Justice for the Lonely Soul
Carlisle's POV of "Chapter 57: Those Unheard Are Sweeter"
He hated when she was so far away from him.
Her distance from the house was hardly enough to cause worry, but it was just enough that he had to strain to hear the signs of her presence. This bothered him.
All night, Esme stayed outside. All night, Carlisle stayed in his study. He supposed he was secretly waiting for her to come back and join him as she had done every night before. But tonight was different. He could feel it, and he guessed she could feel it too. Even if she was all the way on the other side of the property, behind the trees, hidden in the night's shadows...
He really despised it when she was so far away from him.
Sighing, he closed his journal and stood from his desk to stare out the window. The beauty of the night struck him soundly. If only he could capture this beauty in his painting.
Carlisle shyly parted the red curtain by the window to reveal the place where he'd kept his painting hidden from prying eyes. He'd always felt there was something taboo about showing another person a piece of artwork if it was still a work in progress. It was like showing up at teatime half-naked and pretending not to feel selfconscious. People shouldn't see each other half-dressed. Why then, should they be allowed to see a painting when it was only halfway finished?
He wondered if Esme realized how subtly embarrassed he was that she had been peeking at his unfinished painting. The whole reason he had moved it to his study was so that there would be no more unauthorized boundary breaking on her part.
Esme's curiosity was one of the things Carlisle adored most about her, but it was this quality that forced him to see himself in a different light, often times when he didn't really desire to see it.
Lost in thought, he lifted his finger to the canvas and felt the dried streaks of oil paint, examining the texture in solemn fascination. He had worked on it for a small portion every day since she had discovered it, hoping to turn it into something worthy of enchantment. One day he hoped it really would be a window to "Lake Cordial by Moonlight."
Carlisle was determined that he would finish that painting before he and Esme were married. If they were married.
It would be an awful waste of a perfectly good ring if they never even managed to get engaged. That ring still felt like a little fire in his pocket. Every so often he pressed on it gently to be sure it had not fallen out.
Then he had to take it out and look at it in the light to be sure none of the diamonds were missing.
It looked even more stunning in candlelight.
He had to admit how radiant it was, compared to the bland assortment of diamonds in the jeweler's window in town. To think that those pitifully basic rings used to taunt him with their faint sparkles, like sad little stars on a morbid bed of black velvet. Esme's ring was far more special than all of those rings combined. The thought made Carlisle smile to himself. He had a certain young friend to thank for that.
He had no reason to believe that his pending proposal to Esme would fail. Unless of course, Edward turned out to be right about Esme's reaction to the love letters inside her drawer.
A chill of nervous energy flitted up the back of Carlisle's neck. Unable to fight the urge, he quickly opened the window to let the cool night air inside his study. He breathed in several times, deeply. A touch of panic infected his heart when he did not catch Esme's scent right away. But when the breeze swept in, it carried with it the intoxicating fragrances of lake water, pine, and sweet femininity.
She was closer now, he thought, comforted by the subtle evidence in the wind.
He looked back and forth between his painting and the scene it sought to become, staring between the lake outside his window and the canvas behind his curtain. Perhaps it was useless to try and reproduce something that he already had. He could look outside and see the real lake whenever he wished. Why would he need a picture of it, confined to one less dimension on a single panel of limited colors?
He knew if Esme were there she would have answered the thoughtless question with her own creative wisdom.
Art was not just a copy of reality, it was one's personal interpretation of reality.
It explained how two people could paint the same exact scene, and both paintings could turn out looking completely different.
Art was fascinating when one looked at it this way.
And when Carlisle pulled back the curtain just a little further and revealed the other piece of art he'd hidden behind it, he knew this was true.
It was old, delicate, and fragile. One touch could crumble the smooth brown wood that had endured travel and time. It leaned against the wall at a slightly crooked angle, humble yet defiant. It was a cross, made by faith, preserved by a lonely doctor's nostalgic needs.
There was no greater proof that all art was valuable in its own unique way.
Esme, Lord bless her soul, found beauty in it all.
He wanted her to teach him more about finding beauty in all things. In exchange, he could show her how to find holiness in all things. He knew her artistic eyes could find as much beauty in his body, if he laid himself bare for her. In exchange for this, he would worship her body with tireless devotion, only pausing to sate his thirst with a kiss.
Esme loved to paint everything in her reach. Why could she not paint him in kisses?
His eyes were closed. Once again, he was dreaming.
Carlisle's world was turning into one long, consuming dream. His heart was cast in chiaroscuro, hidden from the real world. It was somewhat terrifying.
He clutched his stomach and pulled the curtains back into place, covering the artwork they were meant to hide. For so long he'd kept his letters to Esme hidden, too. Step by step he was becoming braver when it came to sharing the things he liked to hide. The first test was already in progress. All he had to do was wait to see the outcome.
When the night first began, he thought waiting would be easy. Now he wasn't so sure.
He was in the house alone. Only Edward was here. Esme was still a fair enough distance away that he could do it if he wanted to. Run upstairs and empty her drawer and put everything back into hiding.
No... No. He couldn't do that. Not when he had come this far.
Just a few more hours, he told himself, calmed by the monotonous ticking of the clock. He reached out and gently gripped the heavy curtains by the window for support. A strange thought crossed his mind as he compared the thick, drape-like material of the curtains in his study to the flimsy, diaphanous material of the curtains in the master bedroom upstairs. If he were to hold this tightly to those curtains, they surely would have torn from the slightest force. Opening a window upstairs would have caused the night winds to rustle the curtains in a seductive dance. Down here, the curtains were still as stone.
One day, perhaps, he would watch those fine, gauzy curtains dance from the corner of his eye as he made love to his wife on the bed...
He had no idea why he thought of that.
His thoughts were growing ever stranger as the night wore on.
In the midst of his agony, he taunted himself incessantly, thrusting his surname upon hers and repeating the new name in his head countless times until it became a droning murmur in the back of his mind.
Esme Cullen. Esme Cullen. Esme Cullen...
Carlisle was not certain of many things, but he was certain he would be a good husband for her.
He would carry her upstairs every night if she allowed him to, and when they reached heaven, he would lock the door behind them, pocket the key, and lay her reverently down in their bed. And he would make love to her like the sun makes love to the earth every morning, sending spears of light into the soil and warming the fertile land. And when she could withstand no more of his warmth without burning, he would withdraw and whisper to her in the darkness until they needed each other again, and the cycle would never end. If he had his way, they would never go back down those stairs.
Somewhere in the house, Edward shifted uncomfortably.
Carlisle winced. It was just a desperate fool's fantasy, nothing more.
He gripped his forehead forcefully with one hand and slowly ran his fingers back through his hair. He was growing exhausted with these strangled desires.
"How on earth are you going to handle yourself when I leave for class tomorrow?" Edward murmured from a distant room, a light tone of humor to his deep voice.
Carlisle forced a shaky smile to his face though no one was present to see it. I'll manage somehow, he thought.
Edward muttered a wordless reply, not sounding convinced at all.
I will make this work, Carlisle assured, more for himself than for Edward's sake.
"I have a feeling you will," Edward sighed, the sound of a crooked smile holding his words together.
Carlisle was so shocked to hear his son agree that he started to doubt his plan was as careless as Edward originally thought.
All at once he became furiously impatient for the morning to arrive.
Edward chuckled. "Don't get too far ahead of yourself just yet."
Always in check.
Carlisle frowned, reaching down to his desk for his stethoscope. In an old habit he began to idly twist the thin tube around his hand, lacing it through his fingers and looping it into varied knots that always came undone by themselves.
Someday soon, he could be twisting Esme's hair like this, lacing the silky strands through his fingers, looping her glorious locks around his wrist while he lay on the pillow beside her...
Edward hummed in disapproval. Carlisle glared at the wall.
He was beginning to feel more like the petulant teenager of the house. It was none of Edward's business where his thoughts led him tonight.
His actions could very well be mirroring some of those thoughts within the next twelve hours if he was lucky...
Edward sighed in a surprisingly forgiving manner. "Just don't get too elaborate," he whispered grudgingly. Again, there was a smile in his voice.
Carlisle wondered if his son had only chosen to stay inside the house with him for pure amusement. Edward couldn't have preferred staying inside doing nothing when the weather was so wonderful tonight.
"Who says I'm doing nothing?"
Carlisle's eyes wandered from wall to wall, listening for telltale sounds that might hint at what his son was really up to.
Aside from his suspicious chuckling, Edward was not so keen on giving clues.
"You know, the window up here has a very nice view..."
Something in the tone of the boy's voice was more than suggestive. Carlisle had to see for himself just what he was talking about.
In an instant, he sped like lightning up two flights of stairs and found the attic door unlocked.
So that's where he was lurking.
Carlisle climbed the rickety old steps slowly through the shadows, as if he had any hope in sneaking up on his mind-reading son. Across the dark room he saw Edward bending awkwardly over the small circular window that overlooked the vast back yard. His silhouette was masked by dusty bluish light, but Carlisle could still make out an impressive mess of rumpled bronze hair, catching a glint off the moonbeams.
"Come here," the boy whispered, gesturing with his hand. His voice was loaded with furtive glee.
Insatiably curious as to what held Edward's attention, Carlisle cautiously approached the window, balancing on the shaky wooden beams that made up the floor.
His head just barely grazed the sloping sides of the roof as he walked. Like his son, he was a bit too tall to stand at full height while in the attic. Esme, on the other hand, could have fit perfectly without even hunching her shoulders.
"Look," Edward commanded, gently pushing his father's shoulder down so he could have a better view of what was beyond the tiny window.
All the way on the opposite side of the property, behind a fortress of looming evergreens, Esme lay in the grass, like a fallen angel glowing faintly in the moonlight.
She was, Carlisle thought, more exquisite than a porcelain doll. More tempting than a painting. He could not help but silently worship each feature of her face – her lips, twin cushions for his lust; her eyes, gilded windows to a world made of dreams.
She made him want to steal the moon and carry it upon his shoulders every night so that he could see her this way any time he wished.
Edward was right. This was a very, very nice view.
She looked so peaceful, so undisturbed in the fragrant night. As tempting as he found the urge to join her, there was still a forbidden delight in watching her from this secret perch behind the attic window.
"She's not that far away," Edward mused half to himself, confirming Carlisle's embarrassing concern for her distance from the house.
No... She's not, Carlisle's mind acquiesced. He looked questioningly over at Edward in the dim moonlight, still hunched over to protect his head from hitting the ceiling.
Edward shrugged. "Peace of mind," he whispered, so quietly he may as well have mouthed the words.
Carlisle looked down, eyes half closed as he pretended to examine his wrist. Thank you.
After a long while, Edward suddenly spoke.
"She's thinking about you."
It was such a strange remark, uttered in his typical, broodingly masculine narration.
Startled, Carlisle turned to face his son, mouth open slightly in shock.
Edward's face was impassive as always. He shared no visible reaction whatsoever.
Carlisle turned quickly to look again at the beautiful woman lying vulnerable and alone in the dark, her slender white limbs spread out in the moist grass. She appeared to be smitten with the stars above her... Or could it be she was secretly dreaming of something else? Could it be that the stars were not what she found so captivating?
Carlisle reeled with questions, but mostly he wanted to know why his son had revealed something so personal to him in the first place. Edward never shared the private thoughts of another person unless there were crucial precedent to do so.
So what could have prompted him to do it now?
Carlisle carefully rested his fingers on the dusty glass, longingly caressing Esme's small figure in the shady distance.
Why would you tell me that, Edward? He queried through his thoughts, his eyes glazed.
He could faintly see Edward's face reflected in the window. The boy's expression was solemn and serious, but his eyes were filled with tender understanding. "I'd say it's getting…difficult for all of us to continue keeping secrets from one another."
By "difficult," Carlisle assumed Edward really meant "useless."
So many secrets were spilling left and right these days. Very soon, Carlisle feared he would be drowning in them.
"You're already drowning, Carlisle," Edward murmured. "When was the last time you came to the surface to breathe?"
The shadow of a melancholy smile crossed Carlisle's lips.
When Esme knows of my feelings for her, and when she accepts all of me... Then I will breathe again.
"You may not have to wait much longer."
Edward's words hung in the air like a soft, promising song. The boy was gone in a flash, perhaps sensing his counterpart would likely need this time alone once the truth was out in the open.
Still in an awkward hunch by the attic window, Carlisle felt himself growing weak. In slow motion, he fell gracefully to his knees, still staring hard through the glass, as if he feared the lovely view would disappear at any instant.
Secret heat brewed in his chest, tiny collisions of sparkling matter and hardy energy battling between his ribs. Why would he need a beating heart when he could feel all of these wild sensations?
All at once he was doing it again. Falling into that trap of temptation. Imagining Esme, in the same position, in the same place outside… only bare. Bare as the bark of the trees that surrounded her.
As Carlisle clutched his chest beside the window, he wished for impossible things. He wished that the cloudless night would send shimmering rain down to coat her silky skin. That the moonlight would be hot enough to melt the dress from her body. That her voice would suddenly sigh for him, and he would go sprinting across the forest for her, take her in his arms, and bring her back to this warm house.
Why should any of these things be impossible? His mind seemed to ask him.
He brushed the taunting voice away and clenched his fist against the glass.
When he again focused his eyes on the distant scene, Esme was no more bare than his almost-finished canvas of Lake Cordial.
Dreams could be disappointing.
Before he became a doctor of medicine, Carlisle had only ever seen naked women in paintings. Pleasantly plump bodies with all their curves exposed, perfectly pink in all the right places; almost always reclining on some lavish surface, or twisted by convenience to provide ample view of their most inviting features.
The first time he saw a nude female in real life, he was in the hospital. That was when he discovered how different patients were from paintings. He had seen them all – emaciated, obese, scarred, wrinkled with age, ridden with rashes, many months pregnant... There came a comforting time in his life when he was convinced no female body could intimidate him in any way.
He thought he had seen it all. Until he found Esme.
Then he realized he had never seen the women in those paintings...in real life.
What would it be like, he thought, to combine the body of the painted woman and the body of the living, breathing, satin-fleshed woman he could reach out and touch?
This was why the mere thought of Esme in her melting dress made his throat go dry. She would be the answering echo to his thirsting imagination. The real woman's body, flawlessly combined with the sensual fantasies depicted in those gilded canvases.
When he closed his eyes, he could see it. Not as vividly as he wanted, but just enough details to make his veins race with feverish venom.
Her rosy breasts, her supple tummy, her tender thighs. A sheen of loose caramel curls splashed over his pillow. A pair of small, roaming hands, determined to feel every inch of his flesh.
The night seemed to curse at him, and at once he stood up, nearly bumping his head on the low slanted roof. With one hand holding him steady against the wall, he patiently snuffed out every one of his desires before going back downstairs.
Edward was preparing to leave the house for the morning, already sorting through his school supplies in the foyer. Carlisle passed his son wordlessly and went back to his study to stare out the window some more.
Edward paid him one last visit before dawn.
"You think she'll find them today? Your letters?"
Carlisle only shrugged.
A gentle eagerness infected Edward's usually monotonous voice. "Carlisle, if you give her some kind of…gift, she may be inclined to put it in that drawer with the others."
It was a good idea, one that had briefly crossed his mind before, but Carlisle thought that was a little too manipulative. He wanted this to be a natural process, with little to no interference at all from him. Esme had to find this all on her own.
"Suit yourself," Edward practically yawned. "I just thought with your..." He sighed and shuffled his feet before settling. "Never mind."
Carlisle was grateful, but a little sad when Edward headed for the door. He turned around to watch the bronze-haired teenager pause with his hand on the knob. "You know, I always believed you would be the one to tell her first."
Carlisle's thoughts were dark for a moment as he considered this strange remark, which somehow implied that Esme would be responding with the favored reciprocation of his feelings.
As certain as he'd felt of those feelings last night, every hour seemed to be washing away his confidence in the bold assumption.
With a fond but nervous smile, Carlisle asked his son through his thoughts, Don't I get any credit for putting those letters in her room?
Much to Carlisle's relief, Edward smirked wholesomely back. "Of course you do. Even though it's insane, it's still better than nothing."
Carlisle gave a sheepish chuckle and turned back to the window. "Take care, my son."
There were certain words he was not so afraid to say out loud. But silently, he added, Perhaps when you return, an entirely new man will be here to greet you.
"I don't doubt it."
Edward's parting farewell gave Carlisle's dimming confidence the hopeful burst of light it needed.
Staring at Esme from a distance had made his need to join her even stronger. For a moment he thought that he could do it. Break the doors down and run out into the night, sweep her off the ground and confess his love in a violent kiss.
But then his plan would be futile.
Somehow, he had to ensure that she would find those letters hidden in her room.
Slowly, he ventured out of the safety of his study, seeking a way to initiate his plan. The hallways were dark and hollow, haunting him just like the rest of the mansion.
Still lost in thought, he paused in front of the kitchen door, staring blankly at the empty laundry basket Esme had left sitting on the counter. He walked over and peered inside of it, then lifted it up and searched beneath it. He frowned.
Apparently she had not done the laundry at all that week.
It was not like Esme to forget her most beloved household chore.
Was something distracting her, too?
At a loss, Carlisle searched fruitlessly for something suitable to wear. He didn't want to waste the few good shirts he had left, in case Esme decided to skip the next few weeks of laundering. Hastily he decided he must wear something he wouldn't need to wear to the hospital.
Out of desperation, he soon found himself digging through the old wooden chest of clothing in his study, suddenly glad Edward was gone for the morning. Most of those old clothes struck him as being more costume-like than anything else. Surely he had something appropriate.
At the very bottom of the chest, buried beneath the lavish fabrics and ruffled jackets, he found the answer to his prayer. A simple, white cotton shirt. No buttons, no ruffles. He breathed a sigh of relief and tossed off the same blue tunic and vest he had been wearing for the past two days straight.
He lowered the loose white shirt over his head and didn't bother to tuck it in. He then switched his formal wool trousers for a more casual pair and threw his shoes and socks aside.
He had barely a glimpse of his reflection in the window, but seeing himself dressed this way brought back a rush of memories from times past. He realized now how much he had missed the loose fitting white poet's shirts of his time. There was a unique comfort to be found in wearing something without a tight line of buttons down the front.
The golden cross he wore around his neck was now the heaviest thing on his person.
Carlisle smiled awkwardly and brushed both hands through his hair, shaking it loose. His hair was almost as unruly as Edward's when he didn't care to comb it. The thought made him laugh briefly.
He really was nervous.
He couldn't bring himself to sit at his desk, but he did rearrange the surface several times. He searched through his drawers and peeked at his hidden painting behind the curtains. He lit a candle and watched it dance.
At long last the clock chimed five times, begging the sun to rise. Carlisle's chest tightened as he turned to see a bright layer of colors fan out over the horizon. Then he heard Esme's feet sifting through the grass on her way back to the house.
He forced himself to sit down as he listened to her enter the hall. He charted every sound she made in his journal, word for word, in broken sentences with the last bit of ink on his fountain pen. He would not have it go to waste.
He heard her presence grasping at the door to his study. He blew out the candle and let out a long sigh before standing up. Somehow he worried that being seated when Esme entered the room would make him feel more vulnerable. If he stood, he would surpass her in height. If he stood, it would give him power.
So he pushed back his chair and stood up.
Slightly panicked, Carlisle began to pace in front of the window, just as he heard Esme turn the knob.
He felt the familiar burn of her stare all the while, and her enchanting scent was making him dizzy. After just a few moments of watching him, she stepped gracefully across the carpet and, to his perpetual astonishment, seated herself at the opposite side of his desk.
As if she knew that she belonged there.
His heart wept with joy. Under the spell of her presence, he stopped pacing to stare at her in wonder.
It was quite obvious that she hadn't read his letters yet. So why did it seem she already knew his secret?
Her gaze was searching, but somehow all-knowing at the same time.
He waited with bated breath, hoping and praying she would say something to mark her arrival. But she gave him no reason for her visit, no remarks to share why she was here.
She simply sat and stared. It as was invigorating as much as it was disconcerting.
Too nervous and confused to dare to speak for himself, Carlisle ensconced himself in the familiar rhythm of his pacing.
Did she find his behavior odd? Did she expect him to say something first? Surely she was aware of his feelings by now. After all, he was fairly aware of hers...
Hopefully his unprecedented silence wouldn't change her mind.
Confusion boiled relentlessly in his mind. What was she trying to do to him? Was this some sort of test?
His only defense was to bury his fingers in the curtains at the window and pretend to be distracted. If he could separate himself from her attention, then maybe she would misunderstand his discomfort.
The cool velvet fabric of the curtain was addictive to his fingers. He could feel her eyes following his every movement, and it encouraged him in ways it should not have.
Tension spread throughout the room like fire.
Then, finally, Esme's voice cooled the flames. "Where is the key to the attic?"
He stopped altogether, turned to open his desk drawer, and reached inside.
With renewed confidence, and a wholly beating heart, he embraced the desire in her eyes and handed her what she had asked him for.
"Right here."
And now he understood. The reason for their silence. The significance of those few exchanged words. The brilliance of giving her this small, symbolic gift.
The key. His final symbol.
He watched her carry it out of the room, and he listened to her journey up three flights of stairs. And suddenly, all anxiety washed away from his heart, and he was at peace.
Yes, he was confident Esme would be reading his letters today. Dangerously confident.
But he promised himself he would not interfere, no matter how the situation unfolded. He would let nature take its precious course. He would let God dictate how they came together in the end.
-}0{-
Even having the patience of a saint, waiting was not an easy thing for Carlisle to do.
Esme did everything but open her nightstand drawer that morning. She explored the attic, she hummed idly to herself. She even bathed.
She knew exactly how to torture him, putting on an exquisite show of sounds and scents until the very last second.
When he could take no more of it, he cut himself off from the rest of the world. He drowned himself instead in the world of ink and paper, buried deep within his mind. His hands grasped the Bible, and clung tightly to the unchanging truth between the pages. No sounds could penetrate this world of his very own. Not even the distant rustling of Esme's destined discoveries.
He was only brought back to reality by the sound of his own name, a warm whimper that came from a woman's lips.
It all happened very quickly, but his mind was slow to process the scene as it played out before him.
He looked up, and he saw Esme. It was no different than any other time he looked up to see her.
"What is it?" he asked.
But the moment the words left his mouth, he realized he had not needed to ask.
Without a word, she opened her arms and let the pile of letters fall to the ground. They fluttered around her legs like a flock of doves fainting on the carpet.
Her pale hands were outstretched like the petals of a lily, and his heart jumped at the sight of the scorching blue ink smeared all over her fingers.
He spoke her name, and instantly flushed at the sound of it. The ragged depth was enough to make fire bleed. This was not his voice, it was the voice of his soul.
To his everlasting thrill, Esme's soul responded. "I love you."
Then she was gone.
Within the same second, Carlisle's most fervent desire and his most potent fear had come true. In that second, he had no idea what to do.
How could he let her disappear?
He had not imagined what she said. Not this time. This was real. Painfully, dangerously real.
He had to run after her.
One thought triggered the reaction in a fraction of a second. But even a fraction of a second was time wasted.
A gasp fled his lips, his heart pounced to life. He took a single breath in preparation to run, and it tasted like fire.
Then he felt the sting of God's whip on his ankles, and he was off.
Carlisle was confident that he had never run this fast before in his life.
But he still couldn't keep up with his restless newborn. Esme still bested his speed.
He let out a hysterical sob of frustration as he sliced through trees and boulders to reach her. The beauty of nature had risen to terrible proportions that morning. Sunlight drenched the earth, and the air was positively glistening with the aftereffects of a sweet spring shower. Glowing greens and rich, jewel-like browns flooded his vision as he swept past, seeking out one color that would give away the woman he chased.
Possessed by passion, he did not even stop to gather his whereabouts. There was no time. He could feel her presence, so clearly. All he had to do was follow his instinct and never look back.
Because when Esme ran away from him, he would readily swim through oceans, crawl on hands and knees across the hottest of deserts, and scale the highest, coldest mountains. He would chase her to the ends of the earth until he could have her in his arms again. Any distance would have been worth it, but this time he knew he did not have to look any further than his own backyard.
Nearly at his wits' end, Carlisle found himself storming through a sparkling glen of willow trees as he came full circle toward the banks of Lake Cordial. His legs felt like spears as they cut through the water, and his arms like wings as he flung green willow fronds out of his way. Then the air began to change.
It had been only forty-six seconds since he'd started his run. Forty-six excruciating seconds where he felt like Moses wandering the desert – empty, dry, and lagging in his faith. Until he found her.
She stood trembling and all alone, up to her knees in water, her face shining like a pearl. Her long hair flowed out in the wind like a spread wing, her curls playing giddily against each other, the flashing colors like rust and honey in the sun.
He was so elated to have found her, at first he had no words worthy enough to say. He was so deathly afraid that she would suddenly take off running again... If he did manage to say something, he had to make his words count.
With his hands clinging desperately to the vines of the willow tree, Carlisle leaned forward and let the sun blind his eyes.
"Marry me."
Esme stopped every movement, stood utterly still in the water, and stared up at him as if she were witness to a vision from another world. He could see the mist of disbelief in her eyes, but all it did was fill him with the vigorous urge to make her believe what he said was true.
He stepped forward, cautiously at first, desperately hoping that she would not run again. The wind wrapped around him from behind, pushing him closer to her, like the hands of loving angels guiding him toward his destiny.
Even before he heard her say the word, he was smiling. It was pure instinct, a voice from deep within that told him she had already accepted his request, a thousand times since the very first day he'd wished to ask her.
"Yes," she spoke, her eyes glistening under the sun's glare.
Within moments he was there in front of her, a part of her very presence as he'd always longed to be. He scooped her up into his arms and held her more tightly than he'd ever dared to hold anything before. He competed against all the forces of the earth when he had Esme in his arms. He could be stronger than gravity, sturdier than stone, hotter than fire ... all for Esme.
It may have all started out as the fantasy of a lonely man's delusional heart, but this time Carlisle knew it was real.
Emboldened by ecstasy, he raised Esme up with both arms toward the sky. He watched the childlike glee fill her eyes as he lifted her far above him, her head blocking out the light of the sun. Her smile took the sun's place in the sky, and Carlisle thought it a perfect substitute for the great star. He had no doubt that flowers would flourish, waters would rise, trees would grow, and love would thrive under the light of Esme's smile.
For this tiny, thrilling moment, Carlisle was prouder than the richest of kings – and he was not ashamed to feel that pride radiating through him as he held the love of his life aloft for all the world to see.
He watched the sun's rays spread out around her hair like a halo, illuminating her for what she really was. Afraid the sky might suddenly steal her from him, he pulled his saving grace back into the safety of his arms and promised her that he would never let go.
Neither the sky above, nor the water beneath him could touch her. The only thing she was allowed to touch was him. He made sure of it.
As he listened to Esme whispering yes after yes after yes in his ear, the joy he felt was downright excruciating. Carlisle never thought he would deserve to feel or hear or see something so perfect, but at the same time, he savored the pure, honest power that came with it. For the first time, Carlisle felt he was able to stand firmly upon the ground of the earth and not hold the slightest fiber of regret for what he was.
He felt so complete it made him cry.
Esme was so warm in his hands; so indescribably warm. Her arms slid around him, like bands of silky sunlight, protective and dependent at once. Engulfed in a typhoon of unfamiliar emotions, Carlisle could find no source of stability except in the heady center of Esme's gaze.
Staring down at her, he saw a new world opened up to him, one filled with richer colors and sweeter desires. Although she was no longer saying the word out loud, he could read the word "yes" on her lips, over and over as she lost herself in his eyes. He should have been rejoicing in this moment, celebrating the world he had finally unlocked for himself after years of suffering and torment. But one marvelous, heartbreaking notion still sang endlessly in the back of his mind.
"I've never been this...close to anyone before."
His confession came out in a soft, broken cry. Esme's eyes widened when she realized what he meant by the words, how very literal they were.
He saw so many things in her eyes right then – fear and pain and pity, but also wonder and hope and desperation.
He was certain his own gaze mirrored hers. The thought had crossed his mind many times before this moment, but never had it been so sure, so unstoppable in its intended path. This time, his desire would crush every obstacle that dared to block his way.
He could see it in her eyes, that she knew he was going to kiss her, and she knew that nothing would stop him from doing it now. And that thrilled him more than the idea of kissing her alone did; seeing the utter thirst in her wide, burning eyes as she accepted her thrilling fate.
Hers were the first lips he had ever touched, and they would be the last as well.
The world around them fell to blissful pieces when he kissed her lips. A fertile vine of warmth grew rapidly within him, curling through his body, stirring a hidden river of strength and vigor deep inside. Everything he strived so hard to keep hidden throughout his life seemed to spill from his lips into hers as he kissed her. He had no secrets anymore, no reason to keep anything from this woman with whom he would soon share his soul.
He could hear her whimper as he moved his lips, and the soft sound filled his belly with fire and made his arms feel ten times as strong. Heat and love grasped him everywhere, and he emulated their grasp with his own two hands, holding Esme closer and closer until she felt attached to his body.
When the bliss became too much to bear, he gently parted their lips, calming himself with the promise that he could kiss her anytime he wished now. And when he needed to speak, he could say anything he wished.
"I love you, Esme," he declared. For the first time ever, he was saying it out loud, and he wanted the world to hear it.
He felt a shiver sweep through her small body as he held her, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "The poem you slipped into my sketchbook on Christmas morning… You were the one who wrote it, weren't you?" Her fingers desperately touched every inch of his face, making sure every one of those inches was real.
"Yes, I was the one," he confessed, his chest swelling with pride. "Yes. Yes, I wrote it."
Esme was incredulous. "And the letters? All of those letters?"
"One hundred," he confirmed with a nod. The number sounded so staggering and intimate as he whispered it against her forehead. "I wrote one hundred of them. I saved only half. The others were burned."
Esme's fingertips felt like flames as they settled against his mouth, her beauty amplified by the look of pure wonder on her face.
"You have no idea how many nights I wanted to slip just one letter beneath your door... how much I tortured myself over it," he said longingly. No amount of fear could stop the words now. "I've loved you since..." His knees buckled at the memories, his voice breaking down. "Oh, I cannot even bear to think it..."
He touched his lips to her forehead again and again, tasting every part of her face that tempted him. She was a feast to consume, both physically and emotionally... even spiritually. But partaking in that course would require ample preparations on his part – preparations for which he knew he was not yet ready.
Still, he could not hold himself back from the urge to take purchase in what he had in his arms. Esme was his. The heat of possessiveness overtook him with ease, and he crushed her – mouth to mouth, and chest to chest.
The soft weight of her breasts against his body made him unsteady, and his legs nearly gave way from the entirely foreign sensation. She was so unabashedly female, it hurt him. The idea that this woman could belong to him and could willingly accept his claim on her, was staggering.
Sensing that his constant sobbing was ruining their kiss, Carlisle reluctantly pulled away and carried his kisses south, decorating her exquisite neck in his venom. A spark of virile energy inflamed his chest as his teeth gently grazed the scars of his first bite on her flesh. Esme shuddered when he became more attentive to the sensitive spot, and he took her reaction as wordless encouragement.
His name never sounded so enticing as it did when she said it, throatily against his ear.
"I've needed you," she cried softly, her voice like a desperate lullaby. Her hands sank into his hair and grasped the back of his neck. "I've needed you for so long..."
Her slender legs tightened rapturously around his middle, and all at once it felt as if someone were tossing hot coals against his groin. Arousal simmered inside of him, but it was in his heart where he felt it the strongest. Where the sensation of being aroused once seemed dangerous and sinful, it now seemed almost reverent.
"Oh, my darling," he wept into her velvet skin. "I shall never forgive myself."
As much as he hated to see Esme cry, she looked absolutely bewitching when she was shaking with sobs. Such was the effect his words had on her.
He had many more words to share with her, if that were the case.
"Do you know how long I've wanted to tell you?" he cried in earnest, exposing his heart with every word. "Do you know how my heart aches whenever we are apart? How my soul thirsts for union with yours?"
Her eyes were wreathed in sorrow and passion, worshipful yet touched by pity for his torment. She shook her head, disbelief misting her gaze.
"You never knew." He firmly took her face between his hands, determined to make her see the truth. "You never even guessed?"
"How could I have?" she asked incredulously, her long eyelashes catching glints of sunlight when she blinked. "Your compassion has never changed, Carlisle. Since the beginning you were so impossibly kind to me, so caring for no reason." Her right breast pressed appreciatively against his heart as she spoke. "You've always been this way with me. You've always treated me with love. I'd never recognized it to be anything less...never..."
Her eyelids drifted shut as she shook her head, the friction warming the palms of his hands. He breathed over her face, his instincts begging him to lean in closer. He watched as she trembled and her head tilted back, as if she were expecting another kiss.
She would receive it soon enough.
"Stay with me," he said, his voice like stone. "Forever, Esme." His cheek pushed harshly against hers, and his lips were helpless to kiss every spare inch of her skin that had not yet been marked. "Say you will be mine, always."
"Yes, always yours," she sighed. He felt her body go utterly limp in his arms. "I am yours, Carlisle."
His desperate whimper was muffled as his lips planted a garden of kisses on her cheek. And like a good gardener, he cupped her chin and buried the seed of his final kiss on her mouth, the most fertile spot in this garden.
He tended gently at first, but he was impatient to see what beauty would come of the seed he had planted. The heavy cloak of desire blinded his eyes, and he felt his kiss blossoming into something more passionate. Esme whimpered and struggled against him, victimized by his reverent determination.
When he felt her legs quaking around his waist, he could no longer hold himself upright. The strong knees of Atlas gave way, and he submitted to the lapping waters of the lake beneath him.
The waves tried to carry Esme away from him, but Carlisle refused to let her go. She was just as determined to keep hold on him. Her arms, though small, still surprised him with their newborn strength. She held him so tightly it almost frightened him, yet he found her fierceness appetizing.
Beyond the haze of his passion, he could hear the sweet echo of her distant cries and laughter. He couldn't help but laugh and cry harder as he ran his soaking fingers through her hair.
His kisses were clumsy and slippery, but it didn't matter. They moved against one another in the water like disoriented lovers, each still so unfamiliar with the other's body. They were so lost in the moment, they did not have the willpower to let their own inexperience hinder their frantic exploration. But very soon all of that would change. Very soon, that uncertainty and inexperience would be gone forever.
For now, it was beautiful.
Beautiful to be touched by someone whose fingers were more shaky than sure. Beautiful to be held be someone whose strength brought physical pain. Beautiful to be kissed by someone whose lips were still tainted with the taste of chastity.
Carlisle could feel the water growing warmer around them, and he was vaguely certain the heat was radiating from his right trouser pocket...
The ring.
He did not even care that he'd forgotten to give it to Esme before asking her to marry him. Carrying her halfway across a lake and falling into the water as he confessed his feelings was about as untraditional as a proposal could get. That was what made it perfect.
But he did not want her to spend one more second of her life without his ring on her finger.
With his lips still buried in her neck, Carlisle begged Esme to give him her hand.
Blindly, she extended her right hand for him to take. Their flurry of desperate kisses ceased immediately as they both paused to watch her hand glisten in a ray of sunlight between them.
He watched her eyes grow dark and wide when he swiftly traded her right hand for her left.
Taking the ring from his pocket, he was almost relieved to offer its haunting weight to another. For as light and small as it was, some spiritual craft had made that ring feel heavy and hot to the touch.
Carlisle never took his eyes away from Esme's as he gently secured the ring onto her designated finger. His heart shuddered with joy and pride at the look of brilliant wonder on her face. She knew the symbolic beauty behind this ring he had chosen for her.
Her lips parted in awe, and he had to fight every urge to fill the space between them with his tongue.
From now on, he supposed, his deepest desire would always be to fill all the empty spaces in Esme's body and heart.
She suddenly looked up at him, her eyes glowing like drops of sun, her skin shining like the harvest moon. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his face all over with reckless adoration. Carlisle could barely decide whether to laugh or cry as her lips lovingly kindled the curve of his jaw. She tightened her hold around his neck and finally locked him in a furious kiss, mouth to mouth.
He felt the slick burn of the golden band around her finger as she passed her hand against his bare skin, and it almost broke his control.
All of his wildest fantasies came rushing back, consuming his senses in a tempting catechism of what his life could be, now that Esme was his. His fingers tangled into her long caramel locks and pulled her closer, his lips dancing roughly against hers. He only had mercy on her when he heard her struggling for breath, and he sought satisfaction in the vulnerable curve of her neck.
He painted her scars with the tip of his tongue, investing all of his energy into an invisible work of art. Words without meaning spilled from his lips – frenzied, ardent words that had spent centuries burning in the darkened depths of a lonely man's soul.
"I never knew love could be like this," he murmured against her sweet skin. "I'd all but given up hope of finding it."
He lifted his head to stare down at her, his lips trembling and aching from his gratuitous kisses. The ache swelled when Esme dared to touch her finger to his lip, shaking her head in denial of his heartbreaking confession.
"Don't say that... Don't ever say that," she practically begged. Her voice was soft and halting as she forced him to hear the truth in her words. "You have me now. You have my love, Carlisle. All of it. Everything I am is for you."
She pressed her hand into his chest, hard.
He released a deep, tremulous sigh and bowed his head to touch hers, his hand clutching her back.
"Tell me again," he ordered, his voice weakened by secret intentions. His hand stirred the water, seeking out Esme's ring finger.
"I am yours." Her words echoed like music in his ear, nearly bringing him to tears as she twisted her finger decidedly around his.
Because he dared not weep, he could only laugh. Weak, breathless laughter that made his throat feel tight and his chest feel numb. He traced his knuckle across her cheek, for the hundredth time reminding himself that she was not a figment of his dreams.
"How can I be so blessed? Tell me, Esme... How?"
She responded with a fierce kiss, and Carlisle was thankful for it, for his lips now felt naked without hers pressed against them.
Time passed quickly when one was consumed by a kiss. Carlisle lost grips on everything but the woman in his arms, until their lips finally parted. Reconciled by their love, they rested on each other's shoulders, savoring the profound words they had exchanged on this day.
Weary with joy, Carlisle glanced up from their breathless embrace and soaked in his surroundings. He wanted to remember every detail of this moment. The canopy of willow trees not far behind them, caparisoned with wild blossoms of sunlight. The dreamy blue sky that seemed to stretch on forever. The tiny clusters of flower seeds that floated blissfully through the springtime air.
Everything was so green and fair and full of life. Flocks of birds sang their jubilation as they flew overhead. The lake itself seemed warmer than bathwater around his legs and waist.
Carlisle had so many things he wanted to write about in this moment. He could have filled an entire journal, recording only the events of this day...this hour...this minute.
There was no feeling more precious than the feeling of being loved. He would never be able to fathom his fortune in finding a woman like Esme to fulfill his soul's deepest longing. She could offer him so much more than his dreams would allow.
For the first time in Carlisle's long life, the feeling of loneliness was entirely forgotten.
At last, he was completely at peace.
Thank you all for the wonderful reviews and messages. They are a constant inspiration to me!