Chapter 10:
Patience and Acceptance
The astounding and limitless range of a vampire's abilities ensured that Esme had very little time with nothing new to do. In some sense, she was left with less responsibilities and no necessary tasks other than to feed herself when she needed blood, but all of this time she had in place of daily chores was a blessing for her insatiable curiosity. Even sitting in a quiet room with lights off and just listening to the sounds around her was an acceptable and even entertaining way to spend her time.
But Edward would only laugh at her for doing such things.
"If you want to go outside, all you have to do is ask me to take you," he would tell her.
As much as she hated imposing on his free time, he insisted that he would much rather give her something better to do. She sometimes worried that she was a chore to him; that his having to watch over her constantly made him into some sort of nanny. He said that if she ever dared to call him a nanny again, he would keep her locked inside for the rest of her days.
Edward liked to tease, but Esme was not blind to the genuine care and concern he held for her. He often went out of his way to make her happier when she was feeling upset or lonely. Underneath these hints of depression, though, it seemed the only cause to her discomfort was thirst. Edward's empathy for Esme's struggle helped her to cope immensely during the times when she most doubted herself.
He took her hunting during the day, leading her through the forest in a blur of pure instinct and animal direction. Esme was always shocked by the ease with which she could summon a deer to the ground with one finger. Her teeth were nestled in the throat before she could blink, and the blood was soothing her throat before she could purr. It was intoxicating and divine, despite the slight sting that lingered in her throat upon finishing it. She was satisfied for the time being, but there would always be that drive to have more. Perfecting her control was a challenge, but it grew more promising with every day.
"You're doing very well," Edward granted his approval as they headed back to the house together in the early evening. The wind whipping her hair seemed to echo his words, and she smiled to herself, proud of her long-earned accomplishments.
There was a tiny niche in Esme's mind that wondered how it would feel to have the doctor's approval as well. She vaguely imagined how he would have looked at her in the midst of the hunt, and how he would have looked while hunting by her side. She felt chilly when she thought of him participating in this gracefully gruesome act. Being a necessity for survival, she knew he had killed animals for blood countless times before. As disturbing as it was to imagine Doctor Cullen with his teeth buried in the hide of a defenseless animal, Esme discovered a burning urge to see the true image for herself.
Someday, she supposed, hunting with Carlisle would be unavoidable. And she dreaded it as greatly as she anticipated it.
She arrived in the yard of the estate before the dusk set in, with Edward quick on her heels. They bolted into the house, carelessly tracking mud on the stairs in their childish race, laughing their way through the halls.
"Want to see the best place in the house to watch the sunset?" he asked, grabbing hold of her hand before she could answer.
Expecting him to take her to some secret balcony or third floor window, she was shocked to watch him leap out the attic window onto the roof.
"Come out and see!" His face had never before looked so bright, so eager, so young. She could not resist him.
In her indestructible bare feet, Esme flitted effortlessly over the shingles to where Edward was perched against the chimney on the western wing of the house.
The horizon beyond the lake was a blanket of frightfully bright orange freckled by fluorescent rose clouds. The slender silhouettes of black spruce trees framed it on either side like a perfect painting. From anywhere lower it would be impossible to still see the sun, but from this height it was visible to the last moment before the numbing blue mist of twilight swept it away.
"I told you it was the best place to watch the sunset," Edward said as she came to sit beside him in a heap of cotton skirts.
"I should have known you wouldn't take me to any old window."
He chuckled.
"Is this something you do often? Climb onto roofs at night?" she inquired playfully.
"The first few times I came up through the chimney. Then I decided there must be a more sanitary way to do it," he joked.
She giggled. "Thank the Lord. I don't think I would have been very pleased if you'd tried to stuff me through the fireplace."
"I'd know better than to do that," he said all too seriously, and she grinned to herself.
As the sun lowered in the sky, the air around them began to change, the forest postively crawling with nocturnal creatures. The scent of the nightlife was aromatic, but more cloying than that of the daytime. It was mysterious and slow, creeping and seductive – a spicy bouquet of dark delights – deep and devilish.
Edward sighed heavily as the dark, inviting scents grew stronger. "If you want to go after them, we can," he offered.
Esme shook her head before she realized she was refusing the scent. "I'm not that thirsty."
He stared at her skeptically. "That's the first time you refused blood."
She stared back at him almost as blankly. "Is that normal?"
He shrugged. "Yes, I suppose. It came rather late for you, but it was bound to happen one of these days."
"Hmm."
He stood up then and dusted off his trousers. "We'd better get back inside soon or Carlisle will throw a fit when he comes back."
"You think he would disapprove of us frolicking on the roof?" she asked amusedly as she sprung to her feet.
"No," Edward laughed affectionately. "I don't think he would mind at all. I just meant he'd probably be in danger of hyperventilating if he didn't know where we were. He's very unstable that way, you see."
She cocked one eyebrow in light disapproval despite being aware of his teasing tone. He only grinned and offered her his arm to help in back in through the open window.
"You're sure you don't need to hunt?" Edward asked her as they sped back down the stairs.
"I thought you could read my thoughts."
"I am reading them, and they're disturbingly unclear," he chuckled in uncertainty.
"I'm sure, Edward. Really, I'll be fine," she insisted.
He gave her an odd look as he stopped by the closet and shrugged into his brown corduroy jacket.
"Alright," he sighed with reluctance, thirsty enough now that he didn't bother arguing with her anymore. "Carlisle will be here in thirty seconds," he warned curtly before taking off out the back door.
Esme hastily began smoothing the flawless creases of her dress as if the sad action were instinct, worried that she might have missed a stray leaf or a smear of soot. She hadn't had the chance to look in the mirror a final time before the freshly oiled creak of the front door alerted her to the doctor's return.
Edward had overestimated.
"Good evening," Carlisle's voice echoed in the foyer. His greetings typically wore a tone of ease and contentment, but tonight she picked out a palpable strain in his lilt that made her uneasy.
"Good evening," she returned with the expected courtesy, glancing at his face in slight concern as she approached from the hall. His eyes were dim and distant, like a field of golden wheat caught beneath a storm cloud.
"Are you all right?"
The shallow lines of stress flickered over his forehead. His lips opened, but he did not speak for a moment, clearly hesitant on the matter.
He reluctantly found her inquisitive gaze and responded quietly as he removed his coat, "I lost a few patients this evening."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said automatically, overcome with the sudden urge to press her palm to his cheek.
"No, no. You mustn't be," he insisted in furrow-eyed distress, shaking his head almost dismissively. "It isn't as if it's a rare occurrence."
"Nevertheless, I imagine it must be difficult...especially in your case." She came slightly closer, drawn helplessly to him in his rare moment of vulnerability. "I am sorry."
His eyes were almost contrite in their slow-burning glow as he stared down at her.
"Thank you," he accepted in a melancholy whisper.
Her hand again longed for that gentle collision with his cheek.
She bit her lip.
The doctor's glistening eyes turned up in confusion as he swiftly glanced around the front hall. "Where has Edward gone to?"
"Hunting," she answered succinctly. His eyes widened almost comically in an expression that was at best foreign for his face, and she quickly explained that she had not been abandoned as he thought. "Don't worry. He left when he heard you arriving."
Carlisle released a tense breath of relief. "Thank goodness – or I shall have had to berate him with enthusiasm – which is not often done, mind you."
She imagined not.
She just barely concealed a shy giggle as his eyes looked her over warmly, then he politely moved towards the parlor.
She should have taken that moment to flee from the site. She should have run away, not followed him like some mindless muse, clinging to him wherever he went.
But her feet had already planted her within the same room, and she could not turn back.
He drew back the curtains, and the sparse marine tint of twilight flooded the dark room. Though they could both see just as clearly in the absence of adequate light, there was still something mutually unsettling about being in the dark.
She gave a small chirp of surprise as he struck a match to light the candelabra over the mantle, and the tangy perfume of sulfur and smoke upon the air plucked at her nerves. Something about the alluring aroma brooked too many associations with intimacy...
"Do you not care for electric lighting?" she asked, her tone devoid of any humor or judgment. She was only curious as to why he seemed prone to lighting candles before turning on a lamp.
He chuckled in spite of himself as he moved to the console and lit a trio of small emerald votive glasses on its marble surface.
"Having lived for so many years without electricity, I suppose you could say that I have a helpless fondness for natural light," he explained with a sheepish tilt of his head. "I suppose it's a sorry waste that I've spent money on copper wiring when it is so rarely used."
Esme smiled to herself as he passed up the old oil lamp in favor of a single-wick candle by the window sill. "Not even oil lamps, then?"
He shook his head as he continued making his way around the room, the warm glow of the combined flames slowly filling the room in a way that fabricated wattage never could. "Not hardly. Always candles." His lip quirked absently as he blew out the blackened matchstick and struck a second one. "Something about them is...I don't know...holy."
Her eyes followed his figure without a blink as he rounded the rest of the room, crowning every candle with a bright little halo until he was nearly back by her side again, his citrusy scent embellished with a silken smokiness.
He spoke to her quietly as she watched him, asking her how her day had gone, and other such civilized necessities. Her voice, tamed to a mature silk from his venom, now matched his in its mesmerizing smoothness. As they exchanged words, the balance resonated back and forth in harmony – soft soprano for tender tenor, mellifluous and fluid. Like calligraphy made into sound.
And as she spoke more with him, Esme began to feel almost his equal.
When they reached a relative silence, his eyes sparkled cryptically, glancing every so often toward the window as he had been doing throughout their conversation.
"I have something I've been wanting to show you," he finally said, moving to collect a small, polished wooden box by the window. Esme followed hesitantly and watched as he turned to face her before opening the lid. Inside the box lay a neatly organized rainbow of oil pigments and five paintbrushes of varying sizes.
Her eyes widened like a child who had just been given a sackful of candy. "Oil paints."
"Edward tells me you have an interest in painting."
She tucked a curl of hair behind her ear, smiling sheepishly as she avoided his eyes. "Well, from what I can remember, I've always been fond of art."
"Then accept this as a gift," Carlisle offered, with a quiet sort of eagerness that made her heart quiver ever so slightly in her chest. He nudged the box toward her folded hands, encouraging her to take it, and the ache in her heart worsened as the smooth wooden edge made contact with her skin.
"I..." To refuse him would have been pointless, and not to mention pitiful. She had nothing to offer this man in return for anything he had given her, yet he continued to burden her with gifts against her will.
"I insist," he whispered with a pleading smile.
To accept this gift would make him happy. With that knowledge, Esme reluctantly accepted. Her fingers wrapped gingerly around the box as he closed the lid and let go.
"Thank you," she breathed, cradling the box in her hands. "But I have nothing on which to paint."
"Edward found an easel in the attic this morning," he explained with a smile, "And I have already ordered canvas fabric from town. I'll bring it back with me sometime this week."
"You didn't have to–"
"I insist," he repeated, with slightly more force than before.
She swallowed quietly as she stared fondly down at the box of paints in her hands. "Very well."
Feeling the mild weight of guilt creep into her belly, Esme sighed and finally allowed her gaze to meet his.
His face was unreadable as it tended to be, but now there was something exceptionally intense in his expression that shocked the guilt right out of her at first glance.
"Your eyes," his hushed accent murmured suddenly as he looked more closely at her face.
She blinked several times, slightly flustered as he stared forwardly at her, and desperately curious as to what could have caused such an odd remark.
"Hm?"
His brows lifted lightly and he smiled – a small, familiar sort of smile. "I'm sorry, it's just... Have you looked at them lately?"
"No, are they unwell?"
"Far from it." He shook his head with an enigmatic glint in his gaze.
Esme rushed toward the small oval wall mirror in excitement and stared at her reflection. Though at first glance her eyes would still be scarlet, there was a vividness about them that gave their depths a new, almost orange cast. As she bent in closer, she could make out the individual flecks of a blossoming brass, bedded inside her iris.
How Carlisle had even noticed such a tiny difference in such poor lighting was perplexing to her. Perhaps all doctors were prone to such details.
"Oh, my..." She touched her cheek faintly, marveling at the nearly insignificant change in her gaze from every angle in the mirror.
He chuckled pleasantly from behind her. "You see? You're making progress already."
He had given her similar words of encouragement before, but these words came with physical proof – evidence that she was making a difference, not only in her appearance, but more importantly in her behavior.
"Mhm." She looked down shyly at her feet for a few moments when she finally turned to face him.
"I'm very proud of you."
Esme's heart was mummified in a clean sort of warmth at his words. His soft praise was all she needed to hear, and suddenly she was sure success must be possible. If it was not, then she would make it possible. For him.
She moved quickly back to the fireplace where he stood. "How long will it be now?" she questioned him eagerly, hoping for a less vague response this time.
Carlisle averted his eyes uneasily, absently rubbing the back of his neck as he chose the right words. "If you remain on this path – and I have confidence that you will – then it should be fairly eight months or so before your eyes will have made the full transition."
Her heart sank like a stone in the lake. "Eight months?"
"No disappointment, now." The gentle warning came with a light prod to her chin from his two forefingers. "You're doing quite well for such an early stage."
"I suppose it has been less difficult lately," she mused humbly. "In fact, just this evening I was outside with Edward, and—"
She paused, uncertain as to whether or not it would be wise to mention her escapade on the roof.
Carlisle simply stared at her, his eyes a sun-shaming yellow, with the soft hints of a confused smile on his face. She wrung her hands and swallowed hard before continuing.
"Well, it was the first time I was able to ignore the thirst even with the scent of blood in the air."
"That's quite an improvement." He smiled politely before turning to the window. "You seem to enjoy being outside. I'm sorry that you've not been able to be out as much as you like."
"Edward is always willing to watch me."
Carlisle's expression grew mildly regretful. "Soon you won't need to worry about any of that," he assured. "You're doing better every day."
She wanted to smile, but there was still doubt in her mind. "It is only with the scent of passing humans; I can't seem to...hold myself together."
He nodded in understanding. "Yes, I'm afraid that will be particularly... distressing to you for some time."
"I need to know, honestly, Doctor. When can I expect it to improve?" She wondered if she sounded like one of his patients, asking when her life-threatening illness would let up.
His eyes dimmed, and look of reluctance colored his face. "I regret to say that there is no definitive moment when it simply fades away."
The dull teeth of disappointment chewed at her hope, snuffing out the blue-born flame of her inspiration.
"Then how can I be expected to one day walk among people again as you and Edward do?"
He smirked softly and she flinched, worrying she had been too presumptuous. "Well, now, Esme, it is not without often painful efforts that we manage to mingle with humans." His tone lightened a bit when he noticed the chagrin in her expression. "I wish it were that simple."
Her hopes sunk in a bitter brew within her gut. If it was not simple for Carlisle, then it would be simple for no one. She hung her head.
He added gently, "It helps to adjust slowly over time, but I must be honest with you in saying that it never does dissipate entirely."
"Do you still have trouble? At the hospital?" she asked tentatively, hoping he would not take offense to the forwardness of her question.
To her surprise he nodded his head. "There have been times when it's been almost too difficult for me to continue working. In fact..."
He looked for a moment as though he was pondering whether it was acceptable to say what he wanted to say, then with a sigh he continued.
"There was this boy once – he couldn't have been more than six years of age. I was assigned to treat him some several years ago. He had cut his wrist." He motioned with one finger across the inside of his wrist and frowned. "His blood was everywhere...it was..." He swallowed and his eyes darkened at the memory. "Well, I'd never had such trouble with the craving before, and I was not certain I could control myself. For the boy's own safety, I left."
She blinked in slight disbelief. "You mean you never treated him?"
"I couldn't. It was too dangerous," he said softly. "I've always felt terribly guilty for abandoning him. And to make matters worse, I'd caught the distinct scent of rust in his blood. I fear he may have developed Tetanus, and his father would not have known until it was too late."
Esme cringed with pity. However perfect he may have seemed, Doctor Cullen was as prone to temptation as every other vampire. Her stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought, and what it meant for her own hopes to succeed in the art of resisting.
"Oh, my," she whispered solemnly. "That's awful."
He sighed melodiously as he ran a hand through his blond hair. "It is to be expected in my occupation." He turned to her with a redeeming smile. "But it is still far too early for you to worry about such things. Edward and I are here for you in the event that any human might pass."
She smiled back reluctantly. "I'm always hoping the next time will be slightly better – and in a way it is – but I'm never as controlled as I wish I could be."
He tilted his head, considering her explanation. "That may not be cause for discouragement. As I've said before, I for one do not believe the art of control is ever fully mastered." He rested one hand on the mantel and gazed distantly into the flickering candle flames. "Like the inevitable loss of my patients, it is something that happens consistently, yet we never truly learn to be unaffected by it. We simply learn to accept it."
"Patience and acceptance," she murmured half to herself, as if noting a list.
"Oh, dear. I fear I've made myself into little more than a preacher—"
"No, not at all! I mean, well..." She breathed deeply, shaking her head to dismiss her stuttering. "You've always given me guidance when I've needed it. I thank you." She glanced up at him, willing him to see the genuineness in her words.
The small smile that graced his lips was almost sad, but his warm eyes were lit with something akin to gratefulness.
"Esme, I want you to know that your company means a great deal to me. Had I returned to an empty house after a rather unfortunate shift… well, the evening would have been considerably less pleasant. You should know that even the simplest of your condolences are of comfort to me. And for that I must thank you."
She could think of nothing to say in response to him, slightly stunned that she had been a source of comfort to him when she had always looked upon him as the giver and herself as the taker. Perhaps they really did need one another in their own ways.
Somewhere in the core of his intense gaze, Esme found it too difficult to maintain contact for any longer. With a shy smile she let her eyes instead settle somewhere in the center of his chest, somehow feeling strangely breathless.
"Think nothing of it...Carlisle."