright. They look so piercing and aware, especially when he's looking right at me. I don't like thinking that he can see through me.
Thankfully right now I'm the one observing him.
He stares at the sky for a few minutes, and I know that he is praying. He does that too sometimes. Such a strange man.
Sometimes Carlisle even talks to himself. It's endearing. He talks low enough that no one else could hear or understand what he's muttering. But I can.
I have an extra sense when it comes to this man. I can read him like an open book.
As he walks around the clearing, he's murmuring to himself about what he will do when he gets to the hospital tonight. He's thinking about some medicines he will mix for one of his patients. He whispers the patient's name - Marybeth. I need to get some codliver oil for Marybeth, he says to himself.
So his newest patient is a girl. I boil in jealousy.
A dangerous number of girls in the village were attracted to Carlisle. Sometimes I dared to wonder if he was attracted to them.
Those kinds of things hurt to think about.
He rustles up some leaves on the ground as he darts around, one hand in his pocket while the other perilously ravages his hair. He's brooding about too many things at once now, muttering like a mad man about nothing that makes sense.
He looks delicate to me, I don't know why. I think maybe it has something to with his hair being blond, mine was darker. His skin even looks paler than mine if I look really closely. In a way it makes sense. I'd bet anything I had spent more time in the sun as a human than he had. London was a rainy place, wasn't it? Even in the 1600s when he had lived there as a youth, I could imagine how muddy and desolate and disease-ridden the streets would have been. He would have stayed inside, I'm sure. And hadn't he been studying to be a priest or something?
Yes, that was yet another reason why he couldn't be attracted to me.
I was inferior to him in every way.
He stops in the middle of his mad little circle and stares in my direction. I freeze in the tree, wound tight as if I can force myself to shrink into nothing so he won't see me.
Right now I wish my "gift" was the ability to become invisible.
Carlisle steps closer, peers up to the tree where I'm hidden and sends me a crooked, confused smile.
"Edward?" he whispers.
I've been caught.
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So who figured out that it was Edward the entire time, and NOT Esme? Heh?
I feel clever right now.
Inspiration came to me while reading Mackenzie L's titillating and voyeuristic one-shot, "She Wore a Blue Kimono." I decided I wanted to make a twist of my own, of a slightly different sort.
Review to make it count. Thanks for reading.