Chapter Ten: Cognitive Dissonance
Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1927
Esme
Cambridge City Hall was a large, three-level tan and brown building that sat on a slight hill, with lovely green grass spaces either side of the steps that led to the entrance at the bottom of a giant clock tower, which reached further into the cloudy sky than any other part of any other building around it. There were few people around as I walked up the grey steps toward the entrance, where the American flag flew proudly in the wind.
The trees by the sidewalk caught my eye as a lone orange leaf blew around and around before it fell to the floor, reminding me that September had brought the end of summer, and the beginning of autumn.
May had brought a little more peace to our world, and June had sustained it. July had tried to bring more peace to the rest of the world, as the German Reichstag succumbed to pressure from the Allied forces and passed a law prohibiting the import and export of war materials, but the National Socialist Workers Party steadily grew and began to propose a threat to that peace. I only knew this because Carlisle watched on to the international news with great interest, while I preferred the domestic papers. August saw workers start chipping into a mountain in South Dakota where four previous presidents were set to become a monument, and much to worldwide dismay, September brought the death of two accused murders by electric chair here in Massachusetts. It wasn't the day to day happenings of the human world that had me turning the pages of the news however, as horrid as it may seem, I looked to the news to see if I could find any trace of Edward. It was morbid and alarming that I looked for stray reports on mysterious killings in the country, and I knew I'd never find any because I knew he'd be careful, but I wanted to know that he was safe. He could have met a nomadic newborn in the middle of a frenzy and been ripped to pieces, he could have strayed too far south and got mixed up in the fighting and been burned alive, he could have… oh, I couldn't think of things like that. I just had to believe that he'd keep his wits about him, and stay safe.
So, slowly, as the months went passed and brought new ones, the summer sun made my smile a little stronger, and made it stay for a little longer. It felt natural to progress from the dreary blacks I'd taken to wearing, to darker shades of blues and purples, I wasn't yet to oranges or yellows, but the point of the matter was that I was getting there. With the new season I decided to make new decisions. I took up night classes over summer, changed my major to architecture, and turned my interest back to making our house of horrors, a home of healing. Which was exactly the reason I found myself at City Hall one September morning.
Through the large double doors, I walked into the foyer, and found a line to stand in. The lack of open windows made the air smell strongly of delectable human, but I'd hunted just the day before, and the haze of bloodlust remained at bay. The wait in line wasn't long, but as I waited I gazed around at the lovely foyer, admiring the architecture, and feeling the tingling excitement when I realised that maybe I could design a beautiful building like that some day.
"Next, please!" The man behind the counter called out. I turned around abruptly, smiled and walked forward.
The man who waited for me with a pleasant, yet expectant smile upon his face looked to be rapidly approaching his seventies. His hair was cropped short, he was cleanly shaven, and he had the posture of a person who had spent a great deal of his life in service.
"How may I help you today?" He wondered as I reached the desk.
"I was wondering if I could find the floor plans for a house here in Cambridge. Do you keep them?" I asked, but he was nodding before I finished.
"Down the left hall, the first door to the right, there's the permit archive room. The manager will tell you if the particular floor plans you're looking for are held. Will there be anything else?" He spoke quickly without much of a break between sentences.
I merely smiled and shook my head, then thanked him and wandered down the hall. Upon the first door to the right, down the left hall, were golden letters upon a frosted glass panel, reading Permit Archives. I knocked gently upon the wood beneath the glass - although I had mastered my vampiric strength rather well, there were some things I was still dubious about doing, like knocking on glass, all too easily could it shatter and people would wonder how a simple knock from a person like me could send an entire glass pane shattering to the floor in tiny pieces, and Carlisle and I would have to leave, but we couldn't leave, what if Edward wanted to find us again? What if he changed his mind?
"Come in!" Came a man's voice from the other side of the door, and so I gently turned the brass knob and pushed the door open. The room inside smelled of old paper, filled from the floor to the ceiling with large storage units and piles upon piles of dust. To a human, I'd assume the room looked rather clean and well-kempt, but my vampire eyes caught every single mote upon every single surface, in every single corner and riddled throughout the air. I wanted to wave it out of my face but no doubt that would look strange to a human.
Scuffling feet approached from behind one of the large storage cabinets, and soon an old man who looked just as dusty as the rest of the room appeared from its depths. He was covered in wrinkles, the telltale sign of age, and filled with eagerness from his bright curious eyes, and his expectant smile, all the way to his hands poised in front of him, ready to help.
"Hello there, dear," he grinned, shuffling forward, making a loud sweeping noise on the scratched wood floor with his shoes, "What can I do for you on this fine, fine day?"
I smiled, "I was looking for some plans, actually, for a house just on the outskirts of town. I was wondering if you would have them?"
His grin spread as he nodded, "We should, yes. How old would you say the house is?"
I gave a little shrug, trying to estimate, "Forty years, perhaps, maybe more? It's in a bad way, it's hard to tell."
He cocked his head to the side and shuffled over to a cabinet on the other side of the room, "I think I may know of the house you're talking about. On the outskirts of town, you say? Does it, by any chance, have two extensions tacked on to its sides?"
He flicked a glance at me over his shoulder so I nodded, "It does."
He beamed, "Ah ha! I know just the one. We had two of the previous owners coming in here asking for the same plans so they could build the extensions. The first lot didn't seem like they knew what they were doing a great deal, but the other two had a better idea." He opened a draw which squealed in protest, and told me "Come over here, dear, I'll find them."
The room was messy, in no way well organised, but I had a feeling that it was organised to him. I carefully navigated my way around piles upon piles of paper, disturbing the dust motes, and sending them into even more disarray in the air.
"Here!" The man announced as he pulled out a file, "I've found them," he spun around and grinned.
I managed to make it passed all the mess, and follow him to a table nearby, where he pushed off all of the paper that had previously occupied the space.
"These are the originals," he murmured, spreading out a large plan for a house I knew well, then next to it he spread out another, "The plans for the first extension, and the plans for the second extension." He finally placed the third to the left of the house before looking up to grin at me, "Not building another one are you?"
I laughed and shook my head, "Not at all. The first is crumbling to pieces, so I'll have to fix it, and the second is so different to the rest of the house. I'm planning to take down a few walls here and there, but nothing too drastic, and no new construction."
He eyed me with great curiosity, as his bushy little eyebrows pulled together. This man must have been a good foot shorter than me in my heels, and he had to look up to see my face, "And uh," he cleared his throat in uncertainty, "You would be planning this yourself, ma'am?"
Amusement tickled the corners of my mouth into turning up at the sides, "Indeed. I study architecture at MIT."
His knitted eyebrows shot upwards as his eyes opened wide in surprise, for a moment he stared at me with that same expression then cleared his throat and composed himself, "But a fine young woman like yourself should have a husband."
"I do," I stated simply in reply, "He's a doctor and the general hospital, and a teacher at Harvard."
"Oh," he murmured quietly to himself, his eyes falling back down to the plans, "In that case, it sounds like a swell idea to start learning your trade on your own house, ma'am…" He looked up to me with curiosity once again, "This is your house, is it not?"
"It is," I nodded with a smile, "How much would it cost for a copy of these plans?" I wondered.
He laughed to himself briefly, "We happen to have quite a few copies of these particular plans, dear." He folded the plans back up along their creases, and then moved to hand them to me, "So no cost, have these."
"Are you quite sure?" I wondered, gingerly taking the thin paper from the kind old man.
He nodded, "In my sixty years here, my dear, never have I seen a house that has been tampered with so much. It will do the poor thing good to be fixed."
"Then, thank you," I smiled, tucking the paper securely in my bag, "I best be off, good-day."
"Good-day," he smiled and waved me out, while I navigated the mess once more.
I closed the door behind me, glad to be out of the dusty room, and headed back down the hall. The fresh air caressed my face with beautiful briskness when I made my way back outside, and I could help the tiny smile that spread across my lips, thinking of how well my day was going.
I walked down the streets back toward school, where I had class in ten or so minutes. It was professor Turner's building design class, one that I was rather enjoying. I was glad to be out of Martins' art torture, but my change of major had yet to deter Mrs. Parker from finding me during my breaks and begging me to attended one of her do's.
I was so close to accepting just so she would stop asking, but I knew Carlisle would not be in the mood for a party, even thought he'd attend if I asked him to.
I sighed at that thought, while walking down a busy street only two blocks from the hospital, Carlisle was still painfully distant, not physically, but emotionally. I struggled to crack into that beautiful brain of his. I was nothing if not trying though, and continue trying is what I would do.
When I made it back to school, where I had parked the car, I headed straight to my final class of the day. I'd had two lectures earlier in the morning, but this workshop was the only thing that occupied my afternoon.
Professor Turner, in his usual tweed suit, discussed his topic with passion and wit all the while his red moustached twitched as he spoke, occasionally making me smile. At the end of the class I packed up my things slowly, and waited for all of the students to leave the room. I walked from my spot up the back to his desk in the front, where he was bent over looking for something.
It had always been him seeking me out, but for the first time, I decided that I must stay behind, for I had a favour to ask of him.
"Excuse me, Professor Turner?" I murmured shyly.
He looked up, and his eyes widened when he saw me standing there waiting for him. "Mrs. Cullen," he seemed surprised, and in fact, delighted, "What can I help you with?"
"Well, I was wondering if you had any spare time today, or tomorrow perhaps, to give me a little help with reading some plans I picked up for my house? It's a little worse for wear and I'm slowly repairing it, but I want to make some structural changes I'm not entirely sure of."
For a moment his face was completely blank, but suddenly a brilliant smile blossomed upon it, "Yes! Of course. I would be very happy to help, as it is, I don't have another class for a few hours, if you'd like to discuss it now? My office isn't too far away."
I nodded with a smile, "Thank you, sir. That would be great."
We headed off to his office, mostly in silence, but he did inquire as to how I was finding his course. I told him the truth; I loved it.
When we reached his office, he ushered me inside, and cleared off his desk so I could spread the plans upon them.
"Ooh," he murmured, when he saw the house, "I was expecting blueprints, oh and how peculiar," he breathed as he examined the extentions.
We spent the next few hours pouring over the footprint of the house, the extensions, the exterior, the roofing, everything. He had wonderful insights and recommendations as to what I should do, by the time we packed up, I was feeling inspired enough to start my plan as soon as I got home.
I needed to fix the kitchen and dining room as soon as possible, whomever built it, didn't build it very well. As I folded the plans and put them in my bag once more, I thanked the redheaded Professor in his tweed suit, and he invited me to ask any other questions whenever I so desired.
Just before I opened the door, Professor Turner called my name, "Mrs Cullen?" His voice was soft, uncertain.
I turned around to face him, "Yes?" I wondered.
His eyes flicked to his shoes, and he shuffled his feet a little before looking back up to me, "I know I'm, uh..." he cleared his throat nervously, and played with his hands. His next words came out in a jumble, "Out of line, but, it's good to see you happy again." He nodded to himself, and slowed down, "Your brother would have wanted that."
I gave him a slight smile, and turned the doorknob, "Thank you, Professor."
"Yes, well, you're welcome." He turned back to the desk in front of him and murmured, "Goodbye, now."
"Goodbye," I replied, half out the door.
My heart was a little heavy as I walked across the grass to where I parked the motorcar, and as I hopped inside and turned it on, my mind was with Edward, wherever he may be. I hoped he was happy, whatever he was doing.
When I pulled off the road and onto our driveway some time later, I was still away with the fairies thinking about Edward. It wasn't until I swerved through all of the trees and caught sight of the ghastly house of horrors, with it's crumbling kitchen/dining room addition, that I could think of something else aside from my son. I really needed to start work on that roof; it looked as though it was about to fall to pieces. I could see a thousand and one patches of rust on the intermittent pieces of tin someone had placed where the tiles had fallen off, and vines were filling the spouting. I parked the motorcar in the garage, and grabbed my bag before heading inside. The peaceful autumn day turned our front garden into a beautiful place. The orange and yellow leaves floated quietly to the ground landing with slight thuds only perceptible to the best of ears, and the river nearby rushed and crashed its way to the sea. I loved living by water; the sound was one of the most calming noises I'd ever heard. My vegetable garden lay near the river edge, in full bloom with the final foods of the season flourishing, almost ready to be picked. With Carlisle distant all the time, and Edward gone, I needed something that needed me to care for it, so vegetables seemed like the best idea. It also meant fewer trips to the grocery store where Edward's memory still lingered around the counters, and it meant that the charities we donated to got the freshest produce available. It made me feel useful and in a way, it made me feel more human. I'd come to find, in the many hours sitting alone by the window, in front of my easel with a paintbrush, and a canvas, thinking silently to myself, that it was easier to resist the temptation of humans when you felt more human yourself. No wonder Carlisle had always acted so mortal.
Once I got inside the sound of the rushing water nearby was muted, and the silence of an empty building took over. I stopped into the study to open the windows, and the fresh air barrelled in bringing with it the sound of the gushing water that I so dearly enjoyed. I sighed, and with a small peaceful smile, I continued around the house, opening windows. I was yet to muster up the courage to enter Edward's piano room, or to open any windows in his bedroom, so I left those two doors firmly closed.
On the third floor in the room beside Carlisle's and mine, where we stored all of our clothes, I began to dream of improvements I could make to the room. If I put a dividing wall, and separated the room into two, I could run pluming up and morph one half into an ensuite, and the other half into a proper closet. That was a plan I'd have to draw and discuss with Professor Turner. I valued his opinion greatly. I changed into some older clothes, ones I didn't mind getting dirty if it came to that, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I began to tie up my hair.
The golden eyes of the woman in the mirror were not nearly as bright as they once had been, but they sparkled in the light that poured through the windows behind her. She smiled slightly, while tucking her caramel hair into a messy bun to keep it out of the way. Having hunted just yesterday, there were no rings around her eyes, and so her flawless skin was perfectly white. It was obvious that she was different, odd that no blush covered her cheeks, and yet it was hard to pull out these strange oddities upon first glance because all one ever noticed was the unnatural beauty she possessed.
I remembered distinctly, the very first time I ever saw my vampiric reflection, it was in the glass of my Ashland bedroom, and the only thing I noticed were my scarlet eyes. Those scarlet eyes that Edward would most likely be sporting, those scarlet eyes I would most likely never see Carlisle with.
I remembered Carlisle telling me about the time he first saw the red eyes after his transformation and how he felt disgusted, but it occurred to me as I stared at my golden orbs, that he'd never told me how he felt when he first saw the changes that drinking animal blood made. In fact, it was all very well to say that he felt disgusted at the red, but rarely ever are emotions so straightforward and simple, especially as a newborn. Newborn emotions are a plethora of feelings, they're layers upon layers of the most confusing things. When had Carlisle ever detailed that to me? When had Carlisle ever detailed to me how he felt? There had been times when he was sad, it felt as though he was on the brink of sobs, but he'd never let down that strong exterior like I had. Nor had he ever outright told me how something made him feel, sure, he told me he loved me, and that I made him happy, but that was about it. Countless times I had deciphered his emotions through little hints from Edward, and now that Edward was gone we were… The woman in the mirror looked dumbfounded, her lips were slightly ajar as her chest rose and fell quickly while she breathed. Her eyes were wild and somewhat heartbroken, and she began to shake her head. …We were still falling apart.
In the beginning, I thought the reason we weren't working after Edward left was partly my fault, partly his, then I thought it was just all mine, and I had to become better at dealing with my pain so he and I could get better again. Yet, I had been right the first time. It wasn't just me. It was him too.
Some kind of anger in my stomach boiled the venom there, and filled me with a quiet determination. I felt an all-consuming need to fix things, and I didn't mean fix the house like I had planned to that day, I meant fix my life. Starting with me. Before I could face Carlisle, I had to face a fear of my own. I had to break down every door that was separating me from him.
The woman in the mirror had blazing eyes, before she disappeared out of sight, as I marched to the door. I let it swing behind me as I barrelled down the stairs, taking them three at a time. When I reached the bottom floor, I walked straight down the hall, into the living room and across its length to the white double doors that would open to Edward's piano.
With a deep breath, I placed a hand on each of the handles, and squeezed my eyes shut tightly before gently throwing the doors open. When my eyelids lifted up, the brightness of the room stunned me for a moment, as the greying light outside flooded through the windows and shined upon the perfectly polished piano scantly scattered with dust. There was not a single remnant of Edward's scent in the room, for little had he played since we arrived in Massachusetts, yet there was something so profoundly personal about the piano, that the simple structure pierced through my heart like a powerful sword.
I took a brave breath, however and made my way in, gingerly reaching out for the shiny black surface as soon as I came close enough. Not quite sure exactly what I was going to do having broken down that final barrier which had been haunting me for months, I walked around the bench and slowly sat down. I ran my hands along the lid, cherishing the feeling of the smooth wood beneath my fingers, before, on a complete whim, I opened it. To my great surprise, sitting atop the red strip of fabric there to protect the keys, was a single monochrome photograph.
I remembered the day it was taken as if it had happened just yesterday. It was taken on the northern shores of Lake Superior, after the boys had managed to fix the car during a journey of ours. As I cautiously picked it up, the memory stole my mind and with it took the breath from my lungs.
We filed back into the car and continued along the road. Night fell a short time later, and the third advantage to our day-long stop became apparent, for as we rounded a corner from a stretch of road that was surrounded by particularly dense bush, the most beautiful sight of Lake Superior was ahead, and above it the sky was green.
A loud gasp escaped my lips as I leaned forward in my seat. Edward let out an excited laugh, and I could just imagine Carlisle's grin.
"Well, aren't we lucky?" He let out a chuckle.
"They're extraordinary," I murmured, as I tried to memorise the green lines, which danced with some red ones too.
"Can we pull over?" Edward wondered.
Carlisle nodded, and guided the car to the edge of the road once more. In my haste to get outside, I nearly pushed Edward out of the car.
He laughed, "Patience is a virtue, Esme!"
"Nonsense," I shook my head, "I'm all ready married, I need not bother with all of that."
Carlisle's booming laughter echoed throughout the whole night, and I was almost irrationally afraid that he would scare away the startling lights in the sky. Edward's laughter joined in, as he gazed at me with utter fondness, and squeezed my hand in his. My spirits soared with the Northern Lights above, as I looked between the smiles of the two men I loved.
"Let's get closer to the water!" Edward exclaimed, as he pulled my hand.
I nodded, and ran forward, as Carlisle fished in the car for something. We were nearly at the bushes by the shores of the lake when Carlisle called out our names.
"Esme! Edward!" He was still by the car as Edward tugged at my hand some more. The young boy laughed as we turned our heads only to be met by the flash of the camera and my husband's jubilant laugh.
That single moment of complete and utter happiness captured in the photograph with Edward's and my beaming smiles wrecked my heart like no other thing had. Why did he have to leave these reminders everywhere? I was finding messages every single place I looked, except I wasn't looking, nor asking for them. What if I didn't want to be reminded of all of those times because I remembered them all too well without these little tokens to torture me? Did Edward think about that? Why would he put something like that some place like this? Surely he would have realised how much of a challenge it would be for me to open those door and sit at his piano. Why put such a painful thing like such a beautiful memory there for me to find once I'd mustered up the bravery to look? Was it his idea of a trophy, like the book he sent after Charles' death?
Red, hot, all consuming anger coursed through me, as the final straw slipped from my grasp. Acting as if I was okay, and trying to be that way, was just too much, especially when Carlisle didn't even bother. He pretended that he possessed a strength not possible for someone with such a soft heart has his to be capable of. He couldn't be as unfeeling as he was pretending to be, because that wasn't the man that I married. The man I married was soft and kind, and compassionate. He was neither distant nor cold. So why was he acting as if nothing was wrong when I knew very well that everything was?
I couldn't bear to look at the smiles on our faces in the picture, so with a bought of anger I turned it over and placed it down on the keys, which protested with a horrible noise, but much to my surprise there was something written upon the back of that photograph. Yes, written there in the perfect cursive that I knew and loved so well, were two simple words: Be happy.
In such a fashion only comparable to that first year of my vampire life, my mood switched suddenly, and the anger directed at my son was blown from my body by the soft breeze that flowed into the room – he wasn't trying to make me upset, he was trying to make me better.
My head fell into my hands as sobs began to rattle my chest. I had truly reached wits end. I couldn't tell if my anger was even justified. Did I have any right to be so unforgivably angry with the son and the man I loved? The logical and rational part of my mind was telling me that Carlisle would reveal to me how he felt when he felt the need to do so. It was in no way my role or position to pester him when he did not want to be pestered. Yet, a corner of my heart was flaming with fury. That little corner of my heart belonged to the little corner of my mind that told me to do reckless things… like climb trees, and dream wild dreams, and run from scary things, and jump from great heights, and speak words of truth even when I was scared the truth wouldn't work.
It occurred to me, sitting there with my head in my hands on Edward's abandoned piano bench that ten years ago I never would have even noticed that little corner of my heart and mind, and if I had, it would have been dismissed immediately. But the person I was ten years ago was not the person who was sitting on that bench in the fading light of day. The person I had been ten years before, cowered in corners, and the person I had grown to be, rose from darkness. The reason I had made it to where I was, was solely because I had listened to that utterly mad little voice in the back of my mind, and I had taken great risks, and I had grown to be brave. So was my fury justified?
I had to look at it differently; I had to look at it as if I were him. If I were Carlisle Cullen, someone quiet, and courageous, someone constant, and kind, someone filled to the brim with beautiful faith, someone caring and compassionate, what would be my main priority after losing my son? The answer was blaringly and blindingly obvious. It would be my wife.
When I realised that, it felt like my lungs had suddenly shrunk in my chest, and jammed into a small compartment never again allowed to expand. I choked on the air I didn't need, sobbing and silently screaming because I had neglected to fully see the extent of his pain, all the while trying to convince myself the sole reason for the anger I felt toward him was caused only by his lack of emotion when truly, a small part of me was so mad at him for playing a part in why Edward left. If Carlisle hadn't fought with Edward, Edward might still be with us. My son might be sitting where I sat, my husband might still hold me and look at me like nothing in the entire world mattered but the happiness we shared, like no weight was heavy enough to bring us down. I had thought we were at risk of drowning in figurative ocean, but really, in truth, we were buried underneath the bottom of the sea. There were weights heavy enough to bring us down, and yet in the complete despair that raged through my body, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of triumph. I loved him. I loved him so much. I was in pain, and I was mad at him, but that couldn't change the fact that I loved him. I was angry that he fought with Edward, and he hid how he felt from me. I was angry with myself because I had never noticed how he rarely ever told me how things made him feel, and I was angry at… I was just angry. It had gone on for far too long, but no longer. No longer would it continue. I could be brave, I could tell him everything. After all, it was me who first admitted my feelings, he'd doubted his too much. I should have seen that earlier, I should have taken that as a sign, he'd spent so long alone without anyone caring about him, of course it would be hard to open up all of a sudden.
I pulled my head out of my hands, noticing that the sun had dropped beneath the tips of the trees turning the landscape dark, and took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I still shuddered and shook a little, but I sobbed no more. I had a resolve… but my resolve had a few conditions. The logical voice of reason in my mind itched away, as I wondered if perhaps I was making a bigger deal of things than I needed to. I resolved to wait until he arrived home, to see how things were, to let my mind remain unmade, and to let him make it for me.
I slowly got up off the bench and wandered back into the living room, not bothering to close the piano doors, but making sure I took Edward's note with me. I caught a glimpse of the clock telling me that it wouldn't be long until Carlisle was home, assuming he hadn't been held up. So, I went upstairs and changed out of my work clothes, there was no way I was getting the roof of the kitchen fixed in my emotionally shaky state.
I fretted for a short while, worrying about how the evening would come to pass, but I managed to calm myself down by the time I heard his tires on the driveway. I planned to be gentle, to listen carefully, and to be compassionate as he would be.
He zoomed down the driveway at his usual speed, and parked in the garage. He shut his door quietly and sprinted across the grass, up the steps and in through the door, and I listened carefully from the third floor, keeping my calm smile upon my lips. But when he entered the house, he walked straight into the study without calling his usual greeting. The smile upon my lips fell off, as my brow furrowed; that was unusual.
Shrugging it off, I called out "Hello," from the second floor, but there came no reply.
Slightly stunned, I sat for a moment trying to figure out if I was imagining his lack of reply or if it was truly happening. When I realised that it was no trick of my own mind, the fever in the furious fraction of my heart spread it's heat, leaking like liquid through my venom filed veins, out from my heart to my feet and my hands and my head. I thought things were bad before, but this was taking it to a whole new level. He didn't even say 'Hello.'
So the anger returned to my system and effectively ended my resolve to leave him alone and be peaceful and be quiet, I needed this to end. As I stood from my spot and marched down the stairs I felt more awake than I had in months. I was wrong to think that I had no place probing into his head; this lack of life had gone on long enough. I was well aware, as I marched down the stairs, that my spirited feelings weren't the best things to approach him with, especially not when he was still grieving, but we'd avoided each others feelings for a such a long time, it maybe just might serve as a wake up. When I reached the ground floor, I missed not a beat as I marched to the door of the study. It was closed but I opened it without a knock. He was sitting at his desk writing something, but he didn't look up as I entered. The furious fire fervently boiled hotter and hotter and hotter.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, focusing all control on my voice box, as I let out a nice and calm "Hello."
He took a deep breath but did not look up, he only paused his writing briefly to reply with a slightly exasperated "Hello."
My teeth ground together in annoyance at his tone, and I walked forward into the room. But as I took my first step I hesitated, apprehension began to twist my stomach, and my legs ached to run away. But never before had my husband given me any reason to fear him, so I managed to take the first step and then I soldiered on.
I came to a stop directly in front of his desk. He hadn't bothered to switch on the light, nor did he bother to look up when I came to a stop. "How was your day?" I wondered as pleasantly as possible.
He didn't pause this time, but his teeth clenched together again, then he muttered, "Morbid."
That halted me for a moment, as a string of very unladylike words ran through my heads while I tried to think of reasons I shouldn't let my anger go. Now was really not the right time to have the discussion I wanted to have. He had a bad day. I should be comforting him, not trying to sort things out…. But then again, sorting things out would make it better in the long run.
Softly I wondered, "Would you like to talk about it?'
His reply was hard a firm and most unlike him, "Not particularly."
It relit the furnace of fury simmering in my heart, and I decided all though there was probably no worse time to have the talk I wanted to have, I was going to initiate it, "We'll I'd like to talk about it." I told him firmly. Still, half of me wanted to run away and cower in the corner, while the other half was fixated on rising from the darkness.
My probing seemed to have had a slight effect though, for he did, that time, pause, "It doesn't concern you." He didn't look up at me though, and so I took that as a sign he was desperately crying out for help on the inside. Yet, I was more offended at his tone.
"Well now," I spoke without thinking, "That's just rude."
That took him by surprise. He looked up at me with wide, dark, and incredulous eyes, "Rude?"
"Yes." I replied firmly, trying my best not to whimper the word. I'd gone too far to change my mind now, so I continued on, faking confidence by letting a little frustration seep into my voice, "In case you haven't noticed, I'm your wife, and wether you intend them to or not, your emotions do concern me. So out with it."
There was a beat of silence. He stared at me in shock with anger in his eyes. My breath caught in my throat, and I recoiled slightly. There was something on the edge of my memory telling me I knew this moment. This lull when I'd gone to far, and words were about to turn into furniture hurtling across the room toward me. Every fibre in my body told me run. Every little fibre… aside from one. The angry eyes that bore into mine from across the wooden desk were not the angry eyes that I feared; they were the angry eyes I loved. And even though ninety-nine percent of me braced for the impact, that little once percent was the reason I didn't run, and the reason I wasn't surprised when the man across the desk from me reacted to my words with a simple, incredulous, "Excuse me?"
The next brief pause we experienced was caused by me, as I heard a voice in my head saying See? Safe. Something settled inside of me, I realised I didn't need to be brave with him, I needed to be true. I needed to be raw and broken and hurting so much I couldn't breathe, so that we could be raw and broken together. With that realisation, bravery did not come, but confidence and honesty did, "For the first time in your life Carlisle, tell somebody how you feel." I very nearly begged, no anger in my veins.
His brown furrowed, and I wondered if he could feel the change in atmosphere like I did, I wondered if he could sense the absence of my fear, "What exactly bought this on?" His pain and annoyance had him reverting back to his native accent, and yet he hadn't gone back to his native tongue, which was a good sign.
"Well if you must know," I replied strongly with candour, "I found something Edward left behind and it upset me."
Another brief pause consumed us as I watched him carefully, slowly the rigidity in his posture relaxed into defeat, the anger in his eyes switched to concern and compassion, the frown on his face melted into sympathy, and he breathed with heartfelt sorrow, "Esme, I'm sorry."
Those emotions may have been the emotions I wanted, but not for the reason I wanted. I shook my head profusely, "Don't do that!" I told him.
His brown furrowed, "Do what?"
"Act as if it's only me that's hurting!" Suddenly I was yelling, I took a deep breath to calm myself down, as he sunk back into his usual passive stance.
"Well, I'm not the one who found this… thing," he reasoned carefully waving his hand about in the year.
"No," I agreed, "But you did have a morbid day, so it's not just me in a bad mood."
With scant sorrow still in his eyes, his jaw clenched, and after a moment, he muttered, "Then, if you must know, a man lost both his son and wife in an accident today, I can't help but draw parallels to my own life."
There it was. The admission I'd been waiting for. "So you are hurting?" I exclaimed with relief.
The corners of his eyebrows pulled down, and his mouth turned into a frown, "Of course I'm hurting!" He exclaimed, louder than I expected, but it didn't startle me, it only fuelled the reason and passion in my bones.
"Well you're doing an awful job of showing it!" I told him.
"Losing a son is a first for me, Esme. I am not sure how to deal with it." He curled his hand into a fist, crushing whatever writing implement he'd been grasping, as he leaned back in his chair, looking up at me with a mixture of anger and pain written all over his face.
"Well, it's not a first for me, Carlisle." I spoke while shaking my head, "And I'll tell you, it doesn't get any easier."
His jaw clenched once again, but he didn't let go of the crushed fragments in his fist. He looked away and with a shake of his head he muttered, "You seem to have found a way of coping that I am yet to discover."
"Yes." I agreed without emotion, before I breathed, "I told you how I felt." His eyes came back to mine, boring into them with sad curiosity, "But we both know you can't seem to tell me how you feel. Do you not trust me?" I wondered quietly, "Do you think I won't understand?"
His eyebrows pulled down at the sides once more, and he shook his head. His jaw clenched and unclenched a few times, as my hopes grew thinking he might be ready to tell me. My hopes however, fell quite quickly, when he let the crumbled remnants of a lead pencil fall onto his desk and spoke with passion, his eyes desperately imploring me to understand, "I do not want to hurt you!"
My high hopes falling to the ground and shattering in a million pieces caused me to yell, "You have!"
"Do we really need to do this now?" He replied back with as much fervour.
"Yes!" I insisted immediately, not shying from his loud voice in the slightest, "I understand you've had a hard day, and my timing might not be my most redeeming quality, but yes, we do have to do this now. Because I can't go on like this, we can't go on like this." I tried to speak without resorting to sobs, but my passion had me talking with my hands, waving them about in front of me nonsensically, "Do you know what the worst part about all of it is?" I wondered, "When you arrive home, I miss you even more, because you're just a shell of the man that I love. Every day you become more and more distant. Every day I lose you a little more. That's not how it's supposed to be, we're not supposed to do this alone, we're married so we can do this together. I understand that you've never had anyone in your life who has wanted to hear all the things that make you unhappy, that make you realize there's darkness in the corner of your mind, that pain is something, after all these years, which you can still feel, but the fact of the matter is that you do now. You have me. I didn't marry you solely to enjoy the happy moments with you, to frolic in brightly lit fields of happy wild flowers swaying in gentle breezes. I married you to share all the moments with you… the happy, the sad, the good, the bad – because all of those moments happen. That's life. It's not all sunshine and daisies, sometimes its moonless nights and torturous thoughts. I made a vow that I would stay with you through it all. I married you so that in your darkest moments when you needed someone most of all, that someone would be me.
"You doubt yourself profusely, and I know that, because in the beginning it was me who told you that I loved you. And that's okay, it's okay, but you have to have more faith in yourself. You have to believe that you are enough, Carlisle. I'm not here just because I think you have made the very best of an awful situation, and I want to live as humanely as vampirically possible, I'm here because I love you. If you doubt that, you'll break my heart.
"You are not alone, Carlisle." I continued, "And you will never, ever be alone again. So just tell me Carlisle, tell me what's going on, tell me however you want. Whisper it, yell it, scream it, I don't care. I'm not afraid of you." My eyes bore into his, and for a split second I saw him with a clarity I hadn't seen in what seemed like ions. It was like, up until that moment there's been a window of sorts separating us, a dirty, foggy, unclear kind of window, and I was trying to clean it, or to smash it down to get to him, but his next words almost convinced me that he was trying to make it foggier.
For, after a brief moment, he sighed, ran his hand through his hair, swallowed hard and murmured, "It's nothing."
All though those words angered me, the simple gesture of his hands in his hair, the same gesture Edward shared, was so distinctly him that I knew I was almost through that shell of his, and the anger I'd seen just moments before that I didn't associate with him had dissipated. That layer of his defence was down, and he was teetering on the precipice of opening up. I just needed to push him a little bit further, and then we could jump off the edge together.
"It's nothing?" I replied with a quiet incredulous voice that grew louder with every word, "Truly? That's all you have to say to me? Nothing? I'm supposed to be the one you tell these things. I'm supposed to be the one you trust enough to confide in, and frankly, I'm wounded that you think me so slight, and so weak, that I am unable to handle whatever it is that has brought your sprits so low that I do not even recognise you! Yet, I put myself out there, I do a thousand things I never thought I would ever do, I ignore every warning bell ringing in the back of my mind, telling me to shut up and sit down, and I ask you what's wrong. I put my heart on the line, I pry where I perhaps should not have pried, and I find a bravery I never thought I beheld, only for you to stare me in the eye and tell me 'nothing!' Do you even know how much it took for me to stand there and say what I said? I think not!"
The anger in my system had elevated with my words; I'd worked myself up. I didn't want to hurt him, I wanted to help him, this new mood was not constructive. Perhaps the best thing was to retreat, to give myself space to cool down.
I swallowed hard, and spoke softly but honestly, "I'm hurt; I'll not deny that. I'd like to do a million unladylike things right now, but I'll not. I need to go upstairs for a while and be by myself," his eyes shone with sadness and… worry? What would he be worried about? Could he think that my anger changed the way I felt about him? Was that even possible? I bit my lip, deciding to continue with the honesty, "But… I love you with such a strength that could turn worlds around and nothing can change that."
He looked down at his desk and then back up at me, his eyes were even more saturated with sadness. There was a moment then, in which I could almost hear glass shattering, smashing to the floor, and the foggy window that separated us was no more.
"I love you too," he breathed, "More than anything."
My heart throbbed with such intensity that rendered me immobile. I sighed, and my anger completely dissipated, I was still frustrated and hurt, but I was no longer livid like I had worked myself up to be.
I shook my head, "You know I'm not saying that so it fixes everything, because it doesn't." I began to walk around his desk and he turned toward me opening his arms slightly, I walked straight to him and buried my face in his shoulder.
He sighed and some of the pain subsided. We'd been intimate since Edward had left, but it hadn't felt the same as before… but this simple embrace, I melted into him, and he melted into me, and for the first time in months and months, I didn't feel alone.
"I'm only saying it because I don't want you to think my irritation changes that," I breathed.
"I just…." He whispered brokenly, "I tried not to hurt you and by doing so, I hurt you."
I pulled back to look him in the eye, where nothing but sorrow swam. "Would you say that loving me has been more difficult for you than anything you've ever done?"
He paused, then nodded, "But so much better too."
I smiled, and gingerly touched his cheek, "It's because being married is a two player game. Each of us has a need to be in this as much as the other. When you're upset, you need to let me help you, not block me away protecting me from it, because seeing you hurting hurts me, because I love you."
He nodded, but his eyes were still downcast. Not feeling any bitter emotions any longer, I placed my other hand on his cheek, and watched him relax a little, "What can I do to make this better?" I wondered.
He sighed, and pulled me even closer to him, but then just shrugged.
My dead heart throbbed, "Carlisle." I whispered, trying desperately to get him to look at me by brushing his hair out of his face, but he kept his expression hidden, by pressing his face against my shoulder. All was quiet as I felt his lips tremble against my skin.
I exhaled every inch of stress out of my body, ready to be his comfort. How many times had he held me close when I needed it most? Too many to count, and that's how many times I would do it back for him. "That man in the hospital today may have lost his son and his wife," I breathed, "But you haven't lost me. You never will."
His body shook once, and I caressed his head, placing a kiss on his blonde hair. I didn't say anything aside from, "I love you," because nothing else needed to be said.
I simply sat upon his lap in the dim light of the study, holding him close as he did something I'd never before witness him do…
He cried.
A.N. I had to go back through most of Faith & Love to make sure I'd never written Carlisle's actually sobbing, on the edge of it yes, but not actually sobbing, and I don't think I did, but if I did, we'll just forget about that and let this be the first time he's cried in front of Esme :P
Well, that was a bit of an emotional roller coaster, wasn't it? I hope you all enjoyed it.
Thank you for all your lovely reviews for the last chapter, if I haven't replied to your review yet, I shall do that very soon!
I most likely won't update for a while now (a month/a few weeks maybe?), I'm falling head first into a plethora of exams, so although I'm trying to find spare time to have a break and do what I enjoy (writing!) I'll have to use my spare time to eat and sleep for the coming weeks :P But I will be back! I promise! I'm too excited about chapter 12! But, chapter 11 is next, and we're catching up with Edward again! Who knows, because it'll be a shorter chapter I might surprise myself and end up with spare time to write! No promises though! :)
Hope you're all well, much love x