"I'm sorry, Carlisle. I'm so sorry…" Alma's voice boomed on the stereo. She looked beyond the glass window, she'd tried to break it but to no avail. Carlisle looked into her eyes one last time. He could have been there forever. In there, he had no sense of time, there wasn't a clock, there was no sun to tell the days. They faded in and out, tomorrow came when he slept an hour and yesterday passed before it arrived. His life went on for eternity and he couldn't see it stopping. Time stood still. He stopped feeling anything and he knew that he would never see her again and he could do nothing. All he could do was watch it happen.

He knew, he she was the one. An entire life spent looking for her, and he did. He found her and for that he was grateful. His vision was blurred but he could still see her, he saw her. He used his eyes to make out her frame and used his mind to fill in the blanks. In his hands, he felt the touch of her skin, he smelled her perfume waft though the air. He heard her laugh in his ears that rang…

"I'm so sorry. I…I love…I love you…" she knew she had to choose and she went back, she'd make the same one over and over again.

I love you too…slowly, he faded out of consciousness.

When he woke, he found that he was back into a reality without her, but the dream had seemed so real. He found himself on the floor of his kitchen, laying in a pool of sweat and he appeared to have been crying in his sleep.

Carlisle was a sensitive man but hid his emotions behind a facade of confidence. This fact was one of the many reasons he began to write in the first place as it gave him a way to vent and write what was on his mind.

He weaved his emotion out into the page and placed them into the characters of his maddening mind. He found that when he reread his works, that they were a part of him, they were placed into his mindset. They felt the things he felt in real life, all he had to do was give them names and a story.

He sat up, his head spinning and the floor beneath him was like that of an elevator. He looked around the room, out toward the kitchen window that sat just above the sink, he noticed that it was dark. He'd slept all though the day and into the night.

The clothes that were drenched with sweat stuck to his skin and might have also had something to do with the fact that he had not even bothered to change his clothing for the past however long it was. He gathered what ever strength he could and picked himself up off of the floor.

He felt disgusting and gross. His hair was knotted and disheveled as he hadn't bothered to shower since the last time he changed his clothes. He didn't care for his personal hygiene because he couldn't see the point, but he figured that a shower could help with the enormous hangover he was currently suffering.

He dragged himself up the stairs and into the bathroom. He took a long look in the mirror.

"Who are you?" he asked himself, staring into eyes that he didn't recognize that had black lids making him look ten years older than he was.

"Who are you?" he asked again this time with such an urgency that it made his head pound more.

"See…that's the thing, I have no fucking idea…" he heard his reflection answer. His face was not his own, his words weren't his, this man that stood staring back was someone from out of a nightmare. Alone in a fairly large house in the middle of the night, he began to scare himself and quickly looked away from the mirror.

He turned on the water to the hottest it would allow and began to undress. What was once a tone, fit body, was becoming less so and more something Carlisle couldn't explain. He was hungry but when he ate he didn't have an appetite, all he tasted was nothing. He wasn't himself and he didn't know where he went, but this Carlisle was there now and he hated him.

He might have sounded mental, but as he thought, he knew no one would know what he was thinking as the mind of a writer was vastly different from that of someone who wasn't. Sometimes in his mind, he narrated what he was doing and where he was going. Other times, he over-thought and analyzed something to an extent that even he became annoyed of himself.

All this over a woman…a woman and her children of whom he barely even knew.

When he stepped into the shower, he let the water pour down on him. He stood with his hand bracing him against the wall. He used the opposite hand to run his fingers though his hair and down to his growing stubble. He felt old.

"So, how old are you now?" His mother asked as she put up streamers for her son's birthday party.

"Ten!" he said with pride as he watched his mother.

"Wow!" she answered like she had no idea but knew the exact date and time he was born. "That big already, huh?"

"Yeah, but momma, it isn't that old, is it?" Carlisle asked taking the streamer from her and turning it in upon itself. The two colors, back to back, twisted and turned.

One, two, three, four…he dropped it and watched it flutter to the floor. For a second, it was fleeting when it came crashing down, unraveling the progress he'd made. He took a sigh and picked it back up, untangling the two and repeated his process.

One, two, three, four, five, six. He looked up from his work and counted the twists on the other streamers. Seven, eight, nine…and ten.

"Okay, here momma." He said as he handed her the streamer to place on the other end of the room. His mother had moved the ladder and put the decoration in the corner of the room.

When the two were almost finished setting up the table, Carlisle's mother asked, taking count of the places that were set, "Aren't you going to set a place for Oliver?"

"No, he was being funny." he said as he meant 'funny' in a mean way.

"Oliver?" their mother called. What looked to be Carlisle's older brother by a few years walked down the stairs sheepishly. "Where you being mean to your brother?" The lady of the house inquired.

"Yes, but…" the boy with fair hair began. He was taller than his younger brother and was surpassing his mother in height. His face was symmetric and he had light eyes to match.

"No 'buts'," she cut him off, "I thought that we were passed this. He's younger than you are. I don't care what the fight was about but I expect an apology." she said sternly.

"Sorry, Squanchy…" a nickname that his brother used and sometimes use to tease about Lyle's height.

"Oliver Stewart?" his mother asked becoming exasperated with the teen.

"Fine." he gave his mother lip. "Sorry, Lyle." he stated without a hint of remorse.

Lyle took it as he figured it was the best he was going to get. "It's fine…"

Yes, Carlisle was now nearing his forties, and that he was middle aged, but he felt that he was a hundred years older. His body ached, he was sick. The only time he slept was due to an alcohol induced sleep.

Carlisle didn't know what to do.

Hello my dear readers! It feels so great to be writing for this story arc again! I'd like to say Thank You and extend my deepest gratitude for those of you who have stuck around for the next story about Alma and her muse. This is officially the sequel for You're Always On My Mind and focuses mainly on Carlisle as I have ultimately decided on a different direction then I originally planned.

I'm going against my better judgement and writing two stories at the same time. This story will more than likely not be updated as often then the first as I am currently writing, "Till The End Of Time". If you like Doctor Who and you ship River Song and the Twelfth Doctor than take with that what you will. I'm going to try and divide my time as evenly as I can for the two and I don't want to let down either groups of readers.

I hope that you are all liking the story so far and I want to apologize if this story is neglected. I have a few ideas in mind as to where it's going but you'll just have to wait and see.

Once again, thank you for sticking around to see what's going to happen! If you have any requests or ideas, don't be afraid to share them in the reviews or send me a personal message in my inbox and will get back to you as soon as I can.

As always,

-Your daily dose of romance

P.S. yes, Squanchy is the name of a character from 'Rick and Morty'.