Chapter Thirty-Six: Failure

Ashland, Wisconsin, October 1921

Esme

The night was quiet in Ashland town, and the darkness brought with it a cool breeze. I was thankful for the gentle wind that brushed my face as I walked down the sidewalk with Carlisle and Edward; it came off the lake and washed most of the smell of human away. When we'd walked passed the hospital I had mixed feelings. It reminded me of my son, and the moment he died, but it also reminded me of Carlisle, whose arm was intertwined with mine, and how happy it made him. I didn't know what right I had to feel this way, but I was so proud of Carlisle. He was around two hundred and fifty-five years my senior, and he'd been practising medicine long before my great, great grandparents were born; yet I was so proud of what he'd achieved. The feeling felt somewhat misplaced next to the figures, but then again, it felt right. I only wished that I could make him proud.

We rounded the corner; to make our way passed the theatre when Edward abruptly froze. He cleared his throat; "Perhaps we should give the theatre a miss tonight."

Carlisle nodded, but didn't ask any questions, I realised there must have been blood. Would we be far enough away from it that I wouldn't smell it? I held my breath, my mind frantically trying to grapple with the worry that had flooded me.

"It's not blood, Esme." Edward murmured, "It's not you either, it's me." He tapped his head, and I understood. Unpleasant thoughts. My heart flooded with compassion for Edward, I reached out for his hand and gave it a squeeze, I didn't know what to say, so I merely told him I loved him in my head.

He grinned and placed a quick kiss on my hair. I caught Carlisle grinning proudly out the corner of my eye.

We were two streets over when I heard the theatre doors open, three sets of feet exited. I could hear sharp intakes of breath as the humans registered the cold temperature.

"Just wait here, Ethel," a man's deep voice said, "I must go and talk with John for a moment." My brow furrowed, what an ungentlemanly thing to do, leaving a woman out in the cold. My teeth began to grit together, I wrestled with the newborn emotions that were coming hard and fast. These feelings were irrational.

Carlisle sensed my discomfort and pulled me closer, "I love you," he whispered into my hair, "You are doing beautifully."

His words and his presence for that matter calmed me exceptionally. I inhaled a deep breath of his cinnamon-pear-and-fresh-air scent that sent both waves of calm and excitement through me. I tried my best to focus on the calm, the excitement could come later. I had a lot of time to let myself get carried away, and test his self control when we were home.

A small voice cut through my inappropriate thoughts, "But father, it's cold!"

I felt a small gasp escape my lips as the young girl spoke. How could a father leave his child outside in such a cold night? Surely they could wait inside?

"Esme?" Carlisle wondered, his voice was worried.

I shook my head, trying to do away with his anxiety, "I'm sorry, I don't know what's come over me."

He raised an eyebrow, but I merely smiled, "Let's keep walking."

He nodded and did not pester, I felt Edward squeeze my hand in reassurance. I was definitely looking forward to having this newborn year behind me.

"Now don't you start complaining, young lady," the woman – Ethel – chided, "Father must do these things and we must wait." Heavy footsteps began to walk.

I stared forward, focussed on walking in the general direction of the car, when Edward spoke, "The man is, he's in the alley between this street and the theatre." He must have been answering a question of Carlisle's.

I stiffened.

"It's all right, Esme," Carlisle murmured, "You are of no harm to them."

I knew that, of course. I was completely in control of that side of my nature; I hadn't taken a breath since I last spoke. What bothered me was the frustration and anger that was bubbling in the pit of my stomach, because the man had left his wife and child in the cold.

"Hello baby," a different woman cooed.

Confusion coloured my thoughts momentarily before I dismissed it, I was sure I didn't want to know what was about to happen, and I wanted more than anything not to find out.

I felt Carlisle tense, "Let's hurry passed the alley, Edward and I will take you passed the Brinkley's post shop on the way to the car."

I nodded, and smiled up at him. He placed a chaste kiss on my nose, and squeezed my arm in reassurance. I wanted to be back home already, sitting on the chaise in front of the fire, with him reading me wistful stories in his native accent, and Edward offering commentary when he saw fit.

As we neared the alleyway the wet sound, which I realised was that of humans kissing, grew louder. I tried to ignore it, but I wanted to reach up and cover my ears.

"Mmm, no, baby, bank's closed," she woman whispered, and the man growled feebly. I caught Edward roll his eyes. The only thing I could think as we neared the alleyway was a little mantra that I had devised. Don't listen, don't think about it, don't listen, don't think about it. Think about Carlisle. Think about how it feels to be so safe in his arms. Think about Edward. Think about how much you love him. How much of a son he truly is. Think about how proud you are of the both of them. Don't think about the humans. Don't listen. Carlisle. Edward. Carlisle. Edward. My boys. It helped marginally.

I gritted my teeth when the alley was merely feet away. Carlisle squeezed my arm reassuringly again, "You're all right, love, you're all right."

The woman down the alley giggled, "Get your hands out from under my dress, you rascal!"

The man's reply was unintelligible.

"Mother," the child's voice ran out from far away, "Where is father? Why is he taking so long? I'm cold."

The moment my heart broke for the child and her mother, a memory came flooding back to me, and I froze. It was three weeks before I had discovered that I was expecting, and I was tending to the housework as usual, when there was a knock on the door. It turned out to me a woman named Trish, whose face was covered in the kind of foundation that only one profession wore. She had been looking for Charles, because he owed her 'a fifty from the other night', when they 'had a real good time'. I was neither naive nor daft enough to think Charles didn't have his fun with prostitutes as well as his mistresses. I almost paid her out of my own savings – the inheritance my grandparents had secretly given me – until I decided to give it to her out of Charles' money. I knew I'd get a good beating for that, but I might need that money someday. Fifty dollars was a lot of money, considering I only had one hundred and twenty to my name. Trish was grateful that I didn't go 'off my rocker' when she 'came a'knocikn' like most wives did, but I was just happy to see her go quickly. That night was one of the worst nights in my life, he cut my arm open with the bread knife, and wouldn't let me go to hospital until the morning.

I wasn't proud of the thoughts that popped to my mind when I listened to the man in the alley tell the woman why they shouldn't knock off his wife, it was more fun sneaking around behind her back, apparently. Nor was I proud of the low growl building in my throat. The anger ripped through me like Charles' knife once had, and I was only vaguely aware of Carlisle and Edward having a silent conversation beside me before Carlisle's arms wrapped themselves securely around my waist.

"Come on love, let's go." His gentle voice whispered into my ear.

I'd barely even realised that I had begun to move forward. Some sane part of my mind hoped that I wasn't fighting back against Carlisle too much, because that part of my mind was still me, the rest was a monster consumed by anger. The rest was the newborn.

Carlisle's voice continued to whisper soothing words into my ear as I continued to try and make my way to murder the man in the alley. My insane mind was picturing all the ways that I could do it. Quick? Long? Painless? Painful?

"I love you," Carlisle murmured, "More than the sun and more than the moon, and more than medicine, and books, and the hospital, and my patients, and learning. I love you more than I've ever loved anything in my life."

The sane part of me was touched. The insane part was annoyed. Kill, kill, kill. The next thing I knew, we were back at the car. Carlisle's arms never once gave me the opportunity to break away out of his cage, despite me knowing that I could. I was still stronger than him, I took a small amount of pleasure when I realised that the monster wasn't all consuming, if it had been I was sure both Carlisle and Edward would have had to restrain me. Edward started the engine, and then sped down the street. I was still livid beside him. The monster inside of me – which was quieting with every moment and mile that passed – was demanding I go back to the alley and put an end to the horrible, unfeeling man who cared none for his family. It didn't take long for me to realise that the monster did not want to kill him at all, but rather, my monster meant to murder Charles. His face had plagued my memories all day. The man in the alley merely reminded me of my former husband… my former monster. Now I was the monster.

No. I wasn't.

I wouldn't be.

I refused to throw away the life that Carlisle had given me, just to exact revenge and despise myself after. That was not who I was. I was not a monster. I was not a murderer. I had a choice in this life and I chose the side of good. I would always choose the side of good. Sanity had mostly returned by then, but my emotions were so muddled I could not make sense of them. Like I could not make sense of the words that Carlisle murmured, I realised soon after, that his words were not intended for me.

They were intended for both Edward and I. My head shot up to look at the beautiful bronze-haired boy, whose face was swimming in anguish, whose hands held the steering wheel so tight, it was about to snap.

"Edward?" I murmured quietly, "Are you all right?"

He looked down at me in shock. He had seen all that I had seen, he had relived my memories, and he had heard everything that was happening in their minds. My heart throbbed with sadness for the boy. I wanted to take all of his pain away, for it hurt me to see his features so twisted and distorted with torment. If my pain had to be doubled, tripled, intensified by a million times, I would take it all, just to spare him from it.

"Esme, I…" he murmured, and I hoped fervently that he wouldn't apologise for my memories, "I'm all right," he sighed, and some of the pain evaporated from his features, "Are you?"

Am I? Confusion coloured my mind once again, am I all right from wha… Oh, God. What did I just do? I plotted to kill a man in cold blood. I embraced the monster that sought to murder. Guilt came crashing down on my chest like the weight of the world.

"Esme, you're a newborn," Edward whispered. His eyes never left my face, shouldn't he be watching the road?

"Esme, love?" Carlisle wondered, and the guild came harder and faster. I was only thinking mere moments ago of how much I wanted to make him proud, and now he must be so disappointed. I wanted to be out of the car, and up in my room to wallow away until I could convince myself he'd forgive me again.

"No," Edward growled, "That would be the opposite of helpful. This day was a success Esme, you didn't slip."

But I WANTED to KILL him! My internal monologue screamed back. That was no success.

"He deserves to die," Edward growled, and Carlisle gasped. I wasn't quite sure if we were talking about the man in the alley, or Charles.

"Edward, think about what you're saying. Please." Carlisle murmured in a soft voice.

"Carlisle, you don't understand," Edward growled. We were flying down the long road home, and I was sure at the speed Edward was going, we'd be there soon. I didn't think automobiles could actually go quite as fast as Edward managed from the Cadillac. The self-disappointment continued to crush me as we sped through the night, and the silence that had come over the three of us was deafening. Carlisle's arms were still wrapped around me, but they were no longer restraining, now they were comforting. Comfort that I did not deserve. I was glad he wasn't still murmuring how much he loved me… that would have made the guilt worse. How daft I was to believe that I could be good enough for him. If I was a stronger person, I would have done something about that, but I wasn't a strong person, and I was selfish, I needed Carlisle and I wasn't about to give him up anytime soon. Unless of course, he wanted me to… That was an unpleasant thought.

Edward turned onto the driveway, and sped down the gravel path, shooting small stones in every direction. I focussed on clearing my head, calming myself and doing away with the guilt and disappointment. Six more months, I thought, six more months and you'll be normal again. Maybe in six months I could try to go out during the daytime, I was sure that I could control my thirst, I had to. Truthfully, the burning in my throat had paled in comparison to the emotions that raged through me in town.

Esme, hissed a voice in my head, Stop thinking about it, let it go, clear your mind, and breathe.

I nearly groaned, I really didn't need a repeat of the debacle with the stairs, especially with Edward sitting right next to me. Surely he'd think I'd lost my mind. I almost expected a half smile from him at that, but he was too enraged to find humour in my insanity.

I felt some tension arrive in Carlisle's arms, and I wondered what had him worried. I couldn't bring myself to turn around and check his eyes, for I feared what I would find in them. Deep down inside I knew he would not show his disappointment – if he even felt it, perhaps he thought the evening had been a success, like Edward did? – but the less rational, and much louder part of my brain was convinced that his eyes would be filled with a deep and gut wrenching betrayal of how let down he felt. I wanted to comfort him, and to ease the unpleasant emotion that I could tell was eating at him, but I couldn't bring myself to dismiss the immense regret I felt. If my being with Edward and Carlisle had taught me anything, it was that I had a right to feel.
Edward parked the car in front of the house, not bothering to take it to the garage, and Carlisle's arms loosened around me. I knew I needed to have a moment to myself, to gather my thoughts, and to stop the volatile emotions that ripped through me. Edward hopped out of the car, and so I moved too, slipping out of Carlisle's hold, and across the long front seat, until my feet dangled out of the driver's door. Once they hit the ground they didn't stop moving. I could hear Carlisle calling out to me from behind, but I had to ignore him. It took me all the strength I had. My emotions were still far too wild to be able to have a coherent and intelligent conversation with him. I wanted to rip heads of bodies, and limbs from limbs, which was a very disturbing thought. It wasn't until I had passed through the front door that I realised I only wanted to rip one head off of one body and two arms of that singular torso, with the two legs following quickly thereafter, and that body was my own. Which was a more disturbing thought? To this day, I still don't know.

I took the stairs three at a time, not letting them grab at the chance to change my mind as they once had done. I vaguely listened to the front door opening behind me, as I reached the top of the stairway and darted to my room. I closed the door softly behind me, I needn't slam it; they shouldn't think my pain was their doing. It was solely my own. As gently as I could, I tore the coat off of my body, and threw it on top of the dresser with my hat, scarf, and gloves, then pulled my hair out of the curled up-do I had fashioned it into. I didn't deserve to feel beautiful. I deserved to feel disastrous, like a real monster that wanted to kill people. Kicking off my heels, I collapsed onto the bed, and buried my head in the pillows. I wasn't lying there long before the soft steps I knew well ascended the stairs. I expected my stomach to churn with apprehension, but the thought of Carlisle only brought relief. I needed him to help me. I needed him. Full stop. I experienced a moment of sheer dread as I considered the possibility that he may be climbing the stairs to go to his room, and not mine. In that very moment my emotions suddenly flicked to annoyance, why on Earth did we even bother with the charade? His room should be my room, and mine should be his. We were going to be together forever, weren't we? What was with all the sidestepping to make room for tradition? I wanted to be his mate. Now. Flaming hot desire replaced the annoyance, before the dread returned. Oh, God, no. I couldn't do that. I couldn't force myself on him just so I would feel better. The dread turned to nausea. What had I been thinking? Then came the all-consuming grief, and emotional exhaustion. I felt like I got whiplash from the mass of conflicting feelings that plagued my body all the span of less than the second it took for him to climb a single step.

I held my breath when he reached the top, the grief mixing with the dread, and anxiety. If he turned to his room, would I have enough control to stay where I was? Or would I go running after him, and tackle him in his private quarters? Impatience welcomed itself into my system. Choose already, Carlisle! The different emotions were playing tug of war inside of my body, fighting to see who would be the strongest. As usual, the grief won. A single sob escaped my throat, and Carlisle quickly turned to the right. He knew I needed him. He was coming to save me. The sound of my sob sped up his pace, and before the impatience could sneak back into my body, he was at my door. He didn't knock; he merely placed a hand on the wood, and whispered through it, "Esme?"

I whimpered involuntarily in reply.

"My love, may I come in?"

His soft and gentle voice tore through my strength and opened the floodgates for the sobs to rip me apart.

Yes. I wanted to say, Yes, come in and help me, save me, fix me like you always do. I don't want to feel like this for another second. Please. I wanted to beg him, I wanted to plead, but I couldn't even answer him, I could only cry.

"She says yes, Carlisle." Edward's voice muttered darkly from below, before a thunderous melody erupted from the piano. Edward's fingers could make anger and devastation sound so beautiful.

"Esme?" Carlisle's hands were hesitant on the doorhandle. He wouldn't take Edward's word for it.

Between sobs, I managed to choke out my affirmation, and the doorhandle quickly turned. I did not look up when Carlisle walked into the room, but I could hear his soft steps as he made his way over to the bed. Desire and fear fought for pride of place in my system as I wondered where he would sit. Much to my relief, I heard him kneel on the floor by my bed, and I realised, he'd left the door open. The fear and desire evaporated, once again leaving only the grief. Carlisle's hands came to rest on the top of the bedspread.

"Esme?" He whispered, his voice was cautious, worried… scared. Pain seared through my heart when I realised that I must have done something to frighten him. But what? The now familiar dread welcomed itself back into my stomach to return waltzing with the emptiness there. "Esme?" He repeated in the same tone that was almost a whimper.

The grief overflowed, and I pushed myself up, anger and confusion began volleying for grief's place, "I wanted to kill him." I wailed, "Wanted. I wanted to be a monster, to make sure he never lived another day on this Earth. I wasn't thirsty for his blood, but I craved hearing his last breath." My chin trembled, and the whites of my eyes would have been a violent shade of red had I a working circulatory system.

His fear evaporated, and morphed into the strange mix of wise compassion, and fervent love, "Esme, so did I." His voice was barely audible, and for a moment I was convinced that I must have imagined the words slipping out of his mouth, but I knew I hadn't. The confusion did away with the anger, and almost rid me of my grief.

"What do you mean?" I whispered, the sobs had subsided.

"Him." He whispered back, "I wanted to kill him. And sometimes I still do. I hate him."

Realisation flawed the confusion, and hysteria saw its chance. Carlisle was talking about Charles.

My chin began to quiver once more, as I divulged a secret I had even kept from Edward. "Me too." I admitted in a whisper.

Carlisle's face was coloured by relief, as he reached for my hand, "I love you."

I clenched my teeth together, to try and stop the sobs that were returning quickly, it was hard to talk, but I needed to return his sentiments. "Me too," I managed once more, and he let out a chuckle. His face lit up with more relief, and slight happiness.

Consumed by the need to be in his arms, I crawled towards him, forgetting somewhat about my being on the bed. I slid off the edge and landed on my knees, dissolving into his arms. I could tell he found the scene funny, but he was trying not to laugh for my sake. The sobs were still making me shake.

"I think you just fell off of your bed." He whispered into my hair, as he let out another chuckle.

"Me too!" I wailed into his shoulder, my voice was nearly hysterical.

His arms tightened around me, pulling me closer to his body, until I was half on top of his bent knees, "Esme?" he breathed, his voice taking on a new edge of desperation.

"Yes?" I managed to reply through the hiccup-like-breaths I was taking to stop the sobs.

"Will you marry me?" He murmured, in such a tone it was almost as if he was asking a common place question, exactly the way he had asked me what my favourite colour was a decade ago.

I should not have felt as surprised as I did. Abruptly the sobs, and the hiccup-like-breaths stopped, the grief and hysteria evaporated, giving way to surprise, and … love, but just as I was about to provide my answer, the hysteria returned, and my single word came out as another wail, "Yes!"

I threw my weight on him a little more than I had intended to, and suddenly I was lying on top of him on the floor. He was chuckling beneath me, his arms wrapped around me tightly. How strange it was that he had made my cocktail of disaster into one of the most glorious moments of my life.

"I have something for you," he murmured, still holding me tightly to his chest.

"You do?" I wondered, making no move to get up. I thought that he must know I liked our position far too much to move, and part of me thought that perhaps he did too.

"Yes, it's very special," he murmured, his arms tightened their hold on me, making it known that he didn't want to let go.

I giggled, "Would you like me to get up?"

He sighed, and began to pull his arms away, "In all honesty, not really, but I don't suppose it's very gentlemanly to hold you here like this."

I grinned and sat up, manoeuvring off of his body so he could do the same. He gave me a wary smile as he straightened his trousers, and I was sure I missed something, but before I could truly wonder what it was, Carlisle reached into his pocket. I cocked my head to the side, wondering what he wanted to give me that was small enough to fit in a pocket.

I shouldn't have been so surprised at what he pulled out, but I'll admit that I was. The last thing I was expecting to see come out of that pocket was the small ring he held up to me.

I felt my eyes widen considerably, he had already purchased a ring! It could truly only mean that he'd been planning on asking for a while, which did make sense to my rational mind, but the irrational part was still in command.

"How long have you had that?" I wondered, gazing at him, and not the ring.

He shrugged, but smiled warily, "I bought it in Duluth, with the telescope."

My eyes widened and my dead heart throbbed. The tiny doubtful voice that I'd been suppressing in my mind – a voice that Charles Evenson had masterfully created – was crushed and then drowned as I realised that he was not proposing just to make me feel better. He wanted me to be his wife. Me, the woman who pinned him to the floor of her bedroom, with her wild curls dangling all over the place, who wailed at him in hysteria moments before like a wayward banshee. Me, the girl who climbed trees, who refused to wear corsets and put 'being ladylike' at the very bottom of her list of most important things to be. Me.

This realisation made me beam, and then my eyes fell on the small ring in his nimble (yet large) surgeons fingers. Every part of my being, aside from my eyes, froze.

The ring was utterly beautiful.

It was a small thing, understated; nothing like the gawky colourful things I'd seen many women sporting in recent years. It reminded me of my grandmother's ring. Hers was a tiny diamond from a South African mine in 1872, it was elegant and beautiful, but it paled in comparison to mine. The diamond sat pride of place in the middle of the ring, not big, and not small either, the perfect in between size. The gold band that supported it was comprised of one thin golden band, and one thin diamond and gold band that wound around each other infinitely.

With its shape he promised me eternity – never ending days and never ending nights, never ending storms and never ending sunshine. With the diamond he promised me beauty – green trees and orange trees, blue skies and grey skies, turquoise waters and light blue seas, he promised me eternity. It was not perfect because it was beautiful, it was perfect because it meant beautiful. Just like him. Forever I would have one of his decisions on my hand, a stray thought, a sudden love, forever I would have a piece of his soul on me. Forever, I would have him.

"Do you like it?" He murmured, the curiosity in his voice masked the worry quite well, but not well enough to deceive me.

"Mother always told my that I should be coy," I whispered breathlessly, "To never say love and always say like, but I love it. I absolutely love it."

For that moment I forgot that it was destined for my finger, and he'd no doubt want to put it on, but my arms were destined to be wrapped around him, and they couldn't stand not being that for a minute longer. I flung my arms back around his neck and buried my face in his chest. He held me with just as much vigour.

Then he chuckled, "Would you like to wear it?"

I nodded into his chest but did not move back. He chuckled harder.

"My love, I would really like for you to let me put it on. It would ease some of my anxiety to get this on your finger."

I giggled and loosened my stronghold on him, "Why are you anxious? You know you have me forever."

He gazed at me tenderly, "Because you seem far too good to be real, my darling."

"That's funny," I held my left hand out for him to place on it, the ring, "That's how I've always felt about you."

He smiled to himself, as he lightly held his hand in mine, and began to slide the ring onto my finger, "Then I suppose this means we have forever to try and convince ourselves that we're real."

We both gazed at the gold and diamond sparkling on my hand, "Impossible," I whispered, "But I can do forever, gladly."

He slowly brought my hand up to his lips, and murmured before he kissed it, "As can I. Forever by your side."

His lips were gentle and soft on my hand, as I watched the emotion in his eyes. I had never seen them burning with so much joy. My heart threatened to take flight when I realised that I had brought him that. So I vowed to myself then and there, my purpose of this life, this indefinite, eternal and extraordinary life, was to make him smile that smile.

I have next to nothing. I have nothing that is perceived as of worth. I've no money, no friends, no status, and I cannot give him children. But I do still have me. I have my mind, so wild and untameable, a fire hidden beneath year's worth of insecurities, which he brings out and douses with kerosene. I have my heart, gentle and pure, seeds buried beneath an age of hurt, which he's discovered and waters with holy water, and I have my body, strong and immortal, riddled with frozen hormones that were raging through my veins the night that I died – the hormones that allow a mother to love her child unparalleled amounts. I shouldn't be what he wanted. For some reason, though – and only God knows why – those were the very things that his un-beating heart desired.

A.N. Once again, hello my lovey readers! First of all – for those of you who wanted something a little more romantic for the proposal, Carlisle is a little miffed at his lack of self control when it came to asking for Esme's hand, but he is planning a more romantic way to re-ask her in a way. For you hopeless romantics that I'm not fluffy enough for ;)

Other than that, I thought to myself – I don't want Esme to slip again, but she's still a newborn so she can't get off scot-free… That's why I relied heavily here, upon the newborn emotions. Which we know from Ms. Meyer's books are very hard to control.

Thank you all once more for your unbelievably amazing reviews! Welcome to my new followers, thank you to my new favouriters, and I'm sending a lot of love out to my regular followers.

Much love x