An Array of Reasons

by ForeverUnknownOooooh

'Sex. Great. Now I've got your attention, I can go on.' Liberal college student Esme Platt is only just coming to terms with the instabilities of life. Along with her flatmates Saintly Carlisle Cullen, 25, and young Edward Masen, she offers an entertaining perspective on her life and how the unexpected is usually best.AH/AU RatedM for later chapters. Some dark themes. Canon-couples

61. Reasons to Deny- Part 7

First of, I apologise if these chapters feel a bit dry and slow. All necessary to the overall picture, I promise.

Love to hear your thoughts!

---

For another day, she sleeps.

We live in opposition for those twenty-four hours. I stay on end of the house, her on the other, forever circling.

This time I don't expect her to eat the food outside her door and I grant the freedom to dispose of it at will when I make my way to the shower.

Since mourning the feel of her against my neck, I find myself with little excuse to complain now stood in the mirror once again. My other tenderness's are still causing an angle in my stance. Breathing down to my feet in snorts of exhales, I am quite unable to open my lungs wider on account of those cracked ribs.

And now looking to my shoulder I see I have a new badge to add.

The bite is damp with blood though the wound is deep. I pad the area a few times, raise an eye at the indents of incisors.

I shower with the door open, keeping the water cool and my thoughts to a minimum just in case she brings herself up in screams again.

Not a peep.

Likewise, she spends all of Tuesday snoozing.

I knew from our many years together that she liked to lay in, I need not be concerned yet. Except with all my new knowledge, the words, the images stuck in our heads, the silence is like suffering nightmares with eyes still open and every time I close them, every time I catch a glimpse of my refection, I do not see myself.

I see King; leering over her, drooling in his lap. I see the ex-boyfriend, charming, smiley, gripping her. I see my father locking her in room, ignoring her screams.

For another day, while she rests, I sit at the dining table, staring at textbooks without reading.

For another night, while she rests, I lie in bed without sleeping.

No book can bore me long enough, no studying holds my attention, no exhaustion wears on me enough that come the evening, I finally put myself to feigned silence. No, nothing happens.

Even when I do finally fall asleep, I wake myself in an hour just to check on her.

Given our silence, I suspect we will not have much to say to each other come Wednesday.

It is early Morning. Knowingly feeling like I haven't slept in a very, very long time but fearing Officer Swan's temper, I decide to put my weakened aches to work. Od lectures in my ear, I am in an antagonising round of crunches when her greeting sends me through the wall.

'Good Morning, Carlisle.'

'Guhr,-'

She is a vision of our youth as I gasp my way to restraint. Dizzy from the push, head pounding like a habit, I wipe the sweat from my neck and thump my skull to the floor.

Even from this angle, swarmed in clothes that do not fit her, tired, wavering, she is still endearingly remarkable.

'Coffee?' She asks.

I swallow a little, nod.

'That would be nice, thanks.'

'Breakfast?' she asks. 'Or were you planning on finishing your work out?'

I feel a bit self-conscious. There is no real reason to be. She had seen me work out before. We had worked out together before. Come painful months of PMS, she often had me rolling her limbs in such an usual stretch, my skills as a chiropractor-come-physiotherapist were expanding far out of the theoretical realms.

'If you want, I can wait-'

She's providing such push to the conversation I struggle to gather what she's saying. Part of me expects I am dreaming because after the weekend we had, the screams, the tears-.

Maybe she was all cried out?

I doubt I am.

'No thanks.'

She frowns to herself, puts her hands together, twists them. 'A-Are you sure? You should eat something?'

Now I frown. The washing machine is rumbling in the kitchen. I hadn't heard her put it on. I half wonder why she has put it on. The last I saw there was little laundry in the basket.

With a grunt, I pull myself up from the mat, tentatively control the exhale from my chest. Almost humorous to think I was in discomfort yesterday. My error in judgment is extreme. Working on abs… with damaged ribs….

The agony spreads like an internal bleed.

I let my head slip back down again, grunt on a secondary pain.

'Are you okay?'

'Yeah,' I attempt a laugh but it is hollow and pathetic and only causes more irritation. 'Perhaps, too soon.'

'Way too soon,' she criticises, looking knowingly at my torso as though seeing the display beneath.

We take those few minutes to assess each other, I think. For example, her cold seems ever so slightly better but her throat is still swollen, the voice sore and meek. Very un-Esme like. Similarly, she stares hard at me, so hard that I find myself folding my bottom lip under my teeth again, hiding the split.

The room spins when I stand. Tornadoes in fact, colours flying past me so fast I think I'm going to faint. Up till my foot comes forward a little.

Coffee. Coffee. She wants breakfast.

Attempting a smile, I come past her to move into the kitchen.

'Drink?' she asks again. Her voice is swamped, still lost in the haggard mist of her breathing. Timidly she stands at the doorway behind, hands clinging to her forearms.

'Thirsty?' I ask, moving towards the fridge.

'No, I was-' she sounds almost upset at first. Likely to be the cold.

There is an obvious reason I couldn't stand to look at her. Not the injuries alone or the cracked expression, not even the wringing of her hands or the coughing. I suppose it is just us alone. So much left to say, so much unsaid…

Every time I lift my eyes too her, I am overwhelmed to hold her again as if my hands were fighting the need to do it.

'I was offering,' she says tightly.

We've both come to the handle at the same time, my thumb resting on top as her hand hangs below. She's close enough that I could almost warm from her body heat. Except I am frozen.

She's looking at me from under her eyelashes in an expression that I don't think I should recognise. Maybe I don't recognise it because they're darkly green, saturated in black-browns. Her hand is so close to me, my breath punted down my chest as she parts her lip to say something.

From the advantage of my height I can fool myself thinking she may be looking at the stubble she had once complimented, not the weakness of a heavy eye. Then her gaze narrows.

My eyes drop to my left shoulder.

Though I had changed since Monday, my t-shirt is still white nylon and is of the type to rub against any bumps and grazes. It is obvious to me that she is looking at thin line of colour bleeding through. Colour accidentally ripped from her teeth.

I circle the area a few times, raise my eyes to her. It is stinging. The skin still sore, still marked. And the devastation is clear on her face.

As suspected, just like the spoon incident.

I open the refrigerator door between us and use it to distance myself far to the other end of the kitchen. She was right. Breakfast made sense and while I wish I could provide her with exactly the thing she'd make for us; pancakes, waffles, French toast, I settle instead for offering some kind of scrambled egg dish.

'I-I thought you weren't hungry?' She murmurs, frowning again.

'But you are?'

Though I had forbidden myself to do so, I turn a little over my shoulder to gather her expression. Her jaw is very straight. Her mouth even straighter.

'You are still hungry, right?'

She gives a very weak nod, watching me wash my hands from a distance, crack a few eggs into a cup and whisk them. In the last month the times I had cooked for her, though I did do it on rare occasions, seem to have lost the effect.

From just her expression I worry I might be poisoning her because she frowns still, displeased with my movements.

Maybe it was the presumption itself. Maybe I should have asked her what she wanted. Except she loved her eggs scrambled. Her favourite way to have them. Her only way to have them in most situations. On whole wheat toast, sometimes with avocado. Usually seasoned.

'Is this okay? O-or would you prefer something else?'

'We're low on groceries.'

In the dark recesses of my brain I see myself as a failing husband who has been left to a household of chaotic children where everything has been wrecked and ruined. Mom is home now. She takes one look at my attempt. And has to stop the urge to beat me with a frying pan.

'Yes-' I admit, guiltily. Again, I didn't like to outright say it was a deliberate tactic for my forthcoming negotiation with Mr Masen but I hoped she didn't think I'd planned to starve her.

'No, Carlisle. We're low on groceries. You shouldn't be making me that much.'

'You're hungry.'

'So?' She asks bitingly. 'I'll only bring it up anyway, why waste it?'

'It's not a waste.' I say it thickly, my own jaw aching now. Perhaps that's why the washing and thinking on it, I peer behind me to see if I can recognise the fabric tumbling against the screen.

Her bedding.

'You…' I try soften my voice, take out the emotion and replace it with the medic tone. 'You shouldn't consider that. If you focus on that, you'll struggle to keep anything down.'

From just from the perfume, I know she's moved. Initially I suspect she's rightly disgusted with my battered inability to converse. I suppose I had always considered our time together a commodity. Now it was fleeting from me. Hunting the rabbit in thick overgrown grass.

Though I didn't know who was the hunt and hunter.

She snorts though there is not much humour to it.

The sink runs behind me for a second or two. I continue to stir around the pan, flooding my focus with food and trying to consider how nice it might eventually taste if I just try it.

This time, I am up in arms as she raises a cloth to me, presses her lips together. On just the wet chill of the cloth near my skin, I leap, my elbows and my knees bending in an almost defensive crouch.

'I'm sorr-'

'-Apologies-' I interrupt.

'Your collar,' she says thickly. She clears her throat, blinks several times.

'Ignore it,' I tell her. I put my fingers to the mark, the sting, arrange my shirt back on it.

'Carlisle-?'

I move away again, just a slight twist out of reach.

From the corner of my eye, her hands press together, the cloth wrung about her fingers. The lump in my throat bubbles.

'Could you pass me a plate-'

'Carlisle, you're bleeding.'

The words are thick again. She fights another cough, swallows it down.

My smile is tight and I move casually around her to gather the crockery. There is a whimper, perhaps a shake and though I hope it is just the effect of a foggy chest, on whipping around to ensure she is okay, I find she has already left my vicinity.

'Es-'

Fuck.

'Es, breakfast?'

I'm silenced by the slam of the door.

---

The books I'd ordered arrive not long after that. While studying seemed the productive option and though I was avoiding my room as the jail cell from Swan's threats, I am conscious that if she caught me reading such material, she'd likely be very hurt. So I force myself to sit at a cold desk in a cold room and hide.

A few answers come from chapter six from the third book. Changes of Mood. Another psychologist proposes it is a grieving of the self and follows those five steps accordingly. The suggestion is too on the nose for me to provide a comparison.

They all say the same thing though. All circle back the importance of voice. Her voice, obviously.

Let her speak.

It made sense.

And yet it read so arrogantly.

Here is the answer. There is no answer. The answer is unknowable. Everyone has the answer. Go to therapy. Don't go to therapy. Talk. Don't talk. Comfort. Don't comfort.

Listen.

Listen.

Listen.

And when nothing is being said, hear it.

When everything is being said, hear it.

Don't listen to the reactions. Listen to the emotions. Face it. Wait on it. Bury it. Don't bury it. Time. Time is a healer. Time is the solution.

Agency is nothing.

One particular psychologist irritates me enough in such a small amount of seconds, I consider torching the words. I get as far as writing a furious, pretentious, nihilistic email but with nowhere to send it and nothing helpful being said, it simply lives in my outbox with the rest of my unsent emails.

And then, Edward.

'Your prodigal has returned.' Comes the called greeting.

I must have fallen asleep. Now dragging myself from the desk, I lean against my window frame to see it. A silver Volvo. Edward's home.

'Really? No one wanting to greet me?'

The floorboards creek cautiously from my right and then I hear her half throw herself down the stairs, presumably into his open arms.

My feet move too. Dazed at first then determined, I come rushing down the staircase to see him, posing awkwardly in the middle of the lounge with a wry smile on his face, his hair uncombed, his face red.

She launches herself at him. Tying her arms to his neck as though fastening herself into a necklace. His gangly hold comes around her, tightly and within mere moments, I can hear her smothering sobs into his clothes.

If my heart wasn't beating so fast perhaps I would have raced her to it.

Time without him had been-Thank God he's home.

'Getting in?' he murmurs, green jewelled eyes bright as we share a look.

I smile weakly, approach from his open side and place a hand on his shoulder. His jaw is tight, hand rubbing her back unconsciously.

'It's good to see you.'

More than that. It was a blessing to see him. If there was anything more clear to me now than before, it's how desperately she needed him here.

He swallows difficulty.

'I'm sorry,' he whispers. 'I shouldn't have-'

'Shh,' I mouth and let my eyes slip pointedly to the bundle in his arms. He tightens himself, lets his chin rest on her shoulder, soaking in the positive attention.

'You're so stupid,' she murmurs thickly.

Her expression is flushed when she pulls away, wet with tears as she rubs his shoulder with a cuff of her sleeve. Almost as if dusting herself from him. They share an intense look at first, saying something I can neither read nor want to read though he soon forms an adjoining question.

'How ar-'

'Better now you're home,' she interrupts.

My eyes fall to my feet guiltily. He doesn't say anything, just smiles, looking between the two of us as though pleading forgiveness. Funny how much we resemble each other.

Still only using fabric to touch him, she turns his face to the side and then the other side. Frowns at the shadow appearing.

'I can't believe you didn't even shave- eurgh.'

'Oh look, Mother-hen has arrived.'

She smiles, pulls further away as she wrinkles her nose.

'Really Edward, you stink. What is that?'

'What?' he asks.

'That. You just smell so-.'

'So?' he asks.

Truthfully, I had noticed it too though I couldn't say for sure what it was. A peculiar mix of fast food and cheap aftershave he'd dare touch at risk of contamination. Maybe he did stay with Emmett.

'I don't know just bad. When did you last shower?'

'You can speak, look at the state of your hair. Have you even brushed it?' He taunts.

With two narrow fingers, he picks at a knot I had been avoiding facing for the last few days. He holds it to view, the colour dulled by frizz.

'I reckon I've got a free pass this month.'

I flinch. His eyes fall closed and with a tort shake of his head, he sighs.

'Sorry,' she mutters.

Rather she seems to have little idea the remark had cut him so deep. Conversely I am keeping my face so still it might crack if she so much as looks at me.

'How are your parents?' I ask.

Briefly I wonder if this is one of those instances I'd been reading about with silencing her pain and beat myself with hate at the thought. She seems like she hasn't noticed. Despite the attempted smile of this morning; hollow, millimetres deep, the smile she wears now though small and fragile is at least tepid.

She is looking at him with such wide eyes of gratitude, so like Elizabeth as she perches on her knees, listening to him as if he'd been travelling for the summer.

She'd sat like then too. Poised on her knees as she demanded to know the intricacies of the trip. Except she had been on the arm chair then and it was me who had just arrived home from backpacking with Edward in South America some three years ago. He'd bought her a magnet. I'd gifted a journal and postcards, filled the lines with adventures. I wasn't too sure if she even still had it. I suspected so. Es has always been thoughtful like that.

She hadn't wanted to join. Of course she'd also made the point that considering it was meant to be an Eighteenth birthday gift from me to Edward, she didn't see how her presence would've added much. Thinking back, I couldn't remember if she'd stayed and worked or if she'd used the time to visit her family…

I shake the memory, turn my focus to the Kid.

'Yeah. They're looking forward to Sunday.'

Brilliant. I sigh, touch the frown delicately.

'Sunday?' Es asks. Edward nods.

'Dinner. You're coming, right?' He looks at my fallen expression, offers a tight, supportive smile. They must have insisted then.

'Er? Well I suppose. That's alright with you, right, Carlisle?'

I wince again. Checking in with me. She thought she had to check with me. Worse, I didn't want any of us to go. I wanted the Masen's to come to the house and leave the house and that was the limit I would be accepting.

However hypocritical.

'Of course- They're well, though, yes?'

'Mom misses you…' he murmurs. 'Both. They've actually ordered us dinner. You haven't eaten yet, right?'

'Not yet,' Es says.

'Great. Dad's paying so that's a bonus-'

I go to open my mouth but he's already continued.

'You'll also be thrilled to hear he's ordered groceries to be sent to the house.'

My lip tightens.

'He's worried we were getting low on stock,' Edward explains, eyes lingering on me for just a moment too long.

Great. My one bargaining tool.

Lawyers.

'That's, er,' Es looks to me, wrings her hands together. 'Well I guess that's kinda apt?'

He doesn't say when we can expect the groceries. He doesn't say when we can expect dinner so after a simple 'hello, so glad you're home', he disperses to grab the needed shower. While he's gone then, if only for two minutes, Es busies her hands with re-ordering the living room.

I try to assist at first but she gives me such a fierce glare, I half end up falling to the furniture.

'Look, I know you wanna look at me like some winged woman,' she hushes, voice teetering on a hiss.

Again, the need to apologise is so consuming, it's almost propelling out my mouth like vomit.

'I'm fine, Carlisle. Fine. Perfectly capable of wiping a table down.' In show, she raises a tall eyebrow at me and demonstratively polishes the dining table, re-arranging the display, repositioning chairs and placemats to the centre.

'See,' she mutters. 'Still here. No combusting.'

It's embarrassment. It's fault of embarrassment and fidgeting. I didn't want her to think I was standing around being idle so I was fighting with the want to do everything.

As much as it pained me to say it, I also wasn't used to being in her presence so much. I favoured it. Grateful. But I likewise didn't want to cage her. And as wrong as it was to know it, I am Indescribably bored without her.

I couldn't leave the house.

I couldn't work out.

I couldn't talk to her. Couldn't help or comfort her.

I, understandably, didn't seem to assist with the attempt to cook.

I couldn't hold focus to read let alone study.

Sleep wasn't happening.

If I tried to listen to something, there was a risk I wouldn't be able to hear her if something happened; be it choking, crying, vomiting.

And to top it off, I couldn't work.

So I am restless. My hands almost trembling with the need to do something, my lips loosing favour of the languages under me as I panic and watch her move. Thinking only on how deeply, how horrifically she had been brutalised.

Not once. Twice.

And by someone who ought to have loved her, too.

Someone who could read her expression, listen to her wants, provide for her in everything, walk with her, engage with her, motivate and encourage and celebrate and all those things I wanted desperately to do.

'Jussit down,' she murmurs and while not unkind, I can tell her patience is wearing thin.

I take this as instruction to study. I needed to anyway. The exams I had were barely two months away and if I were actually permitted to take them, Maddison would only come to slaughter me should I fail.

I seat myself at the longer edge of the dining table, unfolding my books and placing myself at an angle that I can see her face but also hide from it too.

'Better?' Master Masen asks now thumping down the carpet steps.

He forces a twirl, clearly eager to distract the threatening mood looming over our roof and once she smiles, he moves over to lounge in the arm chair. Better yes. But still far too much aftershave for an evening indoors.

Pizza arrives about an hour or two after the groceries do. Es seems grateful for the distraction and once pleased with the choice, she arranges the scene like a buffet, setting the food on the other end of the table.

In longing, my stomach growls, my mouth watering for the energy. The aroma is so good and so heavy that I'm verging on making suggestions to it when she makes me jump.

A plate is placed directly over my notes.

'Hungry?'

That isn't what she is asking. What she is asking is 'are you ready to take a break?'.

'Anyone mind if I put the TV on? Program is starting in ten?'

'Go for it,' she murmurs and though I try to spot if this is her covering something, she refuses to meet my eyes and I am cautious not to stare for long.

'Carlisle?'

'Come on now,' she murmurs gently. 'Stop for dinner?'

'Go for it, Edward.' I repeat.

She settles on the end of the sofa nearest the television except while she looks as if she might be interested, her posture says different. She eats with food in her lap and a book open on the sofa arm, her legs and blankets curled around her as she nibbles.

The moment the TV flicks on, her eyes come down and though feigning interest, both hair and eyes fall upon her text. From here I struggle to see what it is. Not a novel judging from the size. When I see the cover, mid-chewing on a corner of dinner, my eyes flicker in surprise.

She's re-reading one of her old architecture books. A favourite. Discussions on home renovations from the early twentieth century. I doubt she had picked it up in a long time. Mostly due to her change in program.

'Did you catch last week's episode?' Edward asks and though he says it to the room, I know he's specifically asking her.

Last Wednesday evening we had eaten dinner, I'd studied, we'd sat in each other's arms and said little before going to bed and making love. I chew on my mouthful some more.

She shakes her head.

'They reckon DI Rogers is losing his job…'

'I liked him,' she murmurs and while she says little, it doesn't escape my notice that she refuses to raise her eyes to the television.

One would suggest she avoids it.

Likewise, she doesn't eat much. Maybe a slice or two but really she seems to be hesitating on what to drink. I count five minutes of her staring in the fridge while I wash my plate.

'Is something wrong?' I ask eventually.

If it were the other way round, or perhaps if I was the Kid, she might have yelled about wasting energy, harming the planet and such with the open door. She shakes her head, continues staring sleepily at the grated shelves.

'Es?'

'Nothing.'

'Nothing?' I ask.

She pulls out the cartoon of milk, hesitates with it… watches me.

'Thirsty?' I presume.

'You… don't think it'll make me sick again, do you?'

'Unless you've eaten something likely to curdle with it, then no… but…'

But she doesn't like milk. She's never liked milk and if she was as serious as she was earlier about not wishing to waste food, I didn't see how this would help.

'Here?'

She's reluctant at first, passes me the carton with a sigh.

My hands search through the cupboards to find the milkshake powder she usually keeps for the kids. In his, or perhaps Elizabeth's assistance to help, I also find the ice cream recently purchased and scoop some of that in the blender too.

It's almost like showing off. Pointing out that I'd picked up the various hints and tricks from her interests over the years. When I serve it and put it in a glass, she has a delicate weave of her eyebrows sitting on her face.

'You know this is going to be a huge waste if I bring it back up?'

'No it won't.'

She thanks me, tightly and sipping from the side of the glass, she sighs deeply.

As if I'd drugged her she falls asleep on the sofa within twenty minutes

I feel Edward staring at me for a long time. One part of me is grateful for it. The way his still eyes keep me present, force me to exist. It is exhausting though. It keeps me from thinking on the horrors. It keeps me blank.

'Don't think she caught much of that episode…'

I shake my head, put my written hand to the notes again and continue spiralling. He's channel hopping in silence, scratching his damp hair from his face, regulating his breathing. I hear my name again, tumbling around to a voice I don't recognise.

Finally my eyes met the screen and I cringe.

'Want me to turn it off?'

'Turn it down?' I request instead and though his eyes meet her sleeping form, he nods in agreement.

Apparently some of the local reporters have been hunting King down for a comment. Except he's escaped to some summer house in the Canaries' and hasn't given any indication of his return.

'Smart of him,' he snarks. 'Considering the upcoming election and all…'

'Months away.' I correct. It wasn't an election either. Elections had candidates. It was basically an inauguration. Ink spills across my words.

'What are we-' he stops himself, inhales widely and looks pointedly at her.

It makes my heart hurt.

'Let me put her to bed.'

'Put?' he asks and while this would usually be captioned with a smirk, maybe a rounding jaw, he seems concerned this time.

'I don't like to wake her.'

He'd only been gone three days and already I was setting myself a routine.

'Need any help?' he asks weakly and though I snort initially, I remember there is washing in the dryer upstairs.

'Would you mind checking to see if her bed is made?'

'You're making the bed to put her in the bed?' he clarifies. 'Is she not-?'

'Not what?' I ask.

'Not with… you?'

The flicker of my face gives me away before my lips do. Rather than clarify, I repeat the original request for him to confirm that, no, the bed isn't made. So I make that my first task.

'You can head downstairs.' I say. 'You don't have to help.'

He doesn't mumble, just shakes his head and automatically finds me bedding from the airing cupboard. I return a few handfuls, exchange them for the right pillow cases, a different blanket.

An eyebrow is raised at me.

'She doesn't like that one as much. It's polyester.'

'Oh.'

For what is potentially the first time in his life, Edward helps me make a bed. He's awkward. Not just because he's him but because he is uncomfortable being among her things without her. Feelings I had once felt myself of course. By the time I've finished the sheet, tucked in three of the pillows, he is still flapping around on the last.

I take it from him, fluff it a little, the smell of her hair and her perfume hot under my nose and arrange the pillows in an arch to how she would sleep. He doesn't question it. The only thing he questions is 'what the fuck to do' with the duvet in which case I have to demonstrate the corners.

Of course he'd usually strip his bed… but she made it. Just like she always vacuumed during the third week of the month.

The nesting week, Edward had sardonically called it.

By the time we're done, the blankets arranged, he stands looking semi-smug with his accomplishments. Nods accordingly and then nearly tackles me as I destroy his perfection.

'Hey, hey, hey!' he complains, watching as I unscrew a tub of menthol and shift from the intensity. 'What are you doing?'

'Vapo-rub?' I explain, smearing it across the pillow on the side she is more likely to lie on. I know he's frowning before I even turn around to face him. 'She has a cold…'

'So you're gunna to make her snot on all these new sheets?'

For one of his usual teases, it comes out a bit forced.

'Won't it be bad for her eyes?'

'I didn't put that much on, Kid…'

He is clearly expecting her to have woken up by the time we come downstairs again and comments, perhaps accidentally that she is still sleeping.

I wash my hands at the kitchen sink, scrubbing the menthol away so that it allows my eye some rest and finding her curled tightly in the corner of the furniture, I hesitate with scooping her up. Perhaps that was one thing I had forgotten about. The Self-consciousness of my thoughts. The hesitations.

No. Not the time.

I pull her gently to me, letting her head roll towards my heartbeat and though it hurts my arms, my ribs, my chest, she is light enough that it is easy to put her to bed. She doesn't wake up. She simply twists to her sheets, nestles her head and lets the thick breaths consume her.

Edward is shoving cardboard pizza boxes in the fridge by the time I come down again.

'This is how I know you're home. The house has been too clean without you.' I take the cardbox box from him, moves the left over slices to a plate and wrap it over with sarran wrap.

He snorts.

Except I don't stop there.

Finding the milkshake half consumed, I empty that, wash it out. Wash plates too. He's pulled himself to the island, watching me in cautious silence. Not uncomfortable. Silence amongst us was rarely uncomfortable. Just heavy.

Yet I break it.

'How'd you find out about King?' I don't like the sound of my voice when I ask but it's a necessary burden. He shrugs.

'Dad's been keeping an eye on things. Made a few phone calls.'

'Got rid of him?'

'No, no. Just asked the questions. Couldn't get out here fast enough.'

'Not now his business is smoked.' I mutter. He snorts again, taps his hands against the top as if playing piano keys.

'Have you-?'

'No.' I answer.

'You haven't talked?'

I make a seesaw with my hand and quickly move it to shrug off the imposing frown with two fingers.

'I haven't explained but she's seen some of the reports so I wouldn't be surprised if she's gathering the story for herself.'

So much for honesty.

'Dad won't be pleased,' he snarks.

Never is.

'Or rather,' Edward corrects. 'Dad's not pleased.'

'Go on?' I say, instantly regretting myself.

He shrugs boyishly at first, presses his heels together, pulls on his T-shirt.

'He said he wants to discuss it with you on Sunday-' fantastic 'but he's, err, pretty mad.'

I nod, swallow the lump in my throat till it rattles against the xylophone ribs.

'We heard about the meeting…'

It feels as though he has fired an arrow through my innards and pinned me to the sideboard. He attempts a grin but it looks a little loose on his mouth.

'At least I'm finally in Charlie Swan's good books?'

'Swan visited you.' I realise, tightly.

'Oh… yeah.' He nods. 'He's, well, he's even madder than Dad. Said if you were younger, he'd be sending you on a weekend for a Juvenile delinquency.'

I can't help the smirk now. It is a funny image. Typical how you spend your life craving some kind of consistent figure like that and all the sudden, three turn up all at once.

'He also claimed to be surprised that the several beatings you have taken have clearly failed to knock the sense back into you.'

This time I laugh, he laughs too, still shy, still cautious. Let's just hope I haven't ruined things with Bella. Or I doubt he'll be laughing with me.

'So Sunday?' I ask, begrudgingly. 'He wants to discuss it on Sunday?'

'Given the paperwork, I think it's going to be lawyer-heavy.'

Great, finally something to bore me to sleep.

'In that case, why aren't we eating at home. Why is he asking for Es to come?'

'You really need me to answer that?' he snorts. 'Really?'

I shake my head. No I didn't need the answer. I just didn't like the implication.

'She's not some side deal in this, Carlisle. She's...'

My fist tightens, dreading the clumsy words and how they might beat me into further misery.

'She's the main…'

Don't say issue. Don't say issue. Don't say issue.

'Target.' He ends on. For a third time, I flinch. Scrubbing my head difficultly. 'Sorry.'

There is no need to apologise. It is not atoning for much. He drums his fingers again, playing the opening to a Chopin piece that I have long since forgotten the name of. Waiting for the words to come.

'So you didn't speak… at all?'

'Some.' I remind him again. I pull my frame to the sideboard again, slouch. 'This isn't one of those things a conversation is going to fix. This isn't going away. Ever.'

'Don't say that-.'

'This is what happens. This is the way it is, every day for the rest of our lives. This isn't going away.'

'Carlisle-'

It's too late, I'm getting angry now. I'm winding myself up into madness once again and though I clench my fist so hard I can feel my palms beat in stress, I can't seem to stop myself.

'She is going to wake up with this as her life. This.'

In a split section, I take the glass off the counter and go to launch it fiercely into a cupboard on the opposing wall, ignorant to the alarm it might cause. In a moment, Edward leaps, catching the glass with a weak spin of his fingertips.

My hand finds my eyebrows, scrubs them.

'I apologise-'

'I hope this isn't what you've been doing without me?' he murmurs. I shake my head, exhaling through my nose before taking the glass back and re-washing it with focus

'You look like you haven't been sleeping.'

Trust Edward to be perceptive when you least want it. I pad a little at the eyelids, the purple colouring and groan.

'Every time I close my eyes; I'm consumed with this… rage.' I breathe tensely. 'This ferocity to-'

'Carlisle- '

My hands going to my hair, my breathing sharper, ribs weaker as they fight to contain my lungs.

'I'm going to hurt her, Edward,' the confession comes to my feet. 'I'm hurting her now-'

'How can you say that?' he murmurs.

'I hurt you.'

'No.'

'Don't deny it.'

'I'm not.' He refutes. 'Listen to me. You're not hurting her. You're not going to hurt her. She is hurting.'

'And it's my fault-'

He sighs, rubs his forehead just as I did. I swallow again.

'Sorry.'

'Don't be.' He says weakly.

'You just got back, I shouldn't be pouring this stuff on you.'

'How times change, huh?'

It's sweet of him though not really a comment I agree with. Too often I had doubted myself and turned to him for understanding. Too often I had sought comfort in his youthful naïve presentation of reason. Too often I had drowned in the waters of my own mind, desperate for life, for breath.

'Carlisle?'

'Yes?'

'Get some sleep,' he advises. 'Before you burn out.'

He touches my shoulder as I pass. Sleep is a weak, feeble surrender and though I try to give in, all I really do is stare silently at the wall waiting for the darkness to come.

---

Edward sleeps in the next day. Es, on the other hand, wakes up early.

Again, I'm working out and do not quite hear her until the washing machine starts. I've managed about four hours of sleep, a personal best of recent. Another podcast is playing; my stomach is in agony, my exhausted eyes are on the mat but this time, I'm smart. This time, I am working on legs.

'Nice ass, Cullen.'

Understandably, the shock of the term, let alone the compliment, sends me collapsing to my defeat.

'Sorry,' she giggles.

Falling to my forearms, I gasp, succumbing to a number of chaotic exhales as I drip with sweat from every inch of my skin.

'S-Sorry.'

'Coffee?' She asks and there's a timid smile on her mouth.

Rolling over onto my back now, groaning in defeat, I raise a hand in greeting and pant until can taste her perfume. It's fiery. Painful and enlightening and therefore, entirely miserable.

I hear her moving around a bit. Offering a glass of water which I drain in seconds.

'Thanks,' I gasp.

'Coffee?' She repeats. 'Or are you going to continue?'

My head shakes, a thumbs coming to knead the aching, pulsing muscle of my calf.

'Cramp?' she asks.

Once more, I shake my head, try to provide an acknowledging smile. Too quickly I give up on the workout. Showering, again with the door ajar, I dress in a typical slacks and T-shirt, come down to find her offering coffee.

Her hair is incredibly knotted. It doesn't look bad. You'd think it would but it doesn't. It's just I can see them forming by her neck, twisting and locking amongst themselves.

A steaming mug of dark, bitter coffee is sat on the dining table. Placed neatly against a pile of books.

'Thank you,' I murmur.

She nods and with bat of her eyelashes returns her attention to her text. So I turn to mine.

Edward gets up a little after noon. Alice calls. Esme listen to her chat happily on the phone. And this is the cycle of our life.

Every Morning she wakes early; she starts the washing. We silently race to start lunch. In an odd way it would almost be funny. If this was a few weeks ago, perhaps I wouldn't feel so small. Perhaps I would saunter like I usually did under her watch.

In some past life I would be enamoured by her gaze. By her playful deliberate eyes. Likely I would be so turned on, so full with the ability to consume her, I would be sucking on her neck, making my way south.

It's not that I'm emasculated by my inability. More that there is no ability. There is no power to provide. To be.

At least, in my silence, when I can't do anything except read, she finds comfort in Edward.

Come Saturday afternoon I knock upon Edward's bedroom door to find the both of them laughing on the spread. I had expected her to be in her room and regretfully, my surprise is evident on my features. Edward is pressed against his headboard, typing a furiously late essay, sheets spread around him and practically burying my former lover as she giggles into the pages of another book.

She's laying on her stomach, ankles locked, facing his television though not looking at it for a moment. No, she's reading a different architectural book. Another one from our early days.

'Hey,' She says, throwing her hair over her shoulder to smile at me.

My knees buckle.

'Coming to join?' Edward asks, shuffling over.

I feel the decline come before the words do. I suppose it's the first time I'd seen her relaxed in a while. Consciously relaxed. With her socks posed behind her.

'No I-'

'Sit down?' Es invites, shuffling up onto her knees to produce the space.

The thing is that she is relaxed. Happy almost. And now I'm here, the disruption…

'No I just- I was just-. Never mind.'

So I close the door behind me and let the solitude grant more excuses to read. That evening, she tries again to force that closeness we once had. She has showered, dressed again in that odd jogger pairing, her chest practically busting by the zip while the drawstrings hang at her hips.

'Evening, Doctor Cullen.'

She's leaning on the edge of the bannister, pouting.

I hadn't been completely in her absence. I'd made dinner, we'd eaten, Edward had made light-hearted of the manner and though he'd offered a game of cards, I chose instead to study.

Nevertheless, I look up, curve my mouth in acknowledgment. Words that had once seduced me oh so easily, played with my ego seemed only to startle me now.

My Love, I ached to greet.

My Dear… I tried to say.

'Esme?' I murmur instead.

'A request for you,' she hums, tilting her chin up slightly.

Though it serves to grasp my attention, it does so only for the wrong reasons. For instance, from this angle, I can see the bruises are softening so. They are still there. Still permanent to my brain.

'F-for me?' I ask, pushing the books aside.

She nods, swinging around to the last step and leaning.

'My hair,' she explains, showing it with her fingers. She fingers one wave, swizzles it indicatively. The colour is striking against her complexion, glowing as such.

'It's Lovely,' I answer. She laughs, hollowly, shakes her head.

'It's knotted…'

'Ah,' I say. Yes, yes it is. Perhaps worse now where it is so damp. My own agreement surprises me.

'It is lathered in conditioner but given the hour…' she looks to the clock by the television. 'Well- Care to-?'

Her fingers trace along the paper as she paces past, streak against the words of Latin. Alice is almost undoubtedly awake and is undoubtedly able to help so I'm not sure why the request has come to me.

'Of course.' Pressing my shirt to my chest, I move away from the books and follow her accordingly.

Now up closer I see the outfit she's wearing is not entirely fit for bed… or if it is, it's not one I can admit to being familiar to. Even before our … entanglement she would laze in a specific pairing of items.

Within the first months of knowing her she was wearing my clothes to sleep in. Or an oversized jumper maybe. Lingerie on that one occasion. Nothing on others… the idea was that she was comfortable. No matter where she was sleeping, she is the epitome of comfortable.

Whatever she is wearing now looks like something that once belonged to Alice. Like an oddly colourful tracksuit. Shaping, too. I guess coveted? The point wasn't that. The point is that clothes I knew shouldn't fit her, mostly due to her curves… they were… swamping her? Drowning her.

She hands me a square hair brush, seats herself by the coffee table and indicates for me to take the sofa. So small, so delicate and with stiff hands I set myself work.

Fusions of hair wisp past her shoulders and while she works on her left side, pulling the strands apart between her eyes, combing them with her hands, I try to do same on her right. The colour is dark against my hands, a chocolate brunette in this light and while I had done this not so long ago, the act of trying to untangle her waves while she is alert is a whole other nightmare.

For example, I suspect she can feel my hands trembling against her skin, slimy from the cream. Or the abuse of my stunted breath coming to the joining of her shoulders.

In the time that it takes me to do one knot, she has done three. Though now her hands are shaking and in our bubbled silence, I cannot prepare the words to say to her.

Particularly where they are so aggressively tight by her ear.

In fact I move to another knot, by her neck this time, comb the ends through before I spot the maroon marks by her hairline.

It's as though she has taken hold of me by the shoulders and thrown me off the sofa.

'Carlisle?'

Stupidly, I hadn't prepared myself. I'd been too focused on not hurting to eye what is already there. Indents left by hands pushing into the higher ends of her vertebrae. Tainting them.

The panic attack is coming. Fogging my mind as quickly as it does my lungs.

'Call Alice.' I beg, retreating.

She stands up, weakly leaning on one leg as I move from her.

'Carlisle I-'

This time, it's me slamming the door shut.

Alice stays round Saturday night.

Realistically, I should've urged her to stay with Alice. But there's no refusal because there's no request. As though it didn't occur to her to leave the house. Nevertheless, in my usual hour of disservice, Alice turns up a little after eleven and bearing three different combs silently assists the work needed to be done.

'You look terrible,' she whispers, leaning on the wall of our hallway.

Esme is in the shower now, washing the last of the conditioner out and though I know Alice will be heading in to assist in just a moment, she'd stopped by to knock on my door. Check on me.

'I think Edward is going to join us for a movie marathon? You coming, too?'

This is quickly becoming the needed lightness of the situation. Distraction and invitation. And knowing how weak I am by her side, thinking of the marks and seeing it over and over in my head all the time-

It taints almost everything.

Even thinking back to when we first met, the caution, the unsurity… The attacks done and made and repeated unbeknownst to me and rather than crumble, rather than hate and suffer and lie miserably to the floor for silence, she stands..

I was in awe and complete fear of it. How brash I likely had once been with her. How brutish I am now.

It is impossible to be numb with her when all I can see are the invitations of hurt I had provided.

'Thank you.' I say .

'Sleep then, yeah?'

Funny how Alice doles out demands just as strictly as I do.

At least they laugh.

The team of them. They set the floor in blankets and duvets, turn the television on. They joke about memories they have of a former time. All of them lying on their back on the floor, legs on the sofa like kids as she sits comfortably in the middle. Edward mocks Alice and as they tease each other and play, Esme in her silence consumes it.

I stay away.

The understanding of their arrangement only comes from the fact that on Sunday Morning, I find the living room coordinated as such. It's a blessing than a curse. Still given the hour, I doubt they'd much mind me brewing coffee and further, they seem to mind less the fact that I put two mugs on the coffee table.

Alice opens her eyes before Es does. She spots me, groans, extends like a feline.

'Care to inform me what the girl has got against her bed?'

'Is there a problem with it?' I ask, confusedly. I make sure to keep my voice down though I can't help but let my eyes flick to her. She's curled at angle around the sheets, clearly moving towards the warmth Alice had left than spreading out in her own space.

On one hand, I envy Alice more than I can articulate. I envy the sheets around her arms, beneath her posture.

On another, if there is something wrong with the bed, I am keen to know it urgently. Not least because I am the landlord.

'You tell me, she's the one who was adamant we sleep on the floor. Ugh.' She puts her hands to her hair, pouts in complaint. 'Ooh, coffee.'

'Sweetened accordingly.'

'Love you, too.' She says, tapping my leg.

'What's wrong the bed?' I ask again. I'm still whispering, not because I'm nervous of waking her but I am also embarrassed that I might not have notice before.

She shrugs and takes a sip from her mug.

'I was kidding. Although you'll be pleased to hear she talked about you last night.'

'Alice… ' and uncomfortable I move away a little.

'Calm yourself, Cullen. She was asleep.'

'Did you manage to get the knots out?'

Moving past her, my eyes come to her hair now. They had plaited it close to her scalp so I suspected that excuse the few strands that had slipped in the night, should she undo them, her hair would be in waves.

Silly how much I was looking forward to it.

Sillier how much the understanding of my optimism pained me.

'Sure likes to give me a challenge. Took me hours. Silky smooth now though.'

Alice stretches out her hand to scratch her scalp as show and though I am quick to try and stop her, I am never quick enough these days.

'No, don't wake her-' I plead, eager to keep my voice undetected.

Of course she has already heard them and groaning likewise, Es takes a deep breath from her nose and hiding her expression in a pillow, stretches.

'Too late.' She complains, scowling at Alice.

From a yoga pose, she drags herself back, curving her spine inwards as she stretches out her fingers, comes forward, stretches her back and creates a tent with her posture. Even despite the fabric, I can see her from under it. In that I can see the bend in her spine, the shape of her ass almost.

And I feel incredibly guilty for it.

'Coffee is on the-'

'Thank you.'

'I'll- er- leave you, two-' I shuffle back, shrug a hand through my hair and look to the door instead.

'Carlisle?' Alice calls.

'Hm?'

'Looking forward to breakfast,' she teases.

I laugh and nodding, get to it.

Alice stays for the majority of the day. It's nice to have her round, if only because it means that I am fronted with the occasional smile of Esme's mouth as she listens to the drama. Edward eventually gets up too. Throwing his weight to bedding yet to be cleared, he makes an easy feat of food while I study in their presence.

'Anyway, that's why Em is thinking a camping weekend?'

Alice is dressed now. Esme is too, technically, though the clothes she wears are still thick, cosy. Better suited for a cold house rather than our current one. Alice on the other hand is in jeans so tight, she can barely cross her legs.

'You mean considering we've had to keep rearranging?' Edward corrects.

He's got the baseball on in the background. I don't like to admit that I'm watching, particularly when I'm writing at the same time. Except that on a number of occasions all I could do was lift my head up and admire the swing.

Perhaps if I was in a better mood, I might have wagered him on the Red Sox. I even consider texting Jasper. Emmett even. But I don't want it to lead to an invitation.

Because while yes, she had invited Alice round, I couldn't be clear to what extent she was happy to have people infiltrate her space.

'Yes aaaand,' Alice sings. 'Rose's birthday is at the end of the month. It's a weekday though so camping weekend before, dinner on the night?'

'Sounds good to me,' Es says.

'Camping where?' Edward murmurs. 'I don't fancy going all the way down Nevada again. That was a nightmare.'

'It was a nightmare when we tried to camp locally.' Alice corrects. 'Honestly, my Versace joggers never recovered!'

She doesn't say anything but listens with a delicate smile on her face, tilting her chin in direction to whomever is speaking. She's been avoiding looking at the TV for some time now though when I suggested Edward turn it off, she backed his corner as though she had a stake in it.

She didn't eat much of breakfast either. Again. Her expression also looks something beyond tired. False. Planted for hope.

I turn naively to my notes again.

'Is it a special birthday?' Es asks.

'Nineteen. I thought she'd want to spend it with family, you know what Rose is like but apparently she's going to see them in the summer.'

'Daddy's not throwing a party, then?'

'Oh hush up, Edward. The both of you are cut from the same cloth!'

Edward pokes his tongue out, fold his arms a little tighter, turns to the baseball.

For a rarity, I find forest eyes locking deep within mine in question. To answer, it would seem that there was an event there, clear that we both had missed it.

'Well, where's he thinking? Like Idaho?' Edward asks now.

'He's actually thinking Vancouver.'

'Vancouver?! For one weekend?'

'It is a bit far, Alice.' Es mumbles. 'I doubt my car would even make it.'

The car would make it. I didn't doubt Rose's abilities and considering the cost… the car would definitely make it.

That silver Ford Fiesta was effectively a new car with the same body work. If I could've gotten away with buying Es a new car, I would've done so. She would've hit the roof. And more importantly, would've been devastated to lose something so close to her.

Materialistic she was not. Sentimental, she was.

With a twinkling laugh, Alice rubs her arm.

'Obviously you'd ride with Jazz and me. We could get you insured so that you can share the driving?'

'Seven hours in a car with you,' Edward smirks. 'Seven hours in a car with Emmett. Eurgh, the music alone…'

'It also would be more like a long weekend, you know.' Alice continues. 'Leave on Friday, return on Monday?'

'And lessons?' Edwards asks.

'It's spring break, Doofus. Where you been hiding?'

'Isn't Emmett failing? Shouldn't he be using this time to revise and shit?'

Both Es and I turn away now. I knew the idea of Emmett's studies pained her. More perhaps because he'd hidden it well enough to only confess he was struggling so late in the year. No one wanted to say it, except the guy himself. It was getting to the point where it was too late. A write-off year, almost.

From the conversations we had, I wasn't convinced he could afford it.

'Shit, he undoubtedly will do whether he chooses to study or not.' Alice says. 'It's just something nice, you know. Get out of here, get our mind off all this –'

She looks guiltily to me, apologises in her gaze.

'I'll go.' Es says. 'But-'

'You can count me in providing we don't have to go in Bella's truck. That animal wouldn't survive the journey either.'

'Great!' Alice sings.

'Except,' Es stresses. And now they all look up to me. I keep my eyes on the paper. Daring not the look up to the trio of eyes waiting from my response.

'It sounds great.' I say. 'You guys should definitely go. Canada is beautiful-'

'Oh Carlisle.'

Es scoffs. 'We're not going without you-'

'Honestly, it'll be a great weekend.' I argue delicately. 'I can catch up with you once you're back-'

'Why can't you come, Carlisle?'

'Work.' Esme says simply though from just the closure of the answer it's obvious she must know the real reason.

'We're seeing Dad later?' Edward murmurs. 'Maybe we can convince him-?'

'Es is right Edward. Work. They need me.'

I should be working now. I should be working this very minute. I should be inundated with things to do that I can't even dream of studying.

'Well, maybe Edward's right, too? Maddison will be more than happy to hear you out-'she says, steadying her posture in an almost deliberate pose.

'Don't think of me-'

'Carlisle,' Es says. In fact, she's not saying anymore, she's telling me. In that tone that usually tells me to shut my mouth and listen. 'We're not going without you. Either we all go or none of us go.'

'That's silly,' I refute.

'It's the rule.' She corrects. 'Anyway, you've got so much holiday to use up-'

I have so many exams coming up. So many acts of repentance to involve myself with. Apologies to make, forgiveness to plead for.

'It won't be the same without you.' Alice chimes in.

They're all looking at me now. Hard. Unavoidable. And behind Edward's head, I miss a running.

'Okay,' I concede weakly. 'I can't make promises but I can see what can be done. On the provision you still go.'

'Really-'

'It's unlikely I'll get the whole weekend off, but if I can make arrangements then perhaps I can join you for some of it…'

'That's all we're asking,' Alice says. She smiles, waits for it to be returned and affectionately rubs Esme's arm. 'I'm excited about this now, I can't wait to tell Bella!'

They discuss a few more details which I choosily stay out off before Alice leaves that afternoon. In fact, I do hear from Emmett. He tells me if my team continue to play as well as they've done so far, Edward won't have a chance in hell on ever critiquing my leadership again.

I smile. Though I don't actually answer.

Sometime after Alice leaves and Es goes upstairs and Edward too decides to watch the rest of the game in his room, I half admit to myself it makes little sense to study pointlessly downstairs when I am far through one particular book upstairs.

---

Typical for the Masen's, they haven't booked some simple restaurant at the edge of town. No, they've hired a small room in some pristine American steakhouse on the edge of a river nearer the city which therefore requires us driving out to it.

It also requires a formal-er state of dress. Despite what I might have reassured of my flatmate.

Edward and I opt for our expected level of requirements. A shirt. Pants. Smart shoes.

Esme, while originally searching through a list of dresses instead chooses dark jeans that fit her tightly everywhere bar the waist. She's got a belt on, too though she has had to punch through an extra hole to make it tight enough to hold her. The shirt she is wearing is a khaki silk green, gorgeous against the slight peachy-pink in her skin and while it covers the majority of her front, she does let her arms hang free from sleeves, tops it with her leather jacket.

With a mass of silk waves falling over her shoulder, she raises her left foot to slip a stiletto heel onto it and then repeats the same from the otherside, fastening the strap by her ankle and wriggling her toes.

'You're staring.' Edward mutters below my ear and shaking myself present, I smile in thanks.

'Look okay?' she asks, looking between the two of us in question.

She's also wearing make up again. It's covered the yellow in her jaw, the marks on her windpipe.

'Mm hmm.'

'Great,' Edward says and grabbing her car keys, he throws her the set and heads out the door.

I check everything a few times, doors, windows and eventually lock up behind me.

They are both sat in the car though rather than fight for the passenger seat, Edward has decided to sit in the back. I don't question it, just settle in the front, closer to the swarm of her perfume and cautiously watch her drive to the city centre.

After a few minutes, as Edward chatters along about a few of his exams, queries Esme's, I soften enough to relax into the seat. She has the radio on except it is a playlist from her phone rather than the typical pop-hits for the evening drive. I've got my focus on the passing window, the blurs of colour slipping past.

The music is slow, soft, emotional and though I wouldn't ask her to turn the tunes off, I am aware that perhaps I am more than miserably effected by the lyrics than I would be on a usual day.

Luckily, she is unperturbed.

'Happy to be driving again,' she tells Edward with a smile.

Then she goes back to murmuring the words under her breath.

We're not far from the restaurant now. A song that I think I should recognise, a favourite of hers, the band that played before she took those photos of me… That evening when he'd bruised her ass so badly she could hardly sit down….

She's not singing anymore. A delicate frown is on her features, her hands on the wheel, squinting at the road. It's getting busier. The drivers are more aggressive and the roads are anything but clear.

She casually overtakes one driver, settles to the usual speed when we come down a one-way system. Our right of way of course. Though the vehicles don't slow any less.

'Watch out for this guy,' I murmur, directing ahead to a Vauxhall Corsa on her right. She doesn't blink, doesn't move though I assume she's got the message.

The headlights are on full beam and while Edward cusses him out behind me, Es stays frowning. I know it's condescending of me but given the speed, I turn myself to our driver again.

'Probably best to move to your left,' I say.

The car is coming closer now, blinding white light hitting in my pupils. Edward is getting fidgety.

'Es?' I say a little toughly.

She is on the same course. Almost playing a game of chicken with the bigger car.

'Esme?'

She doesn't move, the car comes flying to us and in a lunge, I grab the wheel. The spell breaks, she does an emergency stop and gasping she pulls herself off the wheel in horror.

'I-'

Her hands are trembling now, mouth parted with the breaths tumbling from her hurriedly.

'Edward, get out the car-' I mutter, keeping my focus on her.

'It's okay, Es. It was that other-'

'Edward, get out the car!' I yell.

He slinks out the back, comes out the path to try and catch sight of the number plate. She's hyperventilating now, gasping in panicked chokes as dry sobs take over her.

Removing both seat belts, I come over to take a hold of her shoulders.

'It's okay, shh-'

Before I even know what she's doing, she throws herself into my arms, breathes hard into my neck as her body shakes her in violent convulses. I wrap both arms around her spine, hold her to me, whisper murmurings into her hair.

'Edward was in the car,' she squeaks. 'I could've killed-'

'Sweetheart, no. No.'

Her fists pull on my lapels, her breath sinking between the buttons of my shirt to press on my chest. The song she likes is still playing, acoustic crooning while her perfume sneaks around me.

'We're okay,' I promise and this sentence seems to calm her more than the others did.

'Is he okay?'

'He's likely trying to kick the shit out that guy's bumper.'

She pulls away, sniffles, rubs her nose a little. It's a lot less pink now. Clearer on account of the dissipating cold.

'Oh Carlisle, I'm so sorry-'

'Don't apologise- '

'If I'd been paying attention-' she gasps again, the words shaky. 'He was coming right at us-'

'Exactly. How were you meant to predict that-'

'I could see him,' she fights, rubbing her nose again. 'I could literally see him- '

'Es, you said so yourself. He was coming right at us. And it's your right of way. Don't think on it?'

She drops her chin, the waves of her hair falling to her cheek.

'You knew,' she reminds me emotionally. 'You said to move out-'

'Would you like me to drive?' I ask, brushing a hair from her lip, inadvertently tilting her eyes up. They're heavy with warm colours, still mostly green in the setting light of the day though brimming with tears yet to fall. She presses her pink lips together. Nods.

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be.' I urge her and perhaps from desperation, I wish to swear my sentiments true with a press of my lips against hers. I wish to promise myself to her with my mouth.

Instead I swallow, move away to come round the side of the car.

'Getting in, Edward?' I call. He's into the road now, glaring down the end of the street towards the passing car.

'What a fucking moron-'

'Did you get it?' I whisper, referring to the license plate. He shakes his head, pointing down the end of the street before flipping the bird.

'Fucker was drag racing out here.'

'Just get her a drink when we arrive,' I whisper. He nods again and in sync, we get back into the car. She's checking her make up in the mirror, touching it up slightly.

The rest of the drive passes without any hitches. When we arrive, perhaps a tad late, the waiter leads all three of us to a door past the far back where both Mr and Mrs Masen are sat at a rectangular table decorated with candles.

Both stand up on our greeting, smile, Elizabeth barrelling towards us with her arms spread wide. She's also dressed formally, a long dress with an expensive necklace falling from her neck. She squeezes her youngest as Masen shakes my hand.

'Good to see you're healing nicely.' He compliments and though he smiles, I suspect its meant a little sourly.

With one look to Esme, he moves past me, grins, and kisses her cheek.

'You look well, My Dear,'

Elizabeth practically tingles at the compliment, sweeps Esme in a hug too and likewise kisses her.

My chest contracts at just the sight of them, the push of their personal space but rather than move away, all five foot six of my flatmate warmly accepts the affections of the Masens' and returns them likewise, clutching their hands.

'More than well, you look lovely, My Darling.'

Bashful, Es tries to dissuade them otherwise. Liz takes a grasp of my shoulder, kisses me on the cheek as well.

'I trust you have told your Lady just how beautiful she is, hm Carlisle?'

'Mom,' Edward murmurs uncomfortably.

I don't see the look on Esme's face when she says this. Given the appointment I know it's unlikely to be well received but she hasn't corrected them yet and therefore I let myself live in the suggestion a bit longer.

My Lady.

It wasn't meant to be. As Esme had corrected herself five days ago.

The truth being that I hadn't given such compliments either. Even if I had thought of it.

'Beautiful,' I agree quietly and again, I avoid looking at my flatmate in case the reception is a bad one.

'Come,' Masen instructs. 'Come sit down.'

He seats himself at the head of the table between his family while two waiters assist the women into seats and pass around a drinks menu.

Edward takes the seat on my left, opposite his mother, raising an eyebrow to me to make light of the display. Es is directly opposite, hands twisting in her lap.

'Drink, Son?'

Edward shakes his head, moves closer to my side.

'If you'd seen the shit Emmett was puking on Tuesday, you'd know why.'

'Carlisle?'

'No thanks, Sir.'

He poses the same question to the women and although Esme hesitates, Edward shrugs in such a way that seems to have convinced her. Besides, the keys are in my pocket, she needn't worry about driving tonight.

We order quickly, more on the presumption that things are meaning to be done for the conversation to begin and while nervous, I can at least be grateful for Liz's comfortability. She fills Es' glass near the top, puts a pointed chin on her fist as she looks between us.

'Good week so far?' She asks and while not ignorant to the fact that we have been home, mindless for the last several days, I can forgive her on the point that malice is never her intention.

'It's been…'

'Pleasant,' Es murmurs. 'Though I suspect poor Carlisle is tearing his hair out.'

I swallow, look to my water when I nod in agreement.

'A needed rest,' I lie. Both Esme and Edward snort.

'Missing the hospital, Son?'

Obviously it is incredibly rude of me, but I deliberately ignore Senior's comment.

'Alice stayed with us last night, too. So it's been nice to catch up.'

Liz gasps joyfully, pressing her hands together.

'Oh Alice. How is she? I haven't seen her in so long.'

'She's well,' Es says. 'She's organising a camping trip so that's something for us all to look forward to.'

The phrasing of the sentence is all encompassing. Again, she doesn't request my admission. She solidifies it.

'That'll be nice.' Masen agrees and this time, his dark blue eyes look to me unavoidably. 'It'll be nice to have a break away.'

'I agree,' Es whispers.

'Hardly call it a break,' Edward snickers. 'Tag football and hiking-'

As he goes on to detail the various manners in which the trip will be more action packed than relaxing break, Es takes a sip of her wine. Despite the brand, a brand I know she is familiar with and usually enjoys, she makes a difficult face, swallows as though it disgusts her and then very slightly, pushes the glass away from her.

'Will many of you have exams soon?' Liz asks now.

The food has arrived which is great because even if I'm not that hungry, it means I can pretend as though I am not being antisocial when I disguise myself to chew.

'Carlisle especially,' Edward teases. I nod in agreement.

'Unfortunately so,' I agree.

'And given it's my last year of undergraduate, yes.'

Mr Masen hides his comment in his food likewise.

'Really looking forward to you shelling out those audition funds for Berklee, Dad.'

'You said you weren't interested in Berklee anymore,' he grumbles.

It's clearly a tease. Edward stopped talking of Berklee less than two years ago. He was considering biology for a moment and while flattering, I did not wish for him to force guesses to himself. Music suited him better.

'School of Washington offers MAs for Composition.' Edward reminds them.

Composition suits him best.

'Must you travel elsewhere. What's wrong with Chicago?' his mother complains.

'What's wrong with Washington?' Edward teases with a grin.

'The weather,' Es says gently. 'It's not as sunny in Washington.'

I had been actively avoiding my presence within this conversation but on her comment, I can't help feel miserable. It was a risk. It was always a risk proposing Washington. Perhaps I had once thought that her love of walking, nature reserves in the summer….

My risk did not play well.

'You just have a hard time leaving home,' Edward teases. 'You'll like it eventually.'

I nudge him delicately except she sighs, nods.

'Yeah, of course, but that doesn't mean I won't miss Oregon.'

'You-' My heart is beating painfully against my chest. 'You still want to move… to Washington?'

'Do I have much choice?'

'No,' Edward teases.

'Yes.' I correct. 'Of course… things have changed.'

'They haven't changed for me,' she mutters.

'You're not expected to be held to sentiments-' I start to say.

'Excuse me-?'

Edward nudges me now, telling me to shut up before I say something regretful. Before I hurt someone. Elizabeth sighs, looks to her plate.

'What do you think of the starter?' She complains, a wrinkle in her nose.

'What's in Washington?' Mr Masen asks and were this a different time, I would've almost expected he sounded sad.

'Really I think the dressing is rather ghastly-'

'Liz,' he whispers, pausing her. 'What will you do in Washington, Son?'

'Practice?' I answer. 'Hopefully.'

He frowns.

'Carlisle you-' he clears his throat. 'Washington is rather a small state. Given your records, your reputation alone. The major cities will be fighting for-'

'I appreciate it,' I say, dismissively. 'Really. But given this is all resting on exams I have yet to pass anyway, it's not set in stone.'

'How many months do I have to change your mind?'

In spite of our stand-off at the moment, I smile.

'With all due respect, Sir, not many.'

He smiles too, looking quite like his son as he does it.

'How about if I advise you that the White Sox are set to beat your favoured Reds.'

I shake my head, let him sigh frustratingly.

'And you, Esme, My Love? Many exams upcoming? Will you transfer to Washington, too?'

'Well,' she begins, brushing a delicate wave from her hair. 'I'm actually thinking about putting my studies on hiatus.'

Both Edward and I drop our cutlery nosily to the plate.

'R-really?'

'But why?' Edward asks, concernedly.

She blushes, turns more to the Masen's to explain.

'It's more just an idea for now. But I've been in touch with some of Carlisle's friends up north-'

'You've… you've spoken to Eleazar?' The words are so quiet, so fragile, both of ours. I can't tell I she's lying but if so she's doing a very good job. They are more than convinced for her.

Finally, the hit of her green eyes comes to me, the shock falling to my plate.

'The scholarship is out the question now anyway so I reckon that providing I can earn enough in say, the first few months. I might consider returning to my roots.'

'Like a farmhand?' Edward plays.

Like dancing? I think, nervously.

'Oh?' Liz asks.

'There's not many architecture firms in Washington but that might be a blessing rather than a curse-'

'Architecture?' I ask weakly. 'You… want to go back to it?'

She shrugs.

'It's just a thought. As you say, nothing set in stone.'

'Do you-' I look to Edward with wide eyes. Move forward a touch. She leans back. 'Is that what you want? You want architecture?'

'I don't know what I want.' She corrects. She looks between Edward and I, looks cautiously to her hands. 'Neither of us do…'

'In which case, why not Chicago?' Liz teases. 'The girls at my Book Club would simply adore you and given your ability to cook-'

Architecture. She wanted architecture. All those talks of doubt, of distress, of leaving that world behind. To think she was returning…. Even thinking of returning…From the moment she'd put that dream on pause, I had been eagerly anticipating its return. But to think of Architecture now… and in Washington…

It felt like a convenient distraction and just like the milk, if she kept feeding herself too quickly, I could only see her hurting herself more.

'Esme you don't-'

'Ah, main course!' Mason interrupts.

With a sigh, I push aside my plate and curiously look to hers. She'd eaten a few bits, not to her taste I gathered though she seemed settled for this latest course.

'So besides camping and this oh-so-secretive move,' Liz teases, looking deliberately at her youngest. 'Am I right in suspecting we won't see you for a while?'

Edward shrugs.

'You never know what might pull you to return,' he retorts, flicking playful green eyes to me.

Unfortunately, I had my eyes on dinner and my thoughts on architecture. Of Esme sat in the sun on the balcony of the bedroom, her sketchbook open, blue prints surrounding her. Or pressed against her drafting table in one of the south side rooms, her waved hair pulled into a bun with strands slipping down her neck.

Or in the kitchen, leaning over the bar to the dining room, serving dinner with a playful grin on her face.

Yet the summer of my imagination fades quickly to wet, windy months. Of her curled into the corner of a room, sobbing. Staring miserably out the window and seeing no landscape, only miserable fog.

The treehouse she always wanted now acting as her captured tower.

'For my sanity, I plead no more,' Masen comments. 'Can we agree to that? No more major events?'

'Ah-' Edward begins.

'I think, Sir, you're now just tempting fate.'

I look up to Esme, smile a little. She is thinking deeply on something, too though she looks neither affronted or pleased by it. Simply stuck in thought.

'Too true,' he complains. 'I reckon I'll hold my tongue for now.'

'We'll at least see you for your birthday, yes?'

'Yes,' Edward promises sincerely.

'By God, he will.' Masen snorts, seeking my agreement. 'It's an important landmark Edward, plenty to be celebrated.'

'Ah yes of course. Having a bunch of old farts getting me blind drunk, what more could I look forward to-?'

'Now, now.' Masen mutters reproachfully. 'Your grandfather wouldn't stand for such cynicism of a tradition older than this very city.'

'I don't see why it's so mandatory-'

'Because tradition, Edward.'

He rolls his eyes at me.

'A party will be nice,' Es reassures. 'Your twenty first is always a special age.'

'Bah.'

'It's er-' I swallow my mouthful. 'It's not just a party-'

'You're telling me. There's no party about it. It's just an excuse for Dad to get drunk and emotional-.'

'Watch it, Boy.' Masen sneers. Though I realise this is more a play to the tease than it is a demand for him to stop. 'Or we'll be bringing the baby-photos out and your mother can lead the announcement.'

Edward shudders, Liz grins. Esme frowns.

'It's not just a party,' I repeat quietly.

'Oh?'

'Well you'll obviously see for yourself, My Dear. You'll be attending of course?' Liz says, touching her arm affectionately. 'And Carlisle, Dear. You know you don't have a choice.'

'I wouldn't miss it.' I promise. Though I can't quite hold the surprise from my features. It is a tradition and one I had yet been kindly exposed to. A tradition that women were excluded from.

A rule.

I look to Masen to see if he'll correct the invitation but he doesn't. Simply smiles.

As an outsider myself, even I had strict ruling to my presence. I didn't know if this was a breaking of tradition or effectively something deeper. In its early days, it would've been likened to a debutants ball, or at least that's the information I had gleaned from Edward's grandfather back when he was living.

The idea was that it would be an opportunity for the Masen's to present their youngest to society, their new man of business while also assessing the suitors of the arena.

Women were like playing cards. Exchanged in value.

Over the century, mothers had been allowed to attend. If distantly and not at all for the announcement, simply as entertainment to the Lady of the house.

So to extend the invitation to an unwedded, rebel to the rules of tradition… Thrilling as it was, I couldn't understand the reason.

'Great so my flatmates will be present for my humiliation. As if they haven't suffered enough.'

'Just be grateful it is us and not Emmett?' Es teases. 'Then you'll really be hurting your family name.'

Edward hides a smile, finishes the last of his dinner and flits his eye to me curiously. Again, I'm thinking on the possible implications of the offering, trying to understand the ties to it in depth, the exact meaning.

I find it hard to listen after that. I suppose there was now too much on my mind what with changes of location, changes to career, changes to tradition and of course, the dreaded necessity of Masen's insistence to dinner.

It was presented as a 'until next time,' meal though I obviously knew better. Thanks to Edward I was aware of the impending horrors of the discussion to be had and given she had just so sweetly tried to commit herself to proposals I had thrown on her just weeks ago… I didn't know to what loss I would suffer from.

'See My Darling, you'll be so charmed by its grandeur that you'll be convincing our Doctor Cullen to stay.'

Liz looks lovingly at me, her cheeks pulled into a pout.

It's an understandable yet weak claim. Es was anything but one for grandeur. She liked sentiment. She liked notes in the morning and coffee on her desk. Or walks down an autumn path. Talks long into the evening and casual, relaxed evenings on soft furniture. She lived for relaxed.

'Sounds Lovely,' Es agrees.

Unlike normal, she also chooses a dessert and while I doubt she'll finish it, she surprises me again in complimenting it, adoring it and even sharing her thoughts with the waiter.

'Night cap at yours, then?' Masen asks

I have been dreading these words for longer than an hour now and wincing, I nod.

'We've got the car,' I say. 'We can drive.'

'Great,' Masen agrees. 'We'll be needing that brandy again.'

I smile tightly and once dinner is paid for, lead them towards the car.

'Are you okay?' Es murmurs, raising her hand to stop me. I nod as though ignoring the profuse sweating beneath my blazer.

'Mm hmm.'

'Hon-'

'Edward, Love, don't even try it.' And from behind me, I see Elizabeth giggling as she pushes him carefully into the back seat.

Masen offers Esme the passenger seat, though she declines, and once the three of them are in the back, Liz is in such a warm, bubbly mood that as she teases Masen from the backseat, I can hear Edward laughing hard into his mother's shoulder.

'If the driver wasn't so stern this evening, perhaps I'd risk seeing if he's ticklish?' She warns, playfully walking a hand up the back of my arm. Regretfully I move, fidget a little.

'I'd prefer if you didn't, Mrs Masen,' I answer, cautiously, coming forward incase she tries to risk it again.

'Really Mom, No more dangerous driving.'

'Thank you, Edward.'

And at the tease of her voice, I cringe.

'No offence, Es,'

'Uh huh.'

Once we get back home and Es sheds her leather jacket as though it would not cause me much notice. When she unclasps her shoes from her ankle and loses the exaggerative swing in her walk or the added height of her lips to my chin. Amongst these intense visuals of comfort that have all too quickly been mangled and contorted into my self-hatred, I make the Masen's a drink and regretfully seat myself on the edge of a wooden chair.

As though it is likewise their home, Edward Senior disposes of his cufflinks. His wife takes off her heels and settles next to Es on the sofa and together, a room for silent personalities, we wait for Masen to break the glass with a measured comment.

'I'm led to believe you haven't explained all that's happened.'

He is holding the glass tumbler in both of his hands, looking thoughtfully at our tired flatmate as tough ignorance to the exhaustion on her cheek.

'No,' I admit.

She lifts an eyebrow with difficulty.

'Given the media's spin on my actions recently-'

'Carlisle-' he interrupts. 'No excuses. Last chance. You tell her or I will.'

I look past Liz, jewelled eyes in her lap, straight to Esme who is watching Edward fidget. At first I suspect she doesn't hear us and then when she lifts her gaze, I correct myself on the understanding that she is choosing not to respond.

'Who would you rather hear it from?' I ask her.

'Who will tell me the truth?'

I turn to Masen. He doesn't look as triumphant as he should. He looks conflicted.

'The floor is yours, then.' I indicate and taking the notion as display, he stands, as instructed to the centre of the room.

He shakes his head, irritated and takes a deep breath.

'Are you happy for us all to remain present?'

'Yes,' she answers but again she is looking curiously at Edward.

Not waiting for his response, simply watching him as though amazed he sits in front of her. He is fiddling with the thread on a shirt. Listening to the two of us talk aloud as if questioning the meaning of the world.

'Did you hear about the accolade?'

'Just start at the start, Sir.' I mutter, scrubbing my forehead in hopes it denies the brewing headache.

He sighs, swallows his drink and pushes the glass to the table. Expectantly, I refill it.

'Are you aware of the damage done to Mr King's property?'

Liz raises her eyes to me, closes them as though concealing a sob.

Es shakes her head.

'Luckily it's not much but it's caused enough stress to the housemaid whose statement of the incident will only condemn Carlisle should we attempt to use it in court.'

I tighten my jaw together.

'And the coffee house?'

'You didn't explain about the accolade,' I mutter.

'Go on.' Es says.

'Well-'

'No, not you, Mr Masen. Carlisle, tell me about the accolade.' She angles herself towards me though she doesn't look at me.

'The Neo-Natal unit is being renamed.' I answer shortly.

I say it quickly, try to keep the bitterness hidden as though shedding bandages from fused skin.

'It's been renamed, Son. They've been trying to change sign for days. You're just lucky your boss is giving good reasons to prevent it but I'm telling you, it won't last long-'

'They're naming after you,' she realises.

'He's named it after me,' I say. 'Yes.'

'Making you… what, liable for its failures?'

I can appreciate it is not meant as harshly and as condemningly as it comes across though I cannot prepare myself not to be winded by the suggestion. I know she didn't mean to suggest it was unlikely to stand the test of time.

Yet months and years of my energy had been poured into it. To think of it coming to such a quick demise hurts more than the headache does.

'Not as such,' Masen corrects. 'Technically it bears no legal right to Carlisle at all, so we have that as a saving grace, however-'

'Reputation is everything' I quote.

He nods difficultly. 'However if something goes wrong, there is a chance it will come back to bite us in the ass.'

'Suppose it can't be refused?' She guesses, baselessly.

'I've tried that. It'll cause more damage than it's worth-'

'In time,' Masen muses. 'In time it may be that we can amass the reputation to have it renamed but the effort required will take years. Not to mention a number of leading healthcare professionals. It's gathering fame under your name, changing it now will halt the progress and could hurt the-'

I nod to stop him and surprisingly, he takes the instruction with a nod.

'Esme, Honey, do you know what happened with the coffee house?'

'I know someone got arrested.'

Edward snorts and then looks apologetically to me.

'There was a fire,' I murmur. Her eyes widen. 'No, no. I didn't start it. I reckon King might have but-'

'King wants you to think he did it so he can make you seem all the guiltier,' Edward mutters.

From the sofa Liz affectionately squeezes Esme's arm, turns to me again in waiting.

'There was a fire. And a fight and Swan had little choice but to arrest me.'

'Son,' Masen complains. 'The funds.'

'Funds?' Es asks.

I consciously rub my face now, rub my neck, my face, move the colour around till I am as pale as I was before we started the conversation. My heart isn't racing anymore. I'm not infuriated or in fear or in terror, I'm just numb to it.

What had taken place with myself meant little after Monday's understanding.

'My Dear. He's syphoning funds into your account, We don't know how long for but given the fact that-'

'That he was my employer.' Esme finishes breathlessly. 'My bank account is compromised?'

Edward smiles reassuringly.

'Think of it this way, Es, maybe it's a good thing to hold of school for now.'

'Wait,' she begs and then she looks to Masen. 'My account is compromised?'

'Yes.'

'So,' she takes a breath, guffaws on it almost. 'So, what? I've got to get another job?'

'Honey, it's a bit more serious than that-'

'Dad, she can't just spend X number of months living on cash- where is the cash meant to come from?'

'I know.' He interrupts his son. 'I know. Look, it's a tense situation but there is a temporary solution… I have a temporary solution. Providing all are agreeable?'

I feel his blue eyes on me.

'Carlisle?'

'Carlisle- what?' Es interrupts. 'What's this got to do with-'

'It's the solution,' I murmur. 'You want to completely freeze her account?'

'Yes.' Masen admits and he looks awkwardly at his feet before raising the brandy to his lip and sighing. 'Darling, listen to me. This isn't great-'

Es has her head in her hands, rocking ever so slightly as Liz strokes her back.

'If I could- if there were anyway of allowing you to continue without implicating you, I'd do it. But they've got their fists so fucking tightly-'

'Teddy,' Liz warns. He winces.

'Sorry, Love. Tightly wrapped that we're going to need all the time we can to untie your names from him as seamlessly as possible. Carlisle, I know you won't have it any other way-'

'You're not funding for me,' Es growls.

'There's no other solution, Es.' I look to my hands. 'I'm sorry, truly, deeply sorry but if it's the difference between imprisonment and dependence, you know what I will expect you to choose-'

'That just makes you a fucking hypocrite,' she hisses. 'I didn't want this. I didn't ever want this and you promised-'

Just as I predicted to Edward, I feel myself grow angry. Not at her. Never at her. For her. So infuriatingly angry that he led to this.

'I promised to keep you safe, Esme. I promised to do a lot of things right by you and so far, I'm failing. I can admit that I am failing. This is too big of a risk-'

'I am not being bullied into being dependant-'

Mr Masen interrupts difficultly, his wife still soothing her frustrations, pushing her hair back.

'Esme, Sweet, really. I wish there was a better way. The only other options you have are asking other people or God forbid it, Marriage.'

My jaw tightens, my hands clasping together like a vacuum.

'I'm asking Carlisle because financially, I know it won't make any implication to him but more importantly, it keeps your name out.'

'Honey,' Liz chimes in. 'Listen to him. Really-'

'Why won't you let me be equal to you?'

The words are a knife deep into my gut and the eyes that accompany it, the warm expressive eyes are silencing me further. She continues addressing me as though we are the only two in the room.

'Why don't you believe you are-'

'Because you don't see me as your equal,' She hisses. 'This is just a plaster to a bigger issue and it's causing us to bleed out.'

'It's giving us the time to find the source,' I correct, guiltily.

She turns difficultly to Edward, frown crumbling.

'What say you?'

'You know what I'm going to say Es.'

'For fuck sake.'

'I know you're frustrated, but the way I see it is that it's just one of us. If we were two months later, I'd be able to fund you myself but as it stands, that money is still dad's and therefore, implicates them just as much as it would do you.'

'And a cash in hand job is a no-go?'

'What's the problem?' I ask and while the question is short, I don't mean it and harshly as it sounds. 'Your studies are paid for the term. Your car is paid; you have no major outgoings that will seriously bankrupt any of us.'

She shakes her head in anger.

'You paid for the car. What about rent, huh?'

'I am gaining far more by providing than I am losing by your so-called dependence.'

She scowls.

'Carlisle,' Liz mutters. 'Honey, calm down.'

I press my lips together.

'What I seriously suggest,' Masen murmurs. 'Seriously suggest is that you both make a list of your outgoings. If there is anything on them that they two of you can't agree with, then fine, but the way I see it is that you'll be much more forgiving of one another than you are annoyed by the so called expenditures.'

'You just don't get it,' Es murmurs, shaking her head again.

Masen nods.

'I know this is a point of pride for you. I know it. Just as I know that your landlord hates to admit when he's wrong. Regardless this isn't a point of request. It's a matter of serious, focal, financial danger. For your futures, Esme. As far as the law is concerned, you're like some Bonnie and Clyde duo act. You take Bonnie out and it's a whole lot easier to provide a defence to Clyde. Does that make sense?'

'It makes sense,' she concedes. 'Sir, I understand, I appreciate your hep but-'

'What is it that's the biggest problem for you?' Masen asks. 'Is it the funds themselves, the access, the intricacies?'

'It's blood money,' I remind Masen.

'It's not just that.'Es whispers. 'Yes, I don't feel comfortable benefiting of your…' she looks to Liz and Edward, Swallows. 'I don't feel great profiting from that. But I also don't want this. It's-'

'What?' Masen implores.

'It's not right' She emphasizes. 'It's not right that I get off just because my Landlord happens to be rich as hell. It's not right that I am safe because he's not.'

'The only reason you're not safe in the first place is because of me.'

She groans, throws her head back to the sofa. Edward rubs his forehead.

'Guys, look. I love the both of you but you're seriously blowing this up beyond proportion. Carlisle, she's right. It's not definite and it doesn't amount to anything. If she finds a way to py you back, you've got to swallow your own pride and accept it. That being said, Es….'

He shakes his head, pinches his nose.

'You've just got to do it. It's a temporary solution for a timely problem and yes, it's not right and yes, it fucking sucks, but let them have their way. Let Dad try and if he fucks it up-'

'Thank you, Son.'

'If he fucks it up then sue his ass.'

'I had a feeling you were going to say that,' Masen complains. He looks towards Esme, expecting to see her rampant with rage though instead she is looking even more tired than she was last weekend. She rubs her forehead and with a splintered sigh, moves to seat herself at the dining table.

She writes her list quickly and given that Masen is waiting expectedly for me to write my own list, I put pen to paper and write.

I didn't doubt that Edward was more persuasive than I could admit to myself. What I wasn't so sure of was how she went from criticising his every opinion, to openly following his advice without question.

I conceal the shake of my wrist in the pen.

'Pass them over when you're ready,' he murmurs.

She presses her lips together, sighs, and slowly pushes the paper towards me. I do the same.

It's not a long list. Telling that she'd already had it memorised. Rent encompassed bills and such so I knew I could ignore that. Likewise, her last term was covered so that wasn't a problem. Tax was only relevant for work.

And then came the luxuries. Her phone bill. Pittance. The type of device you'd top of with credit as and when you needed. She'd included food into rent so again, I didn't consider the numbers there. Yoga membership every Saturday. Again her contractual outgoings, petrol included, were not even worth me considering. It was realistically nothing more than expenditure to what damage it what cost me.

No, it meant little.

The sentimental stuff however came from the things underneath.

She was covering for a debt belonging to her father's name in the region of 60 odd thousand. From the details she had broken it down into it looked like she was getting a fairly good rate to pay it off within the next ten years. But again, while the debt itself was unmanageable in its total to her, it was money I had thrown away before.

That wasn't all.

She was covering for half the tuition of her brother and sister and their enrolment in a private school I didn't recognise the name of, effectively covering one tuition therefore, as well as helping to pay for another brother's rent back home.

On top of that then, there were also a number of extracurricular activities she covered for her siblings. School clubs. Driving lessons. Pocket money. Covering fund for nurses in an old folks home every sporadic month or so.

Every penny she earnt was put to use. Every single penny.

And her savings were minimal.

I do my best to keep the emotion from my face when I look up to her but she's pressing her lips together as though fighting off emotions more serious than mine.

'How many charities to you donate to?' She asks weakly.

'Eleven.' I answer automatically.

'Not… the same eleven?' she realises looking through the titles.

'No, usually two local, a national and a worldwide. Plus, a, er… smattering of others.'

'And that?' She gulps. 'That… doesn't impact anything?'

'Not really,' I admit. 'Investment.'

She seems a bit dizzy when she laughs and then she frowns again, touching her chest.

'You haven't… I mean…' she swallows again, looks hard at the paper. 'You haven't included the house for Washington?'

I shake my head.

'No, its been covered.'

'And this one?' She asks weakly.

'Will sell for more than I ever bought it for.'

'Should you sell it,' Masen corrects. 'I'd rather wish you'd simply rent it out but-'

'But needs must.' I say.

He nods, shares a look with his son. Esme rubs her chest again.

'Your entire wage goes straight back into the hospital?'

I nod. 'In some form or another.'

'And the Neo-natal unit?'

'Insurance wise, I'm not allowed to cover it. If I wasn't practicing than perhaps there is a chance but it would mean-'

'Career suicide.' Masen mutters.

She sighs softly. 'You never…'

'Pardon?' I ask.

'I mean, you're not extravagant, Carlisle.' She looks to Liz, to Edward, back to me. 'It's a home but it's not the most expensive home on the block. Your car is fancy but not extreme. The things we have in this house, consoles, televisions, they're…'

'Yes?'

'They're not extravagant.' She says again.

I shake my head.

'Did you know?' She turns to Edward now, unable to mask the shock at the figures, I would argue. Edward nods, hesitates, nods again.

'Not the exact number but I know he's got more than most.'

I play deaf to this.

'And your father?' She asks weakly.

I look deliberately to Masen.

'Legally, I'm not allowed to disclose that but back when we were working together, I'd say it was significantly under what I was getting paid on a bad day.'

'And yet his house?' she murmurs. 'Extravagance?'

Again, I nod.

'You're going to have to work on his signature.' Senior mutters now, and when I sign the paper as an example, he drags it from me to her. With wide eyes, she looks up to him.

'That's forgery.' She complains. Masen shrugs.

'Not in some matters.' He looks across the papers, lowers his neck again so that he is between us like some ridiculous mentor. 'Carlisle, if you'd maybe set an appointment with the bank, arrange for a current account, you know, the type with that contactless-'

It doesn't hit me at first and then in shock I turn to him.

'I… can leave?'

He nods.

'I can go back to work?' I ask now. 'Charlie's agreed?'

'You'll have to discuss it with Maddison given that you're refusing… tests.' He says bitingly. 'Given the fact your face has hardly headed, who can say for sure if they're ready for your return?'

Before I can stop myself, I am standing, I'm on my feet, searching desperately for my car keys.

'Er, Carlisle-'

'I've got to go,' I mutter catching an eye on my wrist.

'Carlisle wait…' He makes a show of dropping a heavy lump of paperwork to the desk. The thud is enough.

I pause, unleash my hand from the door handle, turn behind me.

'Son, I'm not going to see you till June.' He looks to the paperwork, drops a fountain pen on top and lets it roll. 'You listen to me now because I'm serious.'

'Yes sir.'

And given the faces in the room, he steps closer though he doesn't reduce his voice any less.

'You three need to look out for each other.' He ties them into the warning but doesn't look to their expressions when he says it. 'I'm not going to be here to quickly unleash you from a spot of bother so you watch what you're saying and who you're saying it to and don't, for the love of God, don't do anything stupid.'

He inhales and finally looks amongst the three of us.

'Yes Sir.'

'Carlisle I'm counting on you to look out for them.'

'Dad-'

'Ted?'

'Yes Sir.' I repeat.

'Behave. Hold your tongue and don't give Swan any due reason to arrest you. Because he will arrest you, Carlisle. And I will grant it.'

'Yes Sir.'

'Do not let me down.'

And despite the fact that it is my house, the terms are enough of a dismissal to grant me freedom to escape.