title: writer's block
summ.: Esme Evenson is stuck in a life she never dreamed of having, struggling with her greatest past time - writing. What happens when the whole wall she's built against the world comes tumbling down? Can a certain doctor fill the holes in her life? AU/AH Esme/Carlisle
1.
The flashing screen had become a vacuum - a gaping, laughing mouth that swallowed the thoughts swirling behind her fishbowl eyes. She tapped her fingers rhythmlessly. The keys sat before her, yet her ghastly fingers could do no more than hover above the letters, having forgotten their steps. Esme's eyes peeled, watching the cursor blink.
She snapped the laptop shut, noticing how swiftly time could gather itself against her. The pressure behind her eyes deepened, forcing them shut. Her fingers tingled lightly against her temples. It felt as if someone was tapping against the inside of her skull, hammering away at the remnants of her sanity.
Writer's block was no stranger to Esme, but as of late the struggle seemed to take its toll and drive in deep. Sleep had left her awake at night, bright eyes gleaming into senseless black. She rubbed the bags under her eyes raw, helpless against the drowsy, aching haze.
Somehow she found enough energy to make it to her medicine cabinet, bright lights reflecting off the bathroom mirror. Esme traced her haggard self in front of her, frightened by the sudden change. The reflection was so unlike her usual demure, wrinkle lines hardening where only a few years ago wrinkles were hardly an afterthought. She was only 28 - not even old enough for 'old.' Of course, with her job, stress stalked not far behind her, hiding in early morning phone calls and dinner plan cancellations.
A sudden crash sounded, bobbing her eardrums about. Esme blinked, finding the cabinet door thrown back and the its contents strewn about the floor. The splintered mirror just about missed her arms and legs, only leaving a shallow scratch on her hand.
She shook her head, groping about for the headache medicine. To her dismay, she found it empty.
Esme sighed, feeling streams of light falling from the window stroking her face. She shrugged; perhaps a bit of fresh air would do her good.
xx-x-xx
The Sunday afternoon greeted her with spring's flippant warmth slowly losing its battle against the persistent winter cold. Still, Esme shivered under her well-worn winter coat and scarf, though she did not feel a fever coming. Maybe she was wrong; after all, she was no doctor.
The aisles at the convenience store shimmered with the painful fluorescent lighting. Esme took care in making it to the pharmacy section as fast as possible. For one matter, Charles would be home within the next hour. Second, she needed to lie down before the room started spinning. She thanked whatever was up there that the store was in walking distance of her home, though in her condition she probably shouldn't have been walking in the first place. Somehow, she felt that she just needed to get out of that house.
Esme found the cheapest, generic Tylenol possible. Charles was a stickler for money, though he spent much of his paycheck as soon as he earned it. She wasn't using his money this time, but the habit stuck with her anyways.
The line at the cashier's seemed short, but ahead of her a stout lady was going off adamantly about her coupons only being a day late, or something like that. The cashier girl stood back nonchalantly, chewing gum like a bored cow as the store manager handled the obtuse situation. Esme groaned. The faster she got home, the better. Maybe by now, Charles would be there, probably racking the phone bill up calling her cell phone. She fumbled into her messy purse, looking for her phone.
She found nothing. Of course, she'd left her phone on the night stand, charging the thing after the batteries died. Strange, Esme thought numbly.
The lady only seemed to be getting louder and louder and the short line stretched far away, colors fading away.
Ever so strange.
Esme heard her standard ring-tone reverberate through her ears like waves crashing. She motioned to answer it as if she had her phone.
"Hello?" Her voice echoed with a metallic edge to it.
It was too late and she missed the call. The cold, hard floor tile answered instead.
Sleep...
Her eyes fettered shut, though she welcomed the darkness.
Sweet dreams...