Disclaimer: Everything Twilight belongs to Madame Meyer. But this plot? All mine!

My goodness, these guys are having a tough time! But you're here, so you must trust me, right?

Here's our Esme.


Chapter 12: Bruised Not Broken

Esme's POV

"Do you need another pillow?"

"Three is fine, thank you."

Rosalie nods, scanning the bed. "How about another blanket? This one is thin and not very soft."

"I'm fine, Rose." My droopy lids take their time blinking. "Really."

I reach for the juice on the bedside table.

"Let me." She intercepts the cup, holding it to my lips. "Cranberry juice? I've never seen you drink it."

Though the liquid soothes my throat, it could taste better. "It's not one of my favorites."

"Then I'll get you something else."

I hold up a hand to stop her. "They…the nurse said I should drink cranberry juice."

"Why?"

I grimace through another sip. "UTIs."

Rose's eyes widen, and she covers her mouth in embarrassment. "I cannot believe I made you explain that."

"It's okay, Rose."

"No, it's not. I…" She puts her hands on her hips. "I shouldn't be here right now. I mean, I needed to see you, but I should let him…"

"Him?" I sit up, heedless of the pain in my side. "What do you mean 'him'?"

Rosalie smiles gently. "You know very well what I mean."

I set down the cup as my hands shake. "He's…I mean…you're saying Carlisle is…"

"Here in the lobby aching to see you?" Rose sits on my bed, taking my hands. "As a matter of fact, he is. And he's not alone."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, his younger brother is with him. And God must have a soft spot for that gene pool because…wow."

I remember he mentioned Edward is here, but my brain is stuck on the first fact. "Carlisle is here?"

"Yes." Rosalie scans my eyes. "Does that surprise you?"

I lay back against the pillows. "No, that doesn't surprise me at all."

"Then what's wrong?"

How can I tell her? How can I tell her how guilty I feel for dragging that precious man into my mess?

How can I tell her how he begged me to let him accompany me home, but I refused? That whatever guilt, fear, and heartache he carries is a direct result of my foolish pride?

How can I tell her these things without crumbling under the sheer weight of them?

"Listen here, Esme Anne Platt." Rosalie cuts through my inner monologue. "Don't start feeling guilty about wanting to do this without his help. Carlisle is doing enough of that for both of you."

"What does that mean?"

"He told Emmett everything."

My cheeks flame. "He did?"

"Don't be embarrassed. Carlisle explained why you didn't tell us your plans beforehand, that you didn't want us to be disappointed if you chickened out. But honey, please don't ever worry about that. We love and accept you no matter what."

I start to object but think better of it. "Did he say anything else?"

"Just that he offered to drive you home because of the weather, but you said you'd be fine in a cab. But he keeps saying, 'I should never have let her go alone,' like it's his fault Charles is a…" She pauses, resetting herself. "There is but one person to blame for what happened tonight, and you and Carlisle need to realize that."

I begin to argue, but my stomach protests first.

"Have they fed you?"

"No, but I was too queasy before."

"That makes sense. I'll hit up the vending machines for something light."

"And a ginger ale, please."

"You got it." She adjusts my blankets. "I'll turn out the overheard light, so you can rest your eyes."

"Thank you, Rose." I grab her hand. "For everything."

"Thank you for being so brave. I am in awe of what you did tonight and love you so much my heart is about to burst." She kisses my cheek. "And I'm not the only one."

She closes the door behind her, and the replay of the night's ugly events picks up where it left off before her arrival. Angry eyes, sneering voice, vicious touch.

The slam of the door as he left me naked and ashamed.

I roll onto one side, groaning as I adjust the cooling pack between my legs. They say it should help with the external discomfort and soreness.

If only I could so easily soothe my soul.

After the exam, someone came in. I can't remember anything about her except the suffocating scent of her perfume. She stood beside the bed and offered sympathy and a suggestion, the latter almost a demand. I should talk to someone while the memories are fresh, being careful not to let my mind call it something else simply because my assailant and I share a last name. There are people on staff, my doctor for one, who specialize in such matters and would be glad to sit and talk with me.

I feigned a worsening headache, and she took her leave, dragging compassion behind her. I do not wish to talk about it now or think about it ever. After years of denying unspeakable things, what is one last secret before I make my break?

As my tired eyes flutter shut, a kind face rises behind my lids, and I ease into the comfort his visage inspires, memories of what was earlier the most beautiful night of my life. The night he tried to confess his feelings.

His beautiful, impossible feelings.

"This hospital is getting a sternly-worded letter." Rose enters the room with a huff. "Three vending machines and no pretzels or tortilla chips."

"It's all right."

"So I got three kinds of Sun Chips. Hopefully they aren't stale."

"Thanks, Mom."

"I accept that, especially as you're five years older." She put a straw in my ginger ale. "Sip."

I do as instructed and open a bag of chips. My stomach ceases its grumbling, and I smile, happy to have one problem solved.

"Is there anything else you need?"

I almost decline, but the friendly face in my mind prompts me to speak. "Yes."

She raises a brow. "I am all ears."

"Well." I set aside the snacks, brushing crumbs from my hands. "It's, uh… it's in the lobby."

A soft smile spreads across Rose's face. "I think I can help you with that."

—W.Y.F.—

With folded hands and a frantic heart, I wait for the door to open. Rose brushed my hair before she left, asking if I wanted to change into a different gown. I appreciated the thought, but my clothes don't matter. Nothing matters except making sure he is all right.

The idea that he blames himself for tonight, that he feels any responsibility is unfathomable. We have yet to lay claims, to do more than hint at the possibility of more. Yet he feels so deeply.

I can hardly comprehend it.

A shadow falls outside my door, and I nibble my lip in anticipation. There is a soft knock as the handle turns, and a pause for my answer.

"Come in. Please."

The door opens, and I lose my breath.

He is here.

Oh, he is here.

I take him in at once, cataloging every detail. The rise of his brows as our eyes finally meet. His tight grip on the door handle as he studies my face. I don't know what emotion my expression reveals, but one long look at his expression confirms what I suspected.

He knows.

He knows it all, and he too is broken.

"Oh, my darling…" He rushes across the room. "My darling, darling girl…"

He envelops me in his embrace, and I bury myself in his chest. I cannot tell whose tears dampen my cheeks or whose sobs fill my ears, but it matters not. For in this moment, in every way that matters, we are one.

"Let me look at you." He pulls away, watery eyes scanning my face. I smile despite my sadness, and he tenderly cups my battered cheek. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." I rest my hand atop his. "Now that you are here."

"I should have been there." Though he pulls me closer, his words burn my ears. "I should never have let you go alone."

I shake my head. "How could you have known?"

"I know not how I knew, only that I knew." He tips up my chin. "When I think of how this night could have ended, that I might have lost you to his cruelty…"

"Do not think of that."

"I must think of it. For had you not made it…" He swallows hard. "Had our moment in the break room been our last, you would have departed this world not knowing."

"But I do know. I know it as my very own name."

"It was out of respect for your name that I waited so long." A frown briefly creases his features. "But I will not wait another moment."

He sits on the bed, cradling my hands. "I love you, Esme. I love and adore you, need you and want you. My heart has belonged to you from the moment we met and will never belong to another."

"Oh, Carlisle…"

"I do not care how long we must wait or what we must overcome to be together. Even if we must be physically apart a while, I am here, I am yours, and I am not going anywhere."

His confession envelops me in delicious warmth, and I sink into him, too overcome to speak. I longed for those words long before I knew he existed. And after he appeared, it was his voice I needed, his tone coloring that long-dormant dream.

But never did I imagine hearing those beautiful, life-giving words on a night like this, in a place like this, while idling in a state like this.

In a state like this.

Carlisle pledges his love on what is now Christmas Eve in the hospital room where my husband's hatred has placed me. And as terrible as such a scenario sounds, it is somehow quite perfect. For as I bask in the glow of Carlisle's truth, I become aware of another far greater: I might be bruised and battered, but I am not broken. Tonight was overwhelming, but my life is not over. In fact, it has barely begun.

He rubs soothing circles on my back, and as I raise my head, there is a knock on the door. We jump apart, and Carlisle stands beside the bed, one hand behind him clasped in mine. "Come in," he calls out.

"Sorry to interrupt." A different nurse enters. "How are you feeling, Ms. Platt?"

"Much better, Jake." I am pleased to see him. "Are you taking over from Charlotte?"

"No, but I figured you would have company." He smiles at Carlisle. "And thought to give you a heads-up that your doctor is on her way back. I didn't know if you wanted …um, I mean, if you guys were okay with her seeing you together."

Carlisle nods. "We appreciate that, Jake."

I flutter at his use of "we" but keep it inside.

"No problem." Jake bows to me. "Feel better, Ms. Platt."

"Thank you, Jake. For everything."

He takes his leave, and Carlisle turns to me. "That was close."

"Yes." I am stunned to be blushing. "But it could have been worse."

An awkward silence follows, and I look down at my blankets.

"Has your doctor been kind?" he asks.

"Oh, yes. Thorough yet discreet."

"Good, good." He sighs, angling his head toward the door. "Well, I should probably go and…"

I tighten my grip on his hand. "No."

"No?"

"No."

His eyes are cautious but bright. "Are you sure?"

"Whatever comes, whoever comes, I want you here with me. Is that all right with you?"

His smile is beatific. "Yes, ma'am."

He releases my hand only to grab the plastic chair. Once seated, he threads our fingers together, stroking mine with his thumb. The ticking of the wall clock is the only sound in the room, and despite every reason I have to feel otherwise, I find myself content.

"Carlisle?"

"Yes, darling?"

I met his eyes. "I love you too. And I am already yours."

Surprise ghosts across his face, its beauty second only to his confession, and that not by much.

This is how a rose grows from concrete.

Four smart knocks on the door precede a deep voice from the front of the room. "Pardon me."

We turn to find a doctor in the doorway, and Carlisle comes to his feet. "Sam?"

"Carlisle, hi." He extends a hand. "Good to see you."

"Esme," Carlisle says. "This is Dr. Sam Uley, head of cardiology."

"Dr. Uley." I try not to be alarmed. "Have you been assigned to my case?"

"No, nothing like that." He looks away, clearing his throat. "I'm actually treating your husband."

Carlisle tenses but remains silent when I reply, "I see."

"And as his physician, I came to ask…that is, I am wondering if…"

Carlisle folds his arms as the doctor fumbles, glancing my way.

"Dr. Uley," I say. "Why are you here?"

The doctor swallows hard, sighing as our eyes meet. "Mrs. Evenson, would you like to see your husband?"


LAWD, Dr. Uley! Can't they just enjoy the moment?

Final chapter next week, y'all, then the epilogue. Can't believe their journey is almost over.

See you then!