FAGE 9: The Last Ride

Title: The Caregiver

Written for: TwiAddictAnne

Written by: Dorchester

Rating: M

Summary/Prompt used: Twilight - Edward/Bella

"Two broken souls finding completion in each other."

Also, I had three images and I picked one, with a handwritten note which said, "I can't wait to kiss you"

If you would like to see all the stories that are a part of this exchange visit the facebook group: Fanficaholics Anon: Where Obsession Never Sleeps, or add the C2 to get all the stories direct to your inbox.

community/FAGE-9-The-Last-Ride/93625/

Pre-read by loopylou992 and betaed by Alice's White Rabbit. Ladies, you rock! Thank you so much!

A/N (last one): Welcome into the mind of a young man: this story is written from Edward's POV. I hope you don't disagree with his way of thinking.

CHAPTER 1

Esme joined me in the dining room—a silent, breezy shadow. She sat at the table and stared into nothing for a while.

It wasn't unusual for her to lose herself for long minutes, her eyes blank, her lips mouthing soundless words to non-existent companions, people whom she'd sometimes call her visitors. She would revive after minutes, or hours, and tell me which of her visitors she had been seeing in that particular moment. She would rise to her feet, wander in the house looking for my dad, determined to tell him her story of the day. She would realize he wasn't there, that those people weren't there, and would clam up, sob and pant for a while, and ask me, "Am I ill, Edward?" and I would say, "You'll be all right, Esme," and that would be the biggest, fattest lie.

I looked at her slender, fragile frame. She didn't eat much lately; she was becoming thinner. I thought of looking for some cookies in the kitchen, or something else with a lot of calories, to give her after she came back. But, I wouldn't leave her for now, not while she was like that. I was the sole person to look after her while Dad worked his night shift, and I was ... responsible. So, I waited and waited for time to pass, to see her eyes brighten, to tell her that she was fine now, that everything was going to be all right. Because, of course, that's what you tell your father's second wife who has a brain disease.

I saw the shift in her shoulders a second before she jumped and stood up, and I sensed more than realized something was off tonight. Something was a bit different. She wasn't mouthing words. I was certain she wasn't even seeing her visitors. This was entirely different. Her gaze wasn't blank or distant; her eyes were focused, worried, huge. She was breathing heavily and looked at me as if she expected me to say something, or do something. I stood up and observed; I wasn't prepared to take any action. I had no idea what was going on in her damaged mind.

She stood still in the middle of the room, and I continued to do nothing but observe her figure—the slight twitches of her fisted fingers, the descent of her chin when she chose to stare at the floor. Her fists unclenched and grabbed the hem of her long, fluffy sweater. I saw her pale fingers pull the knitwear up, then I registered two thumbs disappearing beneath the waistband of her leggings. Tight black jersey got peeled down; I was also able to see the white cotton of panties, pale skin of her thighs exposed. Before I knew, she was squatting.

I heard, and saw, and smelled what she did next.

The puddle on the floor grew larger and larger. It reached her faux fur slippers. I watched them getting soaked and darkened, and that's what triggered, finally, the realization that I had to move.

I approached my squatting, peeing, half-undressed stepmother. I tried minding the puddle but there was no way to reach her without stepping into the dampness of her urine. For a fraction of a second, I stared at my socked feet and sorely regretted the fact that I'd removed my shoes. Nothing could be done though; I took the last step, which got me close enough to lift her the moment the noise of leakage stopped.

I bent forward, reached with my right hand under her armpit, and she, thankfully, got the idea. She lifted her arm and held my neck. My left arm went under her bare, cold thighs, just above the knees, and I picked her up. Her feet dangled and her palm rested on the nape of my neck, all the way to the bathroom. Dear Lord, help me. She was nearly weightless, like a little bird.

She smiled at me. A placated, although faint, smile.

"Let's get you cleaned up, Esme," I said, and I got her inside the bath, minding that she would remain standing on her feet and facing the faucet wall.

She said nothing, just went on smiling.

"Can you do it yourself? Wash your … uhm …"

That wasn't going to work, obviously. I placed her palm back on my neck, hoping she would use the leverage. She did so, mechanically, and assisted me lifting one leg, then the other, while I removed her slippers, leggings, underwear. She stood still, naked from the waist down. Her long sweater did the job to protect her modesty, at least partly. The faucet and the handheld showerhead were a bit too far to reach, so I left her standing on her own, adjusted the waterjet, and started showering her thighs.

"Feet apart, Esme. Like that." She cooperated again, and I turned the showerhead slightly upward, hoping it removed all the residue. I tried not to look.

I tried not to touch, either, when I toweled her.

She was fast asleep a minute or two after I tucked her in her bed. I'd made sure she swallowed her sleeping pill with a good amount of water.

To me, sleep didn't come easily. I contemplated calling my father at the hospital. But, what good would it do? Worrying him hours before he could come home, disturbing his work, and for what? I'd managed the situation somehow. We would talk in the morning when he got back home. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the images of Esme's woman parts would disappear any moment now. Too bad we can't delete the cookies before we shut down our operating system for the night, I thought. I couldn't unsee her pinkish hue and sparse hairs down there.

Good thing I remembered none of my dreams when I woke up the next morning.

She was still asleep; my father was about to come home soon. I made a pot of coffee and checked my Twitter on my mobile, killing some time. Then I heard the front door; Dad was here.

I straightened my shoulders and stood up to greet him when he entered, and my good-morning-here's-the coffee was the only nice thing he heard from me. He listened to my dry report, his eyes shut most of the time; he gulped and gulped as if swallowing bile, his lips thin, white lines pressed so tightly that it probably hurt.

I told him everything, just the way it was. I also told him, like I'd done it on numerous occasions, that she needed to be institutionalized. When he spoke at last, it was to say, "Over my dead body."

We'd come to an agreement, some time ago, that I would stay here, with him, while my older brothers couldn't. They had jobs, and spouses, and lives in Washington; my coming back to Forks, to him and Esme, had turned out to be the natural solution. I didn't even have a girlfriend, and I'd just gotten my bachelor's degree at UDub. It was decided that I wouldn't need to look for a job for now. I would help my father with the household, and he would keep his position at Forks Community Hospital. It was so well paid, after all. I would help with Esme, too.

It hadn't bothered me that much for the last few months. Not until last night.

"Dad, she's getting worse."

"No, I'm sure it was just an episode, Edward. We'll get through it. It will be fine."

One can't just tell Dr. Carlisle Cullen that he's delusional. My father is a man of dignity, solid as a rock, generally kind and caring, but sometimes harsh. I couldn't just say he was mistaken; he had to see the proof for himself.

"Good morning," Esme's voice chimed. She appeared at the door, eyes not fully opened from the sleep, white teeth flashing in a huge smile.

"Hi, love," Dad answered and began to move toward her until he froze in his spot halfway there. That was when he noticed she was wearing only a long-sleeve tee and was still naked from the waist down.

I hadn't found it in me to dress her bits last night. I … couldn't. I only removed her sweater before I tucked her under the blankets, and that was that.

Dad turned his head as if he was one of those wooden puppets. He looked at me, and his eyes were wide, too wide.

"Yeah," I said. "What I meant."

He shook his head, stubborn denial and incredulity still written all over his face. He then looked back at Esme, then back at me, and then the tears started.

"Okay," he was murmuring. "Okay. We need to do something. I'll … I'll find a way."

"Dad, she needs to be taken care of by specialists," I half-whispered. I wasn't sure if she was hearing, if she was understanding.

"I've studied psychiatry, son. You know it. I'll find a way to make it easier for you." Dad's voice was a whisper, too. He then looked back to his wife and spoke louder, "Why are you naked, Esme?"

She stood there in the doorway and looked down for the first time. She obviously acknowledged the lack of clothing but simply shrugged. "I don't know," she said, her answer more like a question and totally lacking embarrassment. In a second or two, she added, "Oh," when she comprehended the situation a bit too slowly. "I guess I'm really ill." She turned on her heel and disappeared, and Dad followed her. "I didn't … Oh, Carlisle," I could hear Esme's voice. "I didn't know, for Christ's sake. I have no idea how this happened. Oh, my God." Her voice faded away.

While they were gone, I came up with the brilliant resolve to our situation. We needed a nurse, a female nurse, to come live with us.

I told Dad later that day, after he had rested from his night shift, that he needed to find said female nurse and hire her immediately.

"Oh, and how are we going to pay her, Edward?" Dad debated, and it was the most logical question.

I'd taken that into consideration, of course. While my father slept, and Esme idled in front of the TV, I'd done some thinking.

"I won't go back for a master's degree. We can use my fund. And you have some savings. It will be enough for a good period of time. I'll find a daytime job, as well. The nurse will manage daytime by herself. One of us will be always be available at night. Think about it."

By night, Dad had gotten wiser. He agreed.

It was a matter of days for him to find a candidate for the position.

"Her name's Bella Swan, a local. She's spent several years away to study and has come back to Forks, fresh out of college. One of the few psychiatric nurses in town; I think we got lucky. She's coming this afternoon to meet us."

I felt a jolt of real happiness. Drinking my afternoon coffee, I found her LinkedIn profile on my laptop.

There was a tiny photo, and she looked like a tiny rodent. Urgh.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon when she rang the doorbell. Dad let her in, I was waiting in the dining room, and Esme was probably taking a nap in the living room. Dad and Bella would join me after he gave her a tour around the house.

I wasn't overly eager to see her face, so I waited patiently while she got acquainted with floors one and two. I was sure Dad wasn't taking her to the third floor, as the only living area there was my bedroom. After a trial month, if she was still okay to stay with us, and if we were still okay with her, she would take one of the guest bedrooms on that floor. For now, she had nothing to do there.

The second floor was where Esme and Dad slept. Next to their bedroom was Dad's study. There were also my two older brothers' bedrooms, now unoccupied. The two rooms were always tidy and equipped with clean bedsheets, should any of them venture a visit. Emmett visited at least twice a year, together with his wife, Rosalie. Jasper and his lady, Alice, hadn't come in years. Jasper was still sour with Dad for marrying another woman after Mom passed away. I found it stupid of him; Dad deserved some happiness. Turned out, our parent was paying for that happiness at a dear cost now that Esme had become, what he called, his gift and his burden all in one.

The ground floor contained the living room, the kitchen with adjacent sitting room, the laundry room, and the hallway with my grand piano.

I'd missed playing it lately, and that was what I was thinking about when Dad and our future employee joined me in the dining room.

I saw at once how deceitful that LinkedIn photo was. She was tiny, yes, but she was no rodent. Hell, no, no rodent at all—she was a porcelain doll. I looked at her face and only came up with two words: delicate and flawless. I thought this girl had to be on a magazine cover, modeling makeup and jewelry. If her face looked like this with nothing on, I could only imagine what she could look like after someone put some posh color and luxury shine on her.

Dad cleared his throat.

Oh.

"Hello." I noticed my voice was somewhat hoarse. "I finally get the chance to introduce myself." I stood up. "I'm Edward Cullen … and you're Bella Swan." She took my outstretched hand, nodded, and said nothing. "Did you like the house?" I went on. She smiled and uttered something, which sounded like a faint "yes."

"So, Bella," my father spoke, "I'll go get Esme. You just sit down, we'll be back in a while."

"Yes, sure, thanks," Bella answered in one breath and started picking at her fingernails. I wondered why she looked so self-conscious. Dad left the two of us alone.

"Is here okay?" Bella pointed at one of the chairs, and for a while, I couldn't get what she was on about. I didn't understand whether she was asking for permission to sit on that particular chair, or she was waiting for me to attend to her. Just in case, I said nothing and pulled the chair out for her, and like a perfect gentleman, pushed it back while she sat. I was inexperienced in courtesy, but we performed the operation quite well. I sat back in my place. She was looking somewhere to the right of me, and a telltale blush, which reached her ears, gave away her embarrassment. So, probably, she hadn't expected me to wait on her. Oh, well.

"I can't wait to meet Esme," she said, filling the awkward silence.

"Esme is a wonderful person," I began to explain. "But now, she's … confused some of the time."

"Yeah, I know that. That's fine. I mean, no, it's not fine, but I'm used to it. To such people."

"Why are you in Forks at all?" I blurted out.

Her forehead wrinkled. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Dad came with Esme in tow, and I couldn't learn if our nurse was going to answer me or throw a blasphemy at my stupid head.

"Esme, this is Bella," Dad said. "She's the nurse I told you about."

"Hi," Bella stood up slowly.

"So she's starting today?" Esme looked a little worried, but all in all pretty good. She was wearing a dress. The slippers (her new ones) were replaced by two-inch heels; she wore a gilded bracelet and her wedding band. I looked at my white socks, then at Bella's black sneakers, her baggy jeans, and well-worn green hoodie. Dad had omitted to tell us both there was a dress code for the night. He was wearing a button-down, suit trousers, and shiny shoes himself, thankfully no tie. For him, nearly casual, but still.

While I pondered on his absent-mindedness, Bella had taken Esme's hand in hers and had started talking.

"Pleased to meet you, Esme. I'm here tonight to tell you that I want to help you. I'm here to understand if you will let me learn how to help. I know some moments have been very hard for you, and I'm qualified to be there for you in such moments. It will take some time for you to get used to my presence. But I can see you're strong and willing to accept my help. And I can assure you that I am strong, too."

Dad leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Textbook introduction. Great so far."

I believed him because Esme had put a polite, although a little strained, smile on her face.

"Okay, let's talk," Esme said. Bella sat down, and so did all of us.