Nope. Don't own any of them. Or Byron's works, which I borrow a little bit of.

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Esme

My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I was certain I could hear it hammering. I could feel it, certainly, beating powerfully against my ribcage, blood pumping rapidly through my veins. I had found the way back to the house by force of habit alone. My mind was still in the park, still staring in awe at what I was still only half certain wasn't a mirage.

Because I had dreamed of that man almost every night for about 7 years now, probably closer to 8. Actually seeing him again seemed impossibly unreal. But at the same time, I knew it had been. Because even the memory I had carefully guarded had never truly done him justice. That much had been clear, looking at him again. His eyes were a more beautiful butterscotch, the most limitless gold. His hair was a semi-disheveled dirty blonde, a little less perfectly kept than most men. His skin had gleamed softly in the fading light, so perfectly pale, like a king. Or an angel, which was how I had always referred to him in my imagination. My angel. And his voice…I had tried to remember it, but that memory had clearly slipped even more than the memory of his perfect face. His voice was smooth as ice, soft as velvet, as easy flowing as a stream. There was nothing about him that wasn't perfect, nothing.

It was that very perfection that I had been unable to get out of my head. I hadn't really wanted to, but it would have been nice at times. Like in the beginning, when my family wanted desperately for me to notice Charles. He was handsome, and had I never met Carlisle, I probably would have been enamored of him. Initially. But I had met Carlisle, had done more than that. I had spent a few hours in his company, and that even more than his perfect appearance had forever clinched my fate. I could never love another man, not when I loved one man so fully, so entirely. It wasn't just his looks. If it had been that, I doubted very much that I would have fallen in love with him. No, he was all angel. The kindest, warmest, gentlest man I had ever known. Or would ever know, I was certain. There was no one like Carlisle.

I supposed that it didn't really matter very much. After all, even if I had been able to fall in love with Charles, I would have only been more hurt after the wedding, when I found out the truth. Things were better this way, honestly. If you could call any part of this situation better in any form, that was. I had a hard time doing that.

I hadn't yet decided whether seeing him again had been a blessing or a curse. It had been enough, at least, to interrupt my train of thought, to at least stall my plans if nothing else. The beating Charles had given me last night had been terrible, the rape even worse. All of it worse, because I had had the time without him to adjust to normal life again. I could hardly stomach the thought of returning to that life, though I didn't know where else to turn.

Those thoughts had led me to the park, where I had sat reading ,

So we'll go no more a-roving

So late into the night

Though the heart be still as loving

And the moon be still as bright

Reading, and contemplating how much it would hurt to jump from the highest cliff over the quarry. Or if it would even have time to hurt at all. It was sounding better and better. At that point, I had looked down and seen a man's shoes on the ground before me, and for a moment I had been terrified that Charles had come to find me. Instead, imagine the shock when I looked up into the eyes of my angel, the one man I thought I'd never see again and yet was always looking for. Dr. Carlisle Cullen.

Leaving, I had been too distracted to remember that I had pretty much decided on jumping. And now, I was back at the door of our house. The lights were on the dining room, and I knew Betty would be in there, setting the table for supper. Charles was probably in his study. If I moved quietly, I might could reach my room before he asked where I'd been. If I was lucky, that was.

Taking a deep breath to still the shaking of my hands, I reached out and grabbed the handle, turning it cautiously to make as little noise as possible. We never latched it until after dark, something for which I was very thankful. There was no need, in this little town. Betty looked up as I slipped in the door. She tipped her head slightly, mouthed 'the master's upstairs'. I nodded, mouthed a thank you in return, and tried in vain to calm the frantic beating of my heart as I began to navigate the stairs. I travelled on the inside, closest to the wall. The other side had a tendency to squeak. I held my breath almost all the way up, not trusting it not to give me away. The stairs ended and I was on the landing, then around the corner and in my room and I could breathe again. It came out in a long shuddering sigh. I was fairly certain his study door had been closed. I was safe, for now. I was-

My eyes came up to the mirror over my dresser, and a shock of fear settled in my stomach as I saw what was reflected behind me. He towered over me, his eyes dark and impossibly cold. "Where have you been, Esme?"

My mouth was dry, my hands shaking. I could definitely hear my heart now, and it sounded close to exploding. "I went for a walk, in the park. It's a very nice evening. Perhaps tomorrow you could-"

His hand clamping down a vise on my shoulder cut me off, and he spun me around to face him, gripped my other shoulder, shook me. "Liar! Who is it, you little whore? Who is he?"

"N-no one. There's no one, I swear it Charles. I was true to you while you were gone." Not by choice so much as by lack of options. Carlisle had been gone. And he would have never wanted me anyway.

He raised his hand and I flinched back, my eyes closing. He rarely ever struck my face, because then I couldn't go out in public for days. Sometimes, though, when he was mad enough… But no, he slapped the book out of my hand instead. It hit the floor with a thud and I stood stock still as he bent to pick it up. And prepared for the next blow, because it was sure to be harder as soon as he realized what I was reading.

"Why do you read this trash, Esme? Those poets are nothing but a bunch of immoral scum. Is it because it reminds you of yourself, hm? Of how you'd behave if I wasn't here to keep you in line?"

It did no good to answer, really. He was going to hit me anyway. I could have launched into the Gettysburg Address for all it mattered. And right on cue, his fist connected with my shoulder and I staggered back, but not far enough to miss the other blow, the corner of the book to my side of my neck. Well, I'd be wearing a high collar shirt tomorrow, at least. I fought back the pain, fought to remain standing, to breathe evenly. It was worse when I cried, worse when he knew how much it hurt. I had learned to be strong. My eyes remained closed, my focus only on his breathing. Like an enraged bull.

The sound of heavy footsteps and the slamming of the door told me he had left, that it was ok to crumple to the floor and bury my head in my arms, that it was ok to let the tears fall. My neck was throbbing terribly, but it was nothing to the wrenching pain in my shoulder. The left. He had hurt it the night before too, which was why today's abuse had made it hurt all the more. It wasn't so bad, though. Maybe now he'd leave me alone for the rest of the night. Maybe I could at least sleep in peace.

It was awhile before I realized I was shivering, and I stood with some effort, wincing at the pain it caused to maneuver my dress off. I stripped completely, stepped to my dresser and lit a candle in the darkness. It wasn't much light, but its flickering flame made me visible in the mirror. The bruises didn't look so bad like this, in the shadows. Still, they looked bad enough. I pulled the bowl of water on top toward me, rung the rag out to press it to the bruise on the side of my neck. I hissed at the strange mixture of pain and relief the cold cloth brought, and I held it there until it was warm. Slowly, mechanically, I pulled a gown from the second drawer down and tugged it over my head as gently as I could. The movement of my shoulder was still agony, and another few tears slipped from my eyes.

Sliding into bed provided some measure of relief, if only because I could again stop moving, and the pillows were more comfortable than the hardwood floor. I closed my eyes, lay my head back against the headboard. I could hear Charles downstairs, laughing with our neighbor about something in the papers. I could hear the clock in the hall ticking. I could hear Betty in the kitchen, washing the dishes. If Charles went to bed early, she'd try to bring me a plate up. Sometimes, she didn't get the chance. Usually I was hungry enough to care, but not today. Today, I didn't much care if I ever ate again. Although if that was what I was going for, there were quicker ways to die.

Which brought my thoughts full circle, back to where they had been in the park. But of course thinking of the park brought on other, more powerful memories, and suddenly Carlisle was there behind my eyes in all his glory, golden eyes dancing. After all this time, why had I suddenly seen him again now? I had spent years wishing, praying to meet him again. To meet him when I was old enough for him to see me as more than a clumsy child. Well, that was the insecurity talking. He had never seemed to regard me that way, had even then spoken to me as an equal. But no, I had never seen him. So why now? I had grown too tired, too apathetic to believe in God anymore, but if I still had, I would have said this was a sign.

A sign for what, exactly? Not to kill myself? If so, then where was the motive behind that? How could I ever hope to see him again, after tonight? I couldn't, not realistically. As far as I had heard, he had left town. He was probably only passing through. And even if he wasn't, it didn't matter. Because as little as betraying Charles would matter to me, it would matter to Carlisle. He was good in every way possible. And besides, he would never be interested in me.

Maybe it wasn't a sign, anyway. Maybe it was just…the last good thing I would ever get on this earth. A fresh memory of him to fill my head. He had smelled so good, so…alluring. More than that, it was a scent that drew me in, had a magnetic pull. Like his eyes. Everything about him. Would he think it was weird that I had remembered him? Well, he hadn't seemed to think so at the time. He had remembered me too, and while I was too dazed to let it effect me at the time, remembering that fact now had my heart hammering in my chest again, this time over an emotion other than fear. He had remembered me. Carlisle had remembered me.

Which probably meant nothing, other than the fact that he was a good doctor. I needed to get a grip, to realize he would never love me. Everything would be much easier then, to accept. But that was something I had never been able to do. I loved him too much, it was too strong. I couldn't make myself see that it wasn't fate, that he wasn't the one for me. I could feel it in my bones, in my soul. I knew it to be true so deeply that nothing could shake it, not even the truth of my circumstances. I had tried to tear the knowledge out, but it just wouldn't come. And I was tired of trying. The dreams of Carlisle distracted me from the way things were, and for that I was grateful. His arms were a safe haven in the hours when I was asleep.

How many times soon after our marriage had I dreamed of my angel coming to my defense? Of him storming in, taking me in his arms, keeping me safe. I could still remember the first night I had dreamed of him in my bed, making love to me the way Charles never had. All I had ever had was violence but he was…everything young girls dreamed of, he was more than that for me. When I woke up from that one, I had cried for about 10 minutes before I could get the weight of the regret under control. Of course, since the source of my grief wasn't known, Charles had beaten me for it.

A tear slid from my closed eyes and I brushed it away, my shoulder protesting in pain when I raised my arm. It was getting late. It didn't seem as if Betty was coming. No matter, I hadn't really cared either way. Turning onto my side, I wrapped the quilt tight around myself, burying my face in the pillow. I could only hope Charles wouldn't come in tonight. If there was any God of mercy at all, He'd let me have one night to cry, to be alone. Just one.

Tomorrow, I didn't know what I'd do. I didn't want to think that far. I knew, though, that I'd have a hard choice to make, harder now that I had seen him again. But for now, there was only the darkness, the throbbing of the bruises, and the memory of his face, his voice, his scent. The memories dulled the pain, and soon, I was drifting.

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Wow, this was very….painful to write, and it actually came out a little darker than I anticipated. For which I'm proud of myself, because I wanted to go as authentic with it as I could.

Don't worry, Carlisle'll do…well, something. : ) this fic will continue to be dark in places, at least for awhile, but there will be moments of happiness, promise.