Ta-da! Though this doesn't really make up for my previous delay, that is exactly why I'm updating so soon! Oh, and also, the end is pretty close- just a couple more chapters, Esme will meet Carlisle soon, and the real love story will begin... so I just want this unsavoury and tragic part to get over!

Enjoy!

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More than a year passed. I grew to love my home as a child of my own thoughts, my own ideas and planning. People came to visit and reluctantly agreed I had done a good job.

Amelia was thrilled with my work, and kept begging me to do something for her own home. But I had seen the way her husband's lips had pursed tightly when she was telling him about all that I had done. As far as I knew, he was a good man- not a monster like Charles- but he was just as narrow-minded as the rest of the world. And so I politely declined every time she asked. I also refused to visit her, citing some or the other reason every time. Between her and her disapproving husband, I did not relish the idea of staying with her at all.

My parents were proud in a way, and Mother actually praised me in some words. Elizabeth stayed with me whenever her school let her return home.

Life, in short, was quiet. Dull, yet filled with a warm lazy glow of contentment…

Mid-February, 1919

I collapsed with a happy sigh onto my comfortable armchair by the fire. Millie Leeds, who had replaced her older sister Amy, brought me a cup of hot coffee. I thanked her gratefully and told her she could leave. With a cheerful and fervent "thank you", she bundled herself up and left.

I had just returned from a stay with cousin Emma up in Milwaukee. She had kept in touch with me, often inviting me home, and I had finally decided to accept. I was forever grateful to her for being such a strong pillar of support on my wedding day, and my good opinion of her had not changed with my stay. She still remained the ever cheerful, ever considerate young woman she had been when I last saw her. Her little daughter was an adorable little munchkin, and I had found it hard to say goodbye to their warm, happy home.

However, I had also missed my own home, and was not sad to return. Thus, sipping coffee, warming my feet by the fire, and thinking about nothing in particular, I rested- content, happy.

It was almost dinnertime when the bell rang. I wondered who it was, and taking my own time, like an old woman, I trudged up to the door- not irked or impatient, just curious.

My hands had turned sweaty from holding the hot mug, and my fingers slipped on the bolts numerous times. Finally, I had slipped them all open, and I opened the door with a flourish and a cheerful "Yes?"

At first, all I saw was the silhouette of the man standing at the door. Somewhere in my mind, a bell started ringing, but I couldn't understand it.

I understood as soon as the man spoke his first words.

"Happy Anniversary, darling."

Time froze, everything froze, me along with it. Far away memories of cries and pain came rushing into my conscious mind like a thunderous waterfall thrashing into a shallow pool. The intensity of those memories choked me. I was drowning, drowning in each and every relived moment of those nightmarish memories.

He leaned into the light and I recognised his face- thin and covered with a rough, spiky mess of a beard, but otherwise unmarred by scars.

"Well," he drawled. "Aren't you going to let me inside my own home?" There it was. The same drawl. The same mockery. Oh God, oh dear God.

Somehow, I don't know how, I moved aside and let him in. I let him into my home, into my sanctuary, the product of my dreams and my toils. I just let him in.

He didn't carry much, just a little bag stuffed with clothes, as far as I could make out. His face was lined due to the harshness and the brutality of the war; so much so that it made him look harsh and brutal. The thought nearly made me collapse. More harsh and brutal than before? God forbid.

Mutely, I shut the door behind him, cutting off my route to escape voluntarily, with my own hands.

He had stopped in the living room, staring at the very obvious changes. I waited with bated breath. He let the bag go and dropped it with a sudden thud that made me jump. Already my newfound confidence was oozing away from me.

"What happened here?"-he asked.

I struggled to speak. "Th-the furniture was old…"

He just shrugged. "Pick it up," he said, nodding at the bag. "I'm in terrible need of a shave and a hot bath."

I jerked into motion, slowly and awkwardly lifting the surprising heavy bag. God knows how, but I managed to talk almost normally without a single stutter as we walked up the stairs.

"Do you have your razor? I threw the old ones away, they were rusted…"

"Yes, don't worry about that. Hope you haven't thrown my old clothes away, too."-he said with a laugh that had me wincing. This sounded too surreally normal for me. I already felt myself on the verge of a bout of hysterics, so I said quietly, "Of course not. I'll turn on the boiler. You'll have hot water in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes…"-he murmured contemplatively. "New boiler?"

I simply nodded. He responded by raising his eyebrows and blowing a mock-impressed whistle.

The whistle, I realised a second later, was for the bedroom.

"My, my," he said softly. "I don't recognise my own home!"

I forced myself to speak. "Like I said, the furniture was too old."

He just stared at me, as though measuring me up.

Quickly, I burst into speech- "I'll… prepare dinner. I wasn't expecting you, so-"

"Make sure it's a good one. I'm famished."

I nodded and quickly slipped away, feeling his dreadful eyes on my back.

And as I skittered down the stairs, the tears ran freely down my cheeks.

Dinner started quietly. We were both silent for some time, then Charles began to talk. It was the most civilised, normal-sembling conversation we had ever had.

"How was Mother's funeral?"-he began.

"Oh- it went… smoothly. All of her old friends were present."- I said carefully.

He snorted. "'Friends' is too strong a word," he said darkly. "How did Melly take it?"

"Well, badly at first. But then, she…"

"… remembered all the bad things entre nous."-he finished, grinning.

I just shrugged, not finding myself confident enough to badmouth his mother in his presence, as much as he hated her.

He sighed. "I'm not happy she died, but its no use to pretend I'm devastated. Amelia should understand."

"I think she did, eventually," I said quietly.

"Yes, well, that's my Melly."

I remained silent again.

"You know, you haven't changed at all," he said suddenly.

I didn't reply, just turned to look at him to acknowledge the fact that I'd heard him.

"You just look better… prettier. Damn, Esme, my dear, I'd forgotten how beautiful you were."

I hesitated, then said quietly, "War does that."

Something about it seemed to be very funny to him and he roared with laughter. "War. Yes, war. Oh, my dear, you don't know, you haven't seen what war is, what it does to you."

I listened, somewhat interested.

"I've killed men, I've seen men die, I've seen rich people suffering like beggars and the poor rising up and torturing them…" He went on, describing things with a depth and fervour I hadn't known existed in him.

I stared at him, my eyes wide open. The way he said it instilled deep-rooted fear into my heart. Not the actual words, but his tone… he said it with a certain kind of relish that only showed the signs of a perverted and sadistic mind.

He saw the fear in my eyes and laughed. "Well, well, my pretty girl, I won't say any more. I don't want to end up giving you nightmares, my poor baby." Too late for that. The many endearments sounded wrong on his lips, like a sparrow's chirp on a raven's beak.

"So," he said, changing his tone entirely and leaning in towards me, "what have you been doing for two years? Missed me?"

You wish.

"Of course," I mumbled. Then, seeing that he was waiting for me to speak some more, I continued, "I didn't really do much. Just… visited people. Attended get-togethers. Went out for suppers… nothing much."

I had deliberately left off the part about the house renovation. Somehow, he didn't seem to bothered about it, and if by some strange piece of luck he didn't know I was the perpetrator, I had no intentions of enlightening him.

"Sounds dull."

"It was."

He grinned. "But now I'm back, aren't I? Things will be different."

I just nodded mutely.

He stood up suddenly, bringing to my attention to the fact that he was done. I had barely eaten; my plate was still nearly full.

"Well, I'm off. I'm blasted tired, Esme, and I'm in bad need of a comfortable night's sleep. Good night."

And to my surprise, he swept away without another word. By the time I cleared the dishes, locked up properly and went upstairs, he was already in bed, snoring. Apparently he was too tired to torture me tonight.

Thanking my stars for this good fortune, I gingerly clambered next to him onto the bed. Feeling another person in my bed did not comfort me in any way, and I barely slept the whole night.

I woke up early next morning to find Charles' arm wrapped around me, pressing down on my stomach. Complete panic seized me for a moment, and I sat up with a terrified jerk, as though I had got an electric shock. Charles grunted in his sleep and withdrew his arm and turned away. It took me a moment to remember that I was intact, my clothes were intact on me, nothing had happened last night.

I heaved a sigh of relief and nearly fell out of the bed in my hurry to get away. As quickly and as silently as possible, I showered and dressed and went downstairs to make breakfast.

It still wasn't very bright outside when Charles finally came down. Just like it had been two years ago before he left, he came and sat at the table, picking up the newspaper that I had kept there, waiting for him.

"I'm going to the bank today, Esme," he said, by way of greeting. "I'll see if they give me my old job back."

"Oh. Alright. Will they?"

He shrugged. "They might. I would be given preference, considering that I'm a recently come-home war hero."

I nearly choked on my coffee. A war hero? Hero? I struggled to hold the hysterical laugh in.

"I see," I mumbled.

"If they don't… well, I might be gone the whole day."

I nodded to indicate I understood.

"So I might come home for lunch… You know what, never mind. It's been too long since I met Jenkins and the others. If I get the job, I'll go meet the boys. If I don't… well, I'll still go. I'll be home by dinnertime, alright?"

"Alright."

He stood up, suddenly again, and said, "Well, come on and help me pick a suit."

Dinner was ready and waiting. I was leaning against the kitchen counter, my nerves in tatters. I had gone out of my way to create tonight's dinner. Exhaustion wouldn't send Charles to bed tonight, and that fact didn't comfort me one bit.

When the doorbell finally rang, my heart skipped a beat. I scampered to the front door and fumbled the locks open.

"Esmeeeee!"-he drawled as soon as I opened the door, exaggerating the second syllable of my name.

I nearly fainted then and there. He was drunk.

I stumbled aside and let him in. Then I followed him into the dining room, balling my hands into fists, willing myself to be strong.

"What's for dinner?"-he asked. Before I could answer, he cut in, "You know what, I'm not hungry, I already ate. Let's go. Lights off. I want to show you something."

I cleared the table with trembling hands. I didn't bother telling him that I hadn't eaten yet. He waited while I put away the dishes with a patience that shocked me.

Finally, almost reluctantly, I hung up my apron, and switched off the lights.

"You done? Come on." Then he grabbed my hand and nearly dragged me up the stairs.

In the bedroom, he firmly steered me onto the bed and sat down next to me. I could barely hear the little clock ticking on the dressing table. All I heard was my heartbeat thudding and his loud, sluggish breaths.

"It was our anniversary yesterday," he said, his words slurring a little.

"Yes," I squeaked. "I remembered."

"You didn't wish me." His tone was accusatory.

"I- I suppose, what with the shock of y-you coming…"

"I got you something."-he cut in imperiously. Then he stared at me as though waiting for a round of applause.

I struggled to soften my terrified expression. "Really? H-how thoughtful of-"

"Here." I realised that he had his bag next to him, and he was offering me a little parcel wrapped roughly in brown paper.

I took the package and opened it tentatively. Inside it was a little vial of perfume.

"Th-Thank you…"

"I bought it in Paris," he said, again like a boast, "at a very expensive place."

"Thank you so much, Charles."

He nodded. "Smell it."

I unstoppered the little bottle, fingers shaking dreadfully. Then I dabbed a little from the bottle's narrow mouth onto my wrist. I sniffed it, and then grimaced. It was a strong, sickly sweet smell of jasmine, lavender, and a hint of musk. The scent was too strong and made my eyes water.

Charles didn't notice. "Nice, isn't it?" he asked proudly, clearly a rhetorical question. Then he grabbed my wrist and sniffed it voraciously, reminding me of a famished hunter sniffing its prey…

"And that was for last year," he said suddenly, dropping my hand from his nose, but still holding on to it tightly. "I've got you something else for this year."

He handed to my free hand a smaller little lump of brown paper. I unwrapped it, and found a silver ring sitting in my hand. It had a large, murky dark blue stone set in the middle, surrounded by a lot of intricate filigree. It seemed to be very old.

"I plucked that one off a dead German," he said, still proud.

I nearly dropped it with horror.

He saw my sudden disgusted movement. "I killed him myself," he said slowly, eyes narrowing.

Somehow, I mustered up some warmth in my tone as I said, "I'm sorry. It's just… I'm not used to all the violence. Thank you… it's- beautiful."

"Wear it."

I slipped onto the ring finger of my right hand, but it was too big. Finally, somehow, it stayed on my index finger without slipping off.

Then he grabbed both my hands in his and pressed them on his mouth, sniffing and kissing at the same time. I felt my skin crawl. The little hopes I had had to go unscathed tonight were crushed. Charles meant business.

"By the way," he murmured, still sniffing my wrists, "I heard something… unusual today."

I gulped. "What?"

He didn't answer for a moment, and then he said, "Something about you breaking down walls in the house, throwing away things, changing plans… without caring for anyone's advice. Deciding everything on your own."

At that moment he looked up at me, and his eyes were too familiar- they were gleaming with pent-up rage. Whatever gentleness I was praying and hoping for tonight, I knew I would never get.

"I-I referred books…"

He let my hands drop on the bed.

"Books." He said.

"I asked Amelia…"

"Hmmm," he picked up my left hand again, tracing imaginary circles on my arm. "And what did Mel say?"

"She-she said she didn't mind…"

"I see." There was a pause. The phrase 'calm before the storm' ran quickly through my mind.

"If I'm not mistaken," he murmured, his voice like silk. The climax was almost here…. "I think Melly has a brother. And what did that brother say?"

I was rendered mute. Oh no, oh no, oh no…

"WHAT DID HE SAY?"-he roared suddenly, flinging my hand away with such force that I fell backwards with a scream.

He leaned forward on his elbow, staring right into my face. "I'm asking you, you goddamned woman, what-did-Charles-Evenson-say?"

"Nothing," I finally breathed, tears pouring out of my eyes.

"Nothing? Why didn't he say anything?" Leaning closer and closer.

"Because-"

"Because?" Closer.

"I-I-"

"Because?" Closer.

"I d-didn't ask him."

"You didn't bloody ask him!"-he roared, and in a sudden, murderous swipe, slapped my right cheek so hard that my ear started ringing.

I burst into tears, sobbing loudly. The sobs never ceased.

That night I had no respite, no welcome numbing thoughts. That night, I sobbed through the entire ordeal and didn't stop the whole night.