AN: Thanks as ever to my awesome beta, Coleen561, who actually assigned me homework this chapter so I would get the timeline right. Any time I try to cheat or be vague, she calls me out; it's great!
CPOV
Our run back from Minnesota was quiet. We arrived at the house shortly before dawn; the water we'd been drenched with had long since frozen and sublimated off us. Edward expelled the breath he'd been holding as we approached the city, and told me to go inside.
"You bathe first, Carlisle. I'll bring some more wood in and make a fire."
I thought nothing of it. I was grateful to come downstairs later, clean and dry, to find our shoes propped up on the hearth, drying. He'd scooted my chair close to the roaring fire, and it was waiting for me, heated and welcoming with my book sitting on the cushion. I thanked him warmly and saw him nod his head as he climbed the stairs for his own bath. I settled into reading my book, thinking he was getting over his umbrage. I should have known better. He came down a half hour later, washed and in clean clothes and bare feet. I'd thought he was going to sit in the other chair… join me as he so often did. But instead he approached the fireplace and threw all our clothes from the night before onto the blaze. He stood and watched the wool smoke and the flame change color as the mineral dyes in the fabrics were consumed. He stared into the flames until the clothing had withered to tan ash, and then he turned and walked into the music room. I just stared after him, dread filling the pit of my stomach again.
He spent that day, and the next, sitting at his desk, looking out the window. Everything about his posture... the way his hands were spread and pressed flat against the top of his desk, the hunch in his shoulders, the furrow in his brow… it all forbade approach. I would go to the doorway to check on him, and see only his eyes move in my direction. The rest of his body seemed poised for flight, only relaxing slightly as I backed away. I left him completely alone that first day, even trying to keep my thoughts quiet, since my assurances in the forest had only served to upset him. He came out of the music room four times: thrice to stoke the fire or bring in more wood, once, after dark, to hunt. On the afternoon of the second day, I tried with more determination to approach him.
I drew near the doorway. "Edward..."
"Not yet," was all he said, eyes still gazing at the stream outside.
"But Edward…"
"Not yet!" He turned to me and the pain on his face stopped me in my place. I couldn't force myself on him. He was a private man. I understood this; I was one too. I sighed and retreated to my study, allowing the fire in the parlor to die down. If he wanted to be alone to process his thoughts, I'd respect that, though it didn't seem like what he truly needed. I picked up the Odyssey, knowing he liked it when I read in a language he didn't understand. I wistfully yearned for Athena to visit me, as she had Odysseus, to help me navigate the intricacies of life with my son… well, my Edward. I would heed her wisdom more than Odysseus had. Edward was obviously trying to come to terms with what had happened in the forest, but I wished he'd talk to me about it, understand that I wasn't disappointed, and realize that such minor slips were to be expected. I heard him snort in the other room.
I was still unsure as to the exact nature of the problem, but that it was serious I no longer doubted. I hated this. I hated that we'd shifted so quickly from a comfortable existence filled with music and conversation and laughter to one where I was afraid to say or think anything for fear of alienating him further. What was the problem? Was I not offering enough support and acceptance? Was he in shock? Until he was willing to talk to me, there was little I could do. The silence in the house was deafening and oppressive, and I avoided even making those sounds that I'd once used to fend off Solitude, for fear of annoying him. We were both prisoners of his silence.
The house grew dark and cold again, but it fit my mood; I did nothing to alter the impending gloom, though I wished it away. Finally, I heard him move into the parlor. He re-lit the fire, moved the chairs closer to the hearth, and then left the house. I heard chopping, and then he came in and piled more wood next to the fireplace. He went back into the music room, and I expected that would be the extent of his activity for the next several hours. But instead I heard the piano bench being pulled out, and the soft notes of Bach began drifting through the house. It was the Air in D major… one of the first pieces of music I'd brought home for him after acquiring the piano. It was melancholy, but soothing.
Thank you, Edward.
I moved to my chair in the parlor, staying out of sight near the fireplace, rather than moving to the sofa where I normally watched him play. This music seemed to be his way of offering a gentle truce, and I didn't want to overstep my part. The parlor was neutral territory between our rooms, but the sofa, while technically in the parlor, had such a broad view of the music room it felt intrusive. I wanted to meet him in the middle, if he were willing. He continued to play for a few hours — all pieces that he'd played many times, mostly Bach and Beethoven. Then he closed the piano up and came to stand behind his chair by the fireplace. He made no move to sit. I looked up at him, trying to decipher the emotions behind his expression. Resignation. Hurt.
"Thank you for playing, Edward."
"You're welcome."
I started to speak again, but he left the room abruptly and went upstairs to his room, closing the door quietly, leaving me in the wake of his silence again.
Days slipped by, and all that had been shimmering and bright in my life faded to gray. It was not as black as it had once been, perhaps, but I'd become so accustomed to the glistening colors of Edward's moods — his laughter and his challenges — that the gray fog which had descended on him and enveloped me left me cold and hopeless. I could not find my way to him, and he was offering no light to help me. Every attempt I made to gently pull him from his silence made him bolt away from me and hover on the periphery, just outside my reach. He never left me, but he wouldn't allow me to approach him. He wouldn't allow me to show him any kindness. It felt almost as though he were in mourning again, but this time, I didn't know for whom.
We went out every night to hunt in silence. Days were spent in the house, circling each other at a distance. The fifth day after the hunt he convinced me that I should get the mail, though I expect he just wanted time away from my fretful thoughts.
He wasn't fighting with me; he wasn't argumentative or teasing. He was barely speaking, but he exuded a guarded sadness and disappointment. How much was directed at himself, and how much was directed at me, I couldn't be sure. I suspected some of both. His eyes, when he allowed me to see them, were haunted and bleak.
He was not belligerent, quite the contrary. He was so… so accommodating… despite his obvious unhappiness; it was heart breaking to behold. He wouldn't speak about anything that mattered, but in every other way, he was trying to address my needs, almost before I registered them myself. If I so much as thought that the room was getting darker, or colder, he would stoke the fire. If I despaired of the silence, or a piece of music crossed my mind, he would sit at the piano or play the gramophone. If I felt lost in my solitude, he'd come down with a book and pretend to read in the next room… never too close, but close enough to offer some restrained comfort. It actually took me a while to notice the pattern. I was so wrapped up in what he wouldn't say that I didn't notice what he was doing.
All his quiet attention was soothing in its way, but it felt oddly superficial. As warm as the room felt because of his fire, cold still lingered in my stomach and heart. While the gramophone music banished the silence, I would have rather heard what was going through Edward's mind. He was being kind, but it was too much… and not enough; it was compliance to unasked requests, and refusal of the asked ones. I didn't want him to be this… I didn't want him docile and appeasing and distant. I missed his passion, his challenging remarks, his teasing. All I wanted was for him to be himself: and this he was unwilling to do. As kind as some of his actions were, I could sense he was seething and roiling just below the surface, and not allowing me to see any of it. This was the uneasy calm before the storm. I wanted the tempest already.
As concerned as I was that he was taking what had happened during the hunt too hard, there was something else going on, and that worried me much more. The pattern I'd been watching for weeks was growing worse. He'd played no new sheet music since we got back from Minnesota, and the list of composers he avoided was growing longer… It seemed to focus on his father's favorites. He'd play them on the gramophone, but not the piano, and I didn't understand why. What had changed for him such that he no longer wanted to play these beautiful pieces, he only wanted to hear them? I knew they were among his favorites, but he was essentially holding them at arm's length. It seemed a much more insidious problem than his lack of control when the scent of blood was on the air. He was giving up part of who he was, setting those composers aside… lessening himself and his potential joy. And it had accelerated since the incident — as if the two issues were somehow related — although the avoidance of certain composers had predated that disastrous hunting trip.
The early hours of the next morning found me in the attic, reviewing details of the proposed estate auction from Mr. Campbell. A shadow passed across the open window, and I looked up to see Edward cross the room and sit in the chair across the desk.
"Good morning, Edward," I offered cautiously.
"Carlisle," he answered, nodding. After a few moments of hesitation, he asked, "Which of these tomes on estate and corporate tax law do you think I should start with?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Which word didn't you understand?" he asked, smirking a bit.
I looked at the shelves behind me, and then back at him. "I thought you weren't interested. Why the sudden change of heart?" My mind was contemplating the significance of his request. Perhaps he wanted to wean himself of my involvement. It was obvious how unhappy he was.
He looked away and sighed. "This isn't about me leaving any earlier than we've discussed. I think I've made it abundantly clear recently that I'm not capable of being on my own," he said with a scowl. "This isn't about me leaving at all. This is about me not being such a burden to you, and taking responsibility for my own affairs. You've been wanting to explain this stuff," he gestured to the room, "for ages." That was an overstatement, but I saw his point.
I reached for a book on the top shelf. "Start with this one. It's a good overview, and will define the terms in the paperwork I'm having drawn up by Misters Campbell and Jackson." I handed him the book. "Once you've finished, I can go over the letters and paperwork that pertain to your estate with you."
"Thanks, Carlisle." He took the book, and turned it over in his hand for a moment, thinking. Then he got up and moved to the window.
"Edward, wait. I'd like to talk to you about… about what happened in the forest, and how it's affected you since."
He turned to me slowly. "Now you want to talk? I thought you were the one who wanted to pretend nothing happened."
"Nothing of significance did happen in the woods," I said. He glowered and I quickly continued, "But that's obviously not your view of things, and I'd like it if we could talk about it openly rather than continue to avoid it." And each other.
I watched him consider my request. I realized I'd made a mistake, letting him be on his own so long, letting this fester.
"Maybe later. I'll go get some more wood; it's going to be another cold day. The temperature fluctuations are bad for the piano. It's been hard enough to keep it in tune."
"There's plenty of wood, Edward. And I'm fairly certain it's my turn to bring it in. Please sit down."
He hesitated, but then took a step back. "No, I'll bring some in. That I'm capable of. And then I think I'll go for a quick run. I'll hold my breath," he assured me quickly. He was out the window before I could protest.
'That I'm capable of'… I rolled his words over in my mind. So, he was dwelling on what he wasn't capable of then? I sighed and ran my hand through my hair, trying to understand his vague, infrequent words. The way he was avoiding me was bordering on ridiculous. Indecision weighed on my frozen body for a moment, and then I leapt out the window, following the sounds of him chopping. The axe hung in midair for a fraction of a second as he sensed my approach, and then sliced heavily through the log. He turned to face me as he took an armful of wood.
"We need to talk about this, Edward."
He hesitated, and then started walking back toward the house. "Okay," he said, but he didn't stop moving, and I was forced to follow behind him. He stomped the snow off his feet before entering the house again. He crouched by the hearth and started stacking logs in an open pattern. I knelt beside him and spread kindling under his stack. We sat there, shoulder to shoulder as I took the matches and lit the fire, gently coaxing the tiny licks of flame as I also tried to coax words from Edward.
"What happened in the forest…" I began, "it was perfectly natural, Edward." His eyes momentarily grew large, as though he were taking issue with the word 'natural'. "I'm in no way disappointed in you."
He looked away for a moment, tension visible through his whole body. Then he sighed, relaxed, and faced me. "I know you're not," he said sadly.
I was taken aback. "You do?"
"Yes," he said, sitting back on his heels, tapping his temple and looking at me meaningfully.
"Oh… well then…" Edward tilted his head and looked at me with an expression I'd rarely seen on his face, but I knew it. It conveyed the emotions I felt when I was explaining something that I thought was patently obvious, usually to a colleague in the hospital: exasperated patience.
"So, the problem is that I'm not disappointed in you?" I asked, incredulously.
"One of the problems is that you are not disappointed in me." He stood and ran his hand through his hair. "Look, Carlisle, I'm just… I'm having some difficulty accepting the ramifications of what I've become."
"A vampire?" I thought we'd covered this territory months ago.
"That's one word for it, I suppose," he uttered under his breath.
I stood and faced him as the fire grew stronger. "What ramifications do you mean, exactly?"
"The ones that include me attacking my only friend, seemingly without choice, hunting humans, seemingly without choice… I'm not like you were; I have no control at all. I'm… I'm…" His eyes clenched. Whatever it was, he couldn't bring himself to say it.
I paused, watching his face carefully. "You can't use my newborn experience as a gauge of typical control. I assure you, I'm not typical. I'm actually considered something of a freak. I've watched many newborns while with the Volturi, and my experience was… not at all like theirs. You are doing very well…" He scowled and I stumbled over my words. "Edward, truly, you are."
He sighed and looked at his hands.
"Edward, I'm not disappointed."
"Only because you expect so little of me!" The emptiness in his eyes was haunting.
"What?"
"You expect nothing of me, so how can I disappoint you? You refuse to acknowledge that I've made a mistake, so how can I apologize for it, or atone? You just want me to ignore it, and that's the one thing that feels impossible to do. You won't even tell me what I did wrong. I have no reason to think I won't react in exactly the same way every time blood is on the air, and that's a terrible thought."
He was angry. Not just at himself, but at me.
"Edward, you can't possibly believe I think so… so meanly of you. I think the world of you! I have every intention of teaching you control… when you're ready." He looked away, seething with frustration. "Before that, it will only serve to frustrate and intimidate you. It's mid December; you're only eleven weeks old. There's no point in putting you through that until you're at least a few months old. You must see that…"
"I see that I'm unworthy of being taught what you were able to do without any help. I'm fundamentally different… less… than you were at my age."
"Edward, that's ridiculous! We're no diff…" He put up both hands, cutting me off, and heading to the door.
"I'm going for a run, Carlisle. I'll hold my breath so I pose no threat, but I'd rather be alone now if you're going to insist on calling me ridiculous."
"WAIT, wait! You're right."
He stopped in the doorway, the muscles of his shoulders clenching as he held his hands on the doorframe.
"I apologize," I said. "You're right. That's not productive." I ran my hand through my hair, cursing my inability to communicate with him. Why was this so hard? I just didn't want him to worry, but I was obviously going about that in the wrong way. I hadn't realized just how much he'd lost in the forest. How much I'd taken from him by refusing to acknowledge the error. He didn't have my centuries of experience to afford perspective. He'd been lost in his self doubt for so long… He didn't want reassurances; he wanted a plan. He didn't need my faith in him, he needed to renew his faith in himself.
He turned slowly in the doorframe, watching my face.
"Please come sit down, Edward. You're right; it's not ridiculous. We obviously have different strengths and weaknesses. I just don't want you to make too much of what you perceive as a failing. Your control is very much in keeping with other newborns… better actually. I've been fairly amazed that I haven't had to intervene before this. You are uncommonly even-keeled for a newborn…" He rolled his eyes and I felt immense relief at the familiar expression. "It's true. So much so that I'm afraid I forget how much you are struggling with this. I'm sorry."
He clenched his eyes, struggling with his frustration. "Why do you get to apologize?"
"I'm apologizing for a real offense…"
"My failure wasn't real enough for you?" he sneered.
I sighed, discouraged that he again thought I wasn't taking his concerns seriously enough. "Please sit down. I'm trying, Edward. Please give me the chance to explain."
He made his way heavily to his chair and sat, his face challenging me. Well, it was better than his avoidance.
"I haven't wanted to show you those other newborns in my memory, because I didn't want you to become desensitized to the deaths and the feeding, but perhaps I should." I allowed flashes of memory fill my mind; countless ravenous newborns. Edward winced.
"I don't think that's helpful," he panted, his face contorted against the vision. I stopped immediately. "So that's it? You think I'm like them? No better than them?"
"No, you are better than they were. When you are in your right mind, you have control. When I come home from town, you never react to the fact that my clothes reek like humans. When you heard the truck coming up the road the first time, you hid and held your breath rather than risk the life of a human. You fight it well, Edward. It was just too much that night. You were too thirsty. You'd already turned yourself over to your hunting instincts. And the scent of humans weighed too heavily on the breeze. Everything was stacked against you."
"It could happen again."
"And if it does, I'll protect you again!"
"What, forever? Is that what you want for your life? To baby sit me forever?"
Now I was getting angry. "It won't take forever, Edward," I scoffed. "Your control might not be what you wish it were, and it might not be what mine was — though I take some issue with that — but it has improved. Your eyes shift toward orange every day, and in another six weeks or so they will look much like mine. I'd intended to wait until then to start your training, but we'll start earlier if you want.
"But, yes," I continued, "for as long as you need me to protect you, I will! That's what I agreed to, and that's what I'll do. And it's not a burden, Edward," I added as he snorted. "Well, at the moment it's a bit of a burden, but normally it's a joy. It's a JOY to have you as my...in my life."
"And how does that work, exactly, Carlisle? How is it that you allow yourself to think of me as a son, but refuse to act like a father?"
My eyes widened as my mind filled with interactions between my father and me, things I never wanted to relive…
"Oh for Christ's sake, Carlisle! I'm not asking you to beat the crap out of me. You've already done that…" There was just a hint of his smirk as he said it, but there was a fury in his eyes that built as he continued. "I'm asking you to help me own up to my mistakes, and find a way to avoid the same ones in the future. My father would have never let me off the hook so easily after attacking him verbally, much less physically, and neither would any teacher I've ever had. You're too easy on me. You just coddle me and give me presents, and you don't expect anything of me! You don't even expect me to speak respectfully to you. Are you really so afraid of me leaving, so afraid of being alone again, that you would keep me helpless and placated just so I'll stay?"
I gasped. He was just being cruel now… lashing out at me with my greatest fears to get a rise. Perhaps he was right; perhaps I needed to be less doting and more strict with him, though obviously my father's techniques were out of the question. And the truth was I would never force him to speak to me respectfully. If I earned his respect, he'd speak to me that way. If, as was currently the case, he did not respect my actions, it was better for both of us that he say — and I hear — whatever it was he saw as the problem. The mere fact that he would tell me of problems he perceived was an act of respect in itself. As for his teasing and 'old man' comments, I'd always seen them as more affectionate than disrespectful… and I missed them now that our relationship was so strained. Strained not by his failure, but from mine. For that is truly what had happened. I had failed him in the way I reacted after the incident. I'd worked so hard to protect him from his sense of guilt, that I'd failed to protect his dignity, and now it was quite wounded. I'd made him feel infantile, incompetent, and worthless. I didn't even give him an opportunity to redeem himself, though I now saw that every fire built and every song played for my comfort had been an attempt at just that. I fueled his self doubt, and now it seemed he was doubting everything: his strength, his tie to me, his tie to music, his worth, the remnants of his human nature, his very spirit… And then something clicked in my mind, and I cocked my head to study his expression, realizing that these problems ran much deeper than I'd realized. He fidgeted under the strength of my gaze and the train of my thoughts.
"You are not helpless, Edward. Far from it. And any gifts I've given you have been offered out of affection and a desire for you to be comfortable while you live with me. They were never bribes to placate you." To his credit, he looked rather ashamed. I scrubbed my face with my hand and then raked my fingers through my hair, feeling at once overwhelmed and sobered by all I needed to set right. But I needed a chance to think about what he'd said, and how it fit together with my other observations.
"I need some privacy with my thoughts," I said, almost apologetically. "I'm going for a short run." He looked slightly panicked. "I promise I'll consider everything you've said carefully. I'm done ignoring your concerns. I'm very sorry for leaving you alone with your worries for so long. It was unpardonable, and caused you unnecessary pain." I looked at the fire briefly before returning my eyes to his. "It won't happen again, Edward." He studied my face, and then nodded. I clapped his shoulder gently, saying, "I'll be back soon." I offered him what I hoped was a reassuring smile, and left the warmth of the house, heading north into the forest.
EPOV
Standing in the doorway, watching him disappear from view, I realized what a rare sight it was to see Carlisle fleeing my presence. He went into town to run errands every few days, but that was not solely for the purpose of avoiding me. I was the one who had been keeping us apart, keeping him at arm's length since we'd returned. Suddenly I longed to feel his hand on the nape of my neck, his eyes reassuring mine with understanding and compassion.
I'd actually made him angry, if only for a moment. I'd never seen him angry before. Hurt, concerned, defensive… but never angry. I hugged my arms around myself and backed into the parlor, closing the door. I looked around the house feeling lost. I'd upset him so much that his accent was more pronounced… a mixture of British and French and Italian lilts. That only rarely happened.
I considered playing a record on the gramophone… to soothe the savage beast that was me. The piano was absolutely out of the question, if I was looking for comfort. Sitting at the piano became more uncomfortable almost each time I tried to play. In the end I decided to just sit in my chair, across from Carlisle's, and watch the fire. The crackling was at once soothing and rife with energy. I felt like I was crackling inside, waiting.
I missed his thoughts. As irritating as it was that he had refused to take my apologies seriously, his thoughts were still more comforting than my own. I'd accused him of finding me unworthy of his tutelage, but I knew it was a lie. Carlisle found me too worthy. He was wrong about me. I was becoming the worst type of monster. As my human memories faded, I was nearing the point where I no longer recognized myself. Still unable to resist blood, newly unable to resist attacking Carlisle, and increasingly unable to feel enough to play with even a modicum of sincerity. Now that I had yelled at him, finally expressed everything that had been building for days, I felt empty and exhausted. I was slipping into a black despair, and without him here, without his thoughts grounding me, my mind felt as dangerous as quicksand.
I longed for the easy camaraderie we'd shared before I sensed that my humanity was truly slipping away. Now I felt as though I were losing not only my first family, but Carlisle as well. The more he insisted there was nothing wrong, the more distant I felt from him. How could he even pretend that was true? My perfect memory recalled every snarl, every insult I'd thrown at him, every lunge, every time my teeth sank into his flesh and I heard it tear. That sound haunted me like dissonant chords, overpowering any other notes I played. He had to let me make it up to him. We had to get back to a point where we could trust and talk to each other, or I didn't think I would survive my immortality.
I felt so torn: angry with myself, angry with him. And lost… so lost. I put another log on the fire as I waited, hoping the warmth would sink down to my core and relieve this sense of dread. I curled my legs up into the chair with me, hugging my knees in tight. Staring into the flames, I started to hear music, and glanced at the gramophone before realizing that it was Carlisle's thoughts; he was on his way home. I took a deep stabilizing breath.
In a moment he was through the door, brushing the snow out of his hair and peeling off his sweater to hang by the fire.
"I'll just change and be right down Edward." I nodded and continued to wait. In moments he was downstairs in dry clothes and sitting in the other chair, his mind still full of music.
He looked in my eyes for a moment, noting the color, and said, "I hadn't intended to start yet, but I think perhaps you are right, and we should begin working on your control sooner than I'd planned. I need to get some things from town. Depending on what I find, we might start as early as tomorrow, but if not, it will be in a few days. Is this agreeable to you?"
I nodded.
"Good. I want you to understand that we'll be taking things slowly, and because we are starting before your eyes are clear, you will likely have… setbacks. I want you to try to keep things in perspective, and not get too discouraged."
I snorted and looked down at my hands. I was in a near constant state of discouragement lately. But Carlisle was right, thinking negatively would not help my efforts.
"I'll try," I agreed.
"Good."
I waited for him to continue, to tell me my consequences for attacking him. He rested his elbows on his knees and looked at his hands, stalling.
"And the attack?" I asked. "Are you going to discipline me for attacking you?"
"No, Edward, I can't punish you for following your instincts… instincts I'm responsible for you having in the first place. But I'll allow you to atone for your actions if it will make you feel better."
"What do you mean?"
"You can do something for me. Something that I think will ultimately help you." I looked in his mind to see what he was getting at, but he was remembering another concert; a relatively recent one, judging from what the audience was wearing.
"Anything," I finally whispered, relieved he was offering me this chance.
"Oh…do not agree so easily," he said darkly. "You are not going to like it."
I still couldn't see his intentions; the piano music from his memory was drowning everything else out. But really, it didn't matter. I felt so terrible, I would do anything to make it up to him… and I trusted that he would never ask me to do something that would harm me, it was just going to be unpleasant… a chore of some sort.
"Anything," I repeated.
"Play Chopin."
I realized that the concert in his head was Chopin — the maestro himself. It was wonderful… painfully passionate and beautiful. I knew I wasn't capable.
"Anything but that," I spat.
"That is what I require. You asked for atonement and that is my one and only demand. Play Chopin."
"I have played it."
"No you haven't."
"I have, four weeks ago…"
"Oh, it was played…" he said, almost condescendingly. "The notes on the page became sound waves in our home, but you did not play it — there was none of you in it. It sounded like…"
"…a player piano." I finished for him. I stood, agitated. His eyes softened somewhat, and he said nothing, but I heard the agreement in his thoughts. My face distorted in pain at the truth I'd been hiding from.
"I can't…"
"Why not? You play Mozart, and Bach... Chopin is one of your favorites; you told me how you loved to hear your father play Chopin, how beautifully he played it. You can't possibly see yourself less able to play than your human father. It's a link to your parents… you need to play it, Edward."
"I can't!" I screamed.
"You must!"
"You need a soul to play Chopin!" I sobbed. "You need a soul for it, or it doesn't sound right. I don't want to hear it like that — mechanical and lifeless — I won't subject those exquisite compositions to my pedantic and precise fingers. They deserve better than that! They deserve better than me!"
Warmth and conviction flooded Carlisle's eyes, and he walked over to me slowly, considering my words. I'd confirmed his suspicions. He saw this as the crux of everything I was struggling with. I was afraid for a moment that he was going to embrace me, but he just placed each of his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to face him.
"Edward, you are the most passionate man I've ever had the privilege of calling a friend. I realize you believe I've taken your soul, but I look at you, and I know it can't be true. It just can't. You are more than the sum of your instincts, Edward; more than your thirst for blood and your meticulously swift fingers. You feel pain and doubt! You suffer anguish, Edward, I see it. So use it! Make something beautiful with it. Channel it so it can't consume you. If you allow yourself to feel faith in your own heart, I believe you'll do more justice to Chopin than any other I've heard. I have faith in you."
"Your faith is blind!" I spat.
"No, it's not. I see you, Edward."
I glared at him, but his face was impassive again. "Don't ask this of me. This is not atonement. This is punishment! Making me hear Chopin like that is a punishment. Making me responsible for producing that lifeless drivel is torture. You are following in your father's footsteps." It was the worst thing I could think to say to him, and I saw him flinch as I heard his internal no! I caught a bit more internal dialog, before the Chopin concert regained the foreground of his mind. He dropped his arms, wondering if he were being as brutal as I suggested, and decided that this was for my own benefit.
"The simple answer, then, is don't produce lifeless drivel. You asked me to be firm, to offer you a correction. You asked me to find a way out of this morass you are in. This is what I deem necessary. Do it, or don't do it, but don't ask me to play this role if you won't trust my judgment." He flexed his hands stiffly at his sides, struggling to control his emotions. "I need to go to town. You stay in the house." It was not a request. He was angry again; angrier now than when we started. He could forgive me my potentially deadly weakness when blood was on the air, but he could not forgive me seeing less in myself than he saw in me. And I was too angry to be touched by this entirely paternal sentiment, and frustrated that my efforts to make things better between us had actually made things much, much worse. I stormed up to my room, and I heard the front door slam just as I slammed my own door.
AN: Boys, boys, boys, do we really need to slam doors? Sorry everyone, it's going to be painful personal growth for a few chapters… the piano honeymoon was fun, but it couldn't last.
If you want to know where I am in writing future chapters, chat about the characters, etc. you can follow me on Twitter at ATONAU. I usually mention something as I'm writing, and give previews. I'd love to hear from you there or here. And reviews are like Chopin…good for the soul.
