SECRETS AND SCARS
CHAPTER 3
Once the door clicks shut, I sit up fully in bed. How can I possibly rest when there is so much to think about? There's a mirror here – wherever here is – and I stand to make my way toward it. I walk slowly, hesitantly, as if my body remembers being bruised and battered on the rocks of Milwaukee Bay and is resisting my insistence of movement. What I know of vampires, I learned from reading Bram Stoker's Dracula and watching that horrid movie with Charles. If what Edward and Dr. Cullen – Carlisle – say is true, then I shouldn't cast a reflection.
My own face stares back at me from the mirror. It's me, yet it's not me. It's an enhanced me. My skin is as alabaster as the two men whose voices I can hear murmuring in the next room. My hair, still the same caramel color that Carlisle remembered so well, has a luster and sheen that it never possessed in life. My eyes...My eyes are where the main difference lies. I lean closer to make sure what I see occurring is not a trick of the dim light. Red is slowly spreading from my irises like spiders spinning a web and enveloping the bright blue I normally see reflected back at me from a mirror.
"Dr. Cullen!" I call, worried that the red may mean something has gone horribly wrong in this transformation he spoke of. "Dr. Cullen!"
He is at my side faster than humanly – or un-humanly – possible. "Esme, I though we agreed you would rest." He gently take my hands and attempts to steer me toward the bed. "And, please, remember to call me Carlisle. It makes me feel much older than I am when you call me 'Dr. Cullen.'"
"How old are you?" I ask.
He smiles sadly. "That is a story I will save for a later time."
"My eyes," I remember my initial concern. "Why are my eyes turning red? Yours are golden. Why aren't mine that color? Has something gone... Has something gone wrong?"
Dr. Cullen – Carlisle – forces me to sit on the bed. I grab for him, afraid he will leave me. "Don't go."
"You need your rest."
"Please, stay," I try again. "I have so many questions. Please...Carlisle." I remember to use his name this time and it seems to make all the difference.
Carlisle smiles that same sad, world-weary smile of his and I realize instinctively how lonely he must be.
"You want companionship," I say slowly, as if testing the words. "That's why you turned Edward and now me. You're lonely."
"I turned Edward because his mother wished it," he says. "I turned you because I --" He stops suddenly and shakes his head – unwilling to continue.
"You turned me because you wished it," I finish for him.
"I was weak, forgive me."
"You were lonely." I stand and place my hand against his cold cheek. "Don't apologize for being lonely, Carlisle. I'm lonely too."
"Your eyes are red to signify that you are newly turned," Carlisle answers my original reason for calling him in here from the other room. "In time, they will turn golden like Edward and I's. When I said we were vegetarians, it is true. We only consume animal blood." He smiles – a sheepish, boyish smile instead of the world weary one. I like it much better. "It makes us a bit like outcasts in the vampire world, but we would rather live this way than follow the more traditional path."
"A sensible notion," I agree. I can't resist rubbing my fingers against his cheek. Carlisle looks away but whether it's out of embarrassment or something else, I cannot say. "Since you are able to work in hospitals during the day, I assume Dracula is a nice guideline but not altogether accurate?"
Carlisle laughs. I like it even better than his smile. "Bram Stoker. An excellent book, but more fantastical than fact."
"What is the truth?"
He removes my hand from his cheek and kisses it quickly – as if he cannot help himself – before gently guiding me back to the bed. "Rest first. I promise to explain all after you rest." Carlisle lingers, looking as if he wants to say more, before finally giving in to the desire and speaking. "Are you happy with the transformation?" he asks. "Are you angry with me for robbing you of your desire to die along side your son?"
What would he say if I told him of my much longer ten year desire to be with him? If I said that, after my marriage, the only thing which made life even remotely bearable were memories of him? Angry? How could I be angry when thoughts of him were the only thing keeping me sane through Charles's lewd acts and drunken fists? I could never be angry with Carlisle Cullen.
"No, I'm not angry," I finally say. "You saved me. Sometimes what we think we want at the time, is really not what is best for us. Maybe this new life is what's best for me." I smile at him to show I'm sincere. "I'm not angry, Carlisle."
"Are you happy?" he asks again.
"I'm happy to be with you," I admit.
Carlisle is at the door before he says: "I'm glad."
