Oh-kay another angst-y chapter! Lots of melodrama in here, but according to me, as old as Carlisle, or even Esme(a rational 34 year-old) is, theirs is a young love, and with young love there's always drama and angst! Still more questions and fewer answers... so you'll have more to look forward to in the following chapters!
As usual, my one humble request: Please review, it's free and won't take more than a minute of your time! ;)
Stalemate
For a long time –several hours, I feel –we are frozen in that pose, holding onto each other like a stranded island in the sea of emptiness that is the house. It is the sound of the telephone ringing that finally breaks our stillness. Carlisle budges when the phone starts ringing but doesn't move until after two long rings. Slowly, in human speed, he trudges to the living room while I remain in the kitchen, gazing listlessly at the door.
"Yes?" –he answers, the strain in his voice plain.
Even from the kitchen I can hear the voice on the other end of the line.
"Dr Cullen? This is Nurse Carruthers. Dr Andrews was asking for you and I called, since, well, it's quite late." The shrill voice sounds apologetic at the end. I glance at the small clock on the kitchen counter: Carlisle has missed his shift by more than three hours.
"Ah, yes. My apologies," he answers immediately, his voice smoother than before. "My wife's brother just left town and I had to see him off." I can hear the pain in his voice as he speaks the half-truth. "As a matter of fact," he adds, "I'm not feeling too well today. I'm afraid it may be the 'flu." Cutting through the woman's unnecessarily concerned "Oh dear!", he continues, "I'm aware it's too much of an inconvenience to the staff, but I think I'd rather not risk coming to the hospital today. You, of all people, Nurse, know how well an infection may spread."
"Oh, certainly, Dr Cullen! Yes, indeed. You take good care of yourself now, and be sure to let me know if you need any kind of help."
Sudden amusement comes to the fore of my conscious thought, and I let loose a sardonic snort. Any kind of help, indeed!
"Thank you, Nurse, but I think that will be quite unnecessary. I have my wife to take care of me, you see."
I flit into the living room, gratified to see an amused smile on Carlisle's face. Those infernal nurses seem to have come of some help, after all! He takes my hand and squeezes it gently as he says "my wife", which makes me place my other hand lovingly on his.
"Oh! Yes, of course. Mrs. Cullen will certainly be of much help, I suppose." The woman sounds startled. Honestly, they seem to have forgotten that he's married!
"She will be indispensable," Carlisle smiles.
"Yes! Hum, well! I hope you get well soon, Doctor. Good evening."
"Thank you, Nurse Carruthers. Good evening."
The sound of the receiver clanging down echoes in the house. The little good humour that we'd both regained is slowly seeping away. Carlisle turns to me slowly, looking as lost as I feel.
"Well," I say needlessly. "That's that."
Carlisle shakes his head slowly. "That's that," he repeats solemnly.
There are a few long seconds of silence, which suddenly seems too oppressive to me after the light-hearted conversation. I must talk.
"I… I still can't believe he's gone," I admit finally.
"Neither can I," he agrees. "Although I suppose you had an idea that it would come to this."
I'm stunned. "No, I did not! I never, ever expected this, never thought he wanted to leave –I simply knew something was wrong but he wouldn't talk about it."
After a moment of silence, he replies carefully, "I see. I just thought so because he said you had… still have, I suppose, similar qualms."
Oh. Oh. How could I have forgotten? I had agreed with Edward's claims to inadequacy, and had hurt Carlisle deeply with the admission. How could he not still feel hurt?
Slowly, I ensconce both his hands in mine and say, with a careful tone to match his, "No, Carlisle, it's not the same. You may feel… hurt. I understand-"
To my total shock, he withdraws his hands from my grasp. "But I do not," he says wearily. "I don't understand, Esme. I cannot even begin to comprehend you or Edward. You say you love me, and I believe you," the hurt I perceived in him all along, carefully hidden, is now fully exposed in his voice, "and yet you wish to leave me? I –I cannot understand."
He makes his way to the nearest sofa and collapses onto it, his head in his hands. Such a weak, human gesture confounds me even more.
"No!" –I cry. "No, Carlisle –you don't… that's not what I meant! I don't want to leave you –never!" I rush to him and collapse onto my knees at his feet. I clutch his wrists and pull them away from his head in a vehement gesture, but he refuses to look at me. "I would never –never want to leave you!" –I repeat with a dry sob. "I couldn't… Please." I control my shaking voice with an effort. "Let me explain." There is a long pause before he finally looks at me. "I'd like that," he says softly. Although his casual tone is hardly encouraging, the despair is also gone and I fortify myself on that happy thought.
"What Edward said –what I meant was our… difficulty in trying to lead our lives like you. We look up to you, Carlisle, we aspire to be like you." He opens his mouth as if to argue, but I continue quickly –"We expect ourselves to be more like you. And when we cannot meet our expectations it… frustrates us."
"I am not a person to inspire others," he mutters.
"You are!" –I cry, raising my voice again. "You are the one person we idealize, the one person who signifies every good thing we must strive to live for in this world! You are… perfect." I finish with soft pride.
I am completely unprepared for his reaction. He gets to his feet in a sudden furious flash, wrenching his hands once more from mine. "For the last time, Esme, I am not perfect!" –he snarls.
"Carlisle!" –I gasp.
He looks down at me. "It's true," he says grimly. "You don't understand. I'm no saint –I'm a monster." He pauses and looks down at his hands. "A murderer."
The shock of his statement is profound. "No." I say, nonetheless. "I don't believe it," I say staunchly, shaking my head.
Carlisle has a humourless smile on his face. "What sort of perverse pleasure do you think I achieve by falsely accusing myself?"
With a slow, measured, movement, I get to my feet so I can meet his eyes with more firmness. "I didn't mean that. I thought perhaps you blame yourself for some indirect event –that you are morally culpable, but no more." I gaze into his eyes with steady confidence. "And I'm sure that's how the matter stands."
Carlisle snorts. "Tell me, Esme," he says derisively, "what according to you is the definition of an act of murder? Physical presence and conscious will? The taking of life through our own two hands, with or without a weapon, with deliberate intent?"
I am unfazed by his mocking tone, although I think later that I should have been. "Yes."
He turns away. "Then I am a murderer."
I am frozen with shock. I have never, in my wildest fantasies, expected this. "No," I whisper, almost involuntarily.
"Yes," he insists calmly, his back still facing me. "What have you to say now, Esme? You don't even know me at all. Do you still place me on a raised platform and worship my perfectness? Do you still aspire to be like me? Do you still-" his voice breaks at the next words; and with his words, my heart.
"Do you still love me?" –he whispers.
The question is so unexpected(how can he even ask such a thing!) that my thoughts grind to a standstill. I flounder for words for a long moment, but before I can answer, my silence goes across to him in the wrong way.
"That's what I thought," he whispers, and in a blur of white and gold, he is gone. I am left staring at the spot where he had stood a moment ago while the front door shuts softly –an anti-climax.
I am so completely stunned that I can barely think straight for ten whole seconds. Then one word pops into my head.
Gone.
Both of them.
Like some twisted, dark parody of a movie, a series of disjointed words and pictures flash through my consciousness. The lumberjack leering at me… The blood… Carlisle's horrified look… Edward's anger… "I've had enough!"… Our desolate embrace in the kitchen… Carlisle on the sofa, his head in his hands… "You don't know me at all."…
… "Do you still love me?"
Even the memory of his pain, his doubt is enough to incapacitate me and I sink onto my knees on the soft carpet soundlessly –whoever knew of a vampire incapable of standing?
And yet the words keep ringing in my ears, taunting me, reminding me of their existence.
Do I still love him?
Of course.
Does he still love me?
I… don't know.
I know, by the combined awareness of some constant intrinsic body clock within me and the ticking of the large grandfather clock that it is half past four in the morning. Not that it matters, but for the fact that it tells me Carlisle has been gone for more than six hours.
At the thought of his name, my mind plunges into the depths of darkness once more, alternately disbelieving and depressed. Several more minutes tick past, too slowly for my tortured thoughts, and yet too quickly to mark Carlisle's time away from me.
My thoughts dive into one of my more depressing descents, when I hear the front door open. I am too tired, too numb to move a single stone muscle. Soft, slow footsteps cross the entry hall and pause at the threshold of the living room. And still my unblinking eyes are focused on the carpet, still I am frozen, not even breathing. There is a soft gasp, a sound like the wind whispering, and I find myself gathered into his strong arms.
"Esme," he murmurs softly into my hair. His angry and anguished words have reverberated in my skull so many times that his calm, affectionate voice almost seems unfamiliar. But with it return my happier memories, almost seven years of unadulterated bliss.
"Carlisle!" –I unfreeze with a gasp and clutch onto him like I'm drowning. "I love you! Oh, I do love you so, you have to believe me!" The words I should have said, that I was preparing to say 400 minutes ago are pouring out of my mouth.
"I know. I know, my love," he says reassuringly, stroking my back.
A shudder passes through my entire body as I heave a tearless sob. "Don't ever do that again!" –I cry, admonishing and begging him at the same time. "Don't leave me. I couldn't bear it, I couldn't!"
He shushes me again. "You must get that thought out of your mind, Esme," he says gently. "I will never leave you," and cupping my face in his hands, he smiles, "even if you want me to."
"Never!" –I insist.
He kisses my forehead gently. "Then it's settled."
I bury my face within his coat once more, clutching onto him with unabated ferocity. He continues rubbing my back, shushing me and kissing me gently in alternatives.
After a while, my hypertension seems to subside and I relax in his embrace. We remain in that position in content silence for some time, after which Carlisle slowly draws away so we are both sitting comfortably on the floor, takes a deep breath, as though bracing himself, and says solemnly, "I'm sorry, Esme. I am sorry for treating you with such contempt, and for walking out on you like that –I can never forgive myself for the pain you must have gone through."
The anguish in his voice as he finishes is sincere, and I believe that he truly is repentant. I am, however, still a little too confused by his behaviour to let him go scot-free. After all, 'sorry' doesn't always quite cover it.
"Where did you go?" –I ask him, instead, with genuine curiosity.
He smiles grimly. "Not with any intention to leave permanently, I assure you. I just –needed some time alone. To… reflect upon things. Everything just… overwhelmed me."
My answer is immediate. "You could have told me."
"Esme, I wasn't thinking straight! I said all those horrible things to you, thought the worst of your love for me –how could you expect me to do such a rational thing at such an irrational moment!"
I raise an eyebrow. He sighs, takes a deep breath, and starts again. "You're right. They're just reasons. I'm sorry. So, very truly sorry. I… I don't know how I can make it up to you, but depend on it, I will."
"You could tell me what you meant about… murder."
Immediately his expression becomes stone hard. "No."
I withdraw my hands from his. "Don't you trust me?"
The anguish returns and he tries to reclaim my hands but I keep them at my sides, out of his reach. "No, that's not it, Esme. Please try and understand-"
"You're not letting me!" –I snap. "When you didn't understand my sentiments I immediately explained them to you –as much as you didn't like them. Why can't you do the same for me?"
"Because you don't know what you're asking for!" –he cries, brushing his fingers through his hair. Suddenly he is on his feet and pacing the room agitatedly. I stand up in a much more dignified manner and say calmly, "Exactly, Carlisle. I don't know. How can you expect me to understand when I don't even know what I'm supposed to understand!"
He turns to me as though to give some scathing reply, but keeps himself in check. He hesitates between pacing and approaching me for several seconds; finally, the latter wins the day and he comes to stand in front of me with swift strides. Clutching me just below my shoulders with a firm grip, he says solemnly, "I love you, Esme. I love you and trust you with my whole life –so I swore at the altar, and so it shall remain forever." He pauses to let his statement sink in. I simply stare at him, waiting, acknowledging his assertions with a nod. He sighs, and continues, "Then you must believe me when I say I don't want to talk about it. There are parts of my life which I'm not very proud of –which have been over and done with long past –which are not things I'd rather you knew."
"Why?" –I ask simply.
"Because," he grins wryly, "I'm afraid you won't love me when I'm through telling."
I sigh exasperatedly. "Carlisle, how many times have I-"
His voice remains dark as he strokes my cheek with the gentlest of touches. "Ah, but you don't know what I've done."
"Let me emphasise on that yet again: I don't know."
"And I believe you're better off not knowing." He pauses, then continues softly, "You said you admire me, Esme. How much of your love must be based on that admiration! How much will you hate me when that admiration is lost?"
"I can never hate you!" –I insist.
He shakes his head and leans in to bestow a gentle kiss on my forehead. "I'd rather not take the risk."
"Nor will I ever lose my respect for you," I go on.
"So you say now."
"And what about Edward?" –I ask suddenly.
Carlisle is suddenly wary. "What about him?"
Disregarding the pain at the remembrance of my adopted brother, I ask, "Didn't he know?"
"He knew, alright."
"He respected you all the same!"
Carlisle rolls his eyes. "Edward is a mystery. What he condemns and approves of quite confuses me." He is trying to make jest, but I realise immediately that he has still not come to terms with his departure to speak of him further. Neither have I, for that matter.
So I simply say, "If he could take it, so can I."
He sighs and shakes his head again. "No, Esme, my skeletons will remain in my closet. Humour your frightened old husband, my love." I recognise his attempt to wrap up the topic, and I find myself too tired to resist. It has been a deeply overwhelming day, and all I want is to snuggle in his arms for a long time with no anguish-inducing subjects between us. So I give in, but only for today. This battle of will has far from ended.
"An old oyster of a husband, I say," I mumble as he pulls me into his warm embrace.
His hollow chest vibrates with his chuckles. Then he leans down and kisses me slowly on the lips. I suddenly realise that the last time we kissed was just before I set off on that disastrous hunt. How long ago it seems!
Carlisle seems to have the same thought as we break apart. "Now, off to bed with us, Mrs. Cullen," he says, then grins mischievously and whispers, "What do you say to spending the few remaining hours of the night fully clothed?"
I pretend to ponder for a moment. "Hmmm. It certainly would be a novelty." I lean forward to kiss him again, before saying, "But I believe that some… traditions should be left unchanged."
Carlisle laughs softly before scooping me up in his arms and carrying me upstairs, where I spend a long time in his embrace, just like I wanted.
Pretty intense argument, right? Just wanted to say, in case it seemed like Esme let him off too easy, FYI, she hasn't -as you'll see in future chapters. Also, this is Carlisle and Esme, for goodness' sake -they're like THE most romantic, never-arguing couple ever! I just couldn't make him or her mad at the other for too long, it's just not THEM, if you get my meaning.