A/N: It's been months now since I last updated, and I was planning on writing during the summer holidays, but I got a sudden case of writer's block. Updates may be coming less frequently now that school has started, but I will try to update as much as I can. So enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight Saga.

JOY

"Esme, could I speak to you for a moment?"

I know it is him the moment he speaks. He has such a lovely voice; it always seems to show what he is feeling. Now, I hear sorrow, remorse and love blended into one tone. My still heart leaps to hear his voice; it is like gold to my ears. But at the same time I feel an intense remorse, remembering the mail boy. What does Carlisle think of me now? Does he think me a disappointment? I would not blame him if he does.

I do not say a word, and stay huddled on my bed, staring out the window into the once more pristine street. Images fly through my mind, tormenting me. The young boy, lying in a crimson pool on the concrete, his lifeless eyes staring accusingly up into mine. He had a mother and a father, and possibly a sweetheart. My breath catches as I think of it. How many hearts have I broken? Two? Three? Possibly more than I can count.

Another image careens into focus: an image of my son as a young man, had he lived beyond the span of a few days. Now he lies in place of the mail boy, his dear life ended in one swoop. My sigh turns into a wail of anguish. The images spin into my mind in a never ending loop, faster and faster until they blur together. I hold my head in my hands, trying to choke back the sobs that threaten to erupt from me.

How many times had I wept after I had married Charles? Every single time he beat me, I would weep. Every single time we were in bed together, I would weep. And when I told my parents of the abuse, begging them for sanctuary, and they deserted me, I wept. I cannot think now of a time when I was not weeping.

Instantaneously Carlisle is standing before me, his golden eyes filled with compassion. He reaches out a hand, palm up, and waits, while I weep tearlessly, my sobs threatening to rip my body apart. I weep for the mail boy, who never had a chance to live. I weep for my son, who died just days after breathing his first breath. And most of all, I weep for myself, for the monster I only just realized I've become.

'Why did you change me?' My voice is hushed, agonized. I ignore his outstretched hand. 'Why all this trouble? If I had died then that boy would still be alive.' And I would be with my son, I think but do not say.

Carlisle lets his hand drop. 'I had to,' he says quietly. 'When I saw them carry in your almost lifeless body, I knew that I had to save you. I would never have forgiven myself if I hadn't.'

'If I had died, that boy would still be alive,' I dare to say. 'I should have—'

'Don't you dare say it!' he almost shouts. I shrink back against the bed sheets, mute with shock. Carlisle never shouts. It is something that I have learnt about him during the weeks I have been living with him and his 'son'. 'Don't think it. It would have haunted me forever if you had died and I had done nothing. You did not deserve to die like that.'

There is silence between us, and it is several moments before I gain enough courage to speak again. Outside, the light is beginning to give way to darkness as the sun moves below the horizon. The flaming horizon is noticeably darker than it was half an hour ago.

'But I killed a boy,' I whisper. 'And drank his blood.'

'I know.'

'I couldn't stop…I did not want to...He was just a boy…' I babble on without taking an unnecessary breath. 'I enjoyed drinking his blood, and did not give a fig as to whether he died or not. I am such a monster!' Grief and remorse wells up in me yet again, and I struggle to hold back another torrent of sobs.

'Esme, you are not a monster,' Carlisle says calmly. 'What just happened is normal for an average newborn. In time you will learn to control yourself. And it is I who is at fault. I should have watched out, prevented this from occurring. I should have stayed home myself, or not taken Edward to the hospital with me and left him here.' The remorse is evident in his gaze.

I shake my head. For reasons unknown to me, I cannot bear to see him look so sorrowful. 'No, Carlisle. It is my fault, not yours. That poor boy would not have died if it weren't for me. I am entirely to blame for this.'

Carlisle is silent, as if mulling over his thoughts. After some moments, he speaks, 'Esme, it's happened now and you must move on from it. This happens all the time, to all vampires, newborn or not. You mustn't blame yourself for this.'

But no matter what Carlisle says, I still feel a wave of remorse, like a tidal wave in the ocean. I will always blame myself for this, and nothing he or anyone else will be able to change that.

'We will be moving on in a few days. It is best if we do not remain here, after what happened.' Carlisle refrains from mentioning my crazed hunt, as if by avoiding the word he can make it less real.

More remorse wells up in me. Now I am forcing them to leave the town that they were living happily in before I was changed. I really am a monster.

Carlisle's eyes are sorrowful, and full of compassion. 'Now will you come downstairs?' he asks gently. 'We could use your help packing up our belongings.'

I know that he is using that as an excuse to have me go downstairs again. He and Edward would be able to pack all the belongings without any help from me. But Carlisle still asks me. And I am grateful. Packing will give me something constructive to do, will make me feel worthwhile.

I incline my head, and he holds up his hand and this time I take it. But when I am standing beside him, he does not let go, and neither do I. We gaze into each other's eyes, and it is as if I can see into his heart and soul. His eyes are like honey—warm and good, and a wonderful golden colour, the same colour as his heart. I know that if my heart was still beating, it would be stuttering a mile a second. Something wondrous is happening; I know it in my heart. I cannot help but smile hesitantly.

And we are still holding hands when we walk down the stairs and into the hall where Edward stands, smiling knowingly at us; he has obviously been eavesdropping. And my heart is so joyful at that moment that I am not annoyed and smile unabashedly back at him.