A/N: It's been a while since I posted, and a lot has happened since. I grew up, got married, worked odd hours, and moved to a place with no internet (still don't really have internet, but that's what a hotspot and a drive into town once a week is for, right?) Trigger warning, this fic contains mentions of domestic violence. Nothing too graphic, but that may change. I am marking this fic complete, but it could be expanded.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Twilight… If I did, I wouldn't be working two jobs.
I stood staring at the restaurant doors for a length of time- I wasn't sure how much time has passed; one minute? Ten? I peek at the small watch on my wrist. Fifteen. I'm late. I take a deep breath, adjust the skirt of my dress, and step through the elegant glass doors.
"Welcome to Bella Italia, do you have a reservation?" The hostess asks, her voice cheery.
I nod my head. "Carlisle Cullen," I mumble.
A big smile breaks over the hostess' face as she gathers her menus. "Right this way, Ma'am, he's been waiting for you."
I follow the hostess, her long black hair sways softly behind her. When we turn a corner I nearly stop, panic ceasing me for a moment until I realize that his hair is too blond, and it isn't wavy. When he sees our approach, he stands. This man was a little too tall, a little too lean to be him. Still, my hands start to shake, sweat making my palms damp. I swallow reflexively around the lump in my throat, my appetite far from present.
When we reach the table, I hurry to take my seat, not wanting to give him the chance to walk over to me. I'm handed a menu from the hostess and I grip it tightly, my eyes focusing on a section of worn laminate.
"Are you ready to order, sir?" The hostess- I look up and read her name tag- Lauren, asks, her manicured hands clasped together in front of her pricey looking dress.
"No thank you, I'll wait to order with my date," he says, his voice kind.
"Perhaps something to drink while you wait," Lauren puts some emphasis on the word wait, reminding me that I was over fifteen minutes late tonight, meaning he's been waiting for at least that long.
"No, I'll wait for her." Lauren sighs softly before turning, her hips swaying along with her hair as she makes her way to the front of house.
My eyes are still glued to my menu when I speak softly, "you could have ordered, I wouldn't have minded. I'm sorry I made you wait."
"It's alright, I haven't even looked at my menu anyway," He says, grabbing the menu in front of him. "I'm Carlisle, by the way."
"Esme," I manage to choke out. I try to look at his face, but I can't force my eyes higher than the middle of his chest. My stomach rolls and I fear I may be sick. This was a bad idea.
"Are you alright, Esme?" Carlisle asks after a moment of silence, setting down his menu.
To my surprise, I shake my head in the negative, swallowing past my nausea. "No, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought I was ready- excuse me." I'm bolting for the bathroom as calmly as I can muster so I don't gather the attention of the other guests.
Luckily, the bathroom is empty, I turn to lock the door before standing in front of the mirror. My eyes are wide and glassy, full of unshed tears. My skin is paler than usual, clammy. I splash some cold water on my cheeks, willing my heart to calm down. After a few deep breaths, I feel the anxiety give way into embarrassment. How much of a scene did I just cause?
When I open the bathroom door, I am shocked to see that I was followed by Carlisle. His worried blue eyes meet my green ones and I find myself apologizing again, but he quickly stops me. "Are you alright? Are you sick?"
"I'm fine, I'm not sick. I just- I'm… This is the first date I've been on since- It's just been a while," I stammer.
"Do you want to go home?" He asks me.
Did I want to go home? My immediate answer is a resounding yes, but I can't tell him that. I study his face, noticing for the first time how attractive he is. I would expect him to be at least a little angry, but I can't read the emotion on his face clearly; all I can see is kindness and concern. "What about the dinner reservation?"
Carlisle shrugs, looking out at the crowded dining room before turning to face me again. "They'll be fine, lots of business tonight. I don't want you to feel like you need to do something you don't want to or aren't ready for."
"I wanted this date tonight; I wouldn't have agreed to it if I didn't. I'm just… nervous," I admit, my own shoulders rising in a shrug. "I have some issues is all."
"I'm willing to do whatever you would like. If you want to continue with dinner, or you decide to go home. It's also unseasonably warm this evening, we could go for a walk." Carlisle smiles softly, leaving the decision up to me.
The easy answer would be to go home, call this a failed date and never look back on it. That just didn't feel right. However, I don't think I could walk into that dining room again and be able to calmly sit through dinner and treat tonight as if I haven't already run from my date. "A walk sounds nice, unless you're hungry?"
Carlisle shakes his head, "I'm fine."
The air outside is warm despite the overcast sky. I inhale deeply, letting the fresh air settle in my lungs for several seconds before letting my breath out. We walk side by side in silence for nearly half a block before we speak at the same time.
"I was married once."
"My fiancé cheated on me."
We stop, looking at each other in mild shock. My heart feels like it's going to beat right out of my chest- or up my throat. I gesture for Carlisle to start first.
"I met her my senior year of high school. I thought she was the one, I fell for her quickly, my family loved her, and her family seemed to like me too. I proposed two years later, everyone was so happy and excited. Six months after the engagement, I come home from work and see her in our bed… with another guy," Carlisle pauses, looking at nothing in particular. His next words are quiet, and I have to strain to hear them. "Turns out they got together shortly before I proposed. She blamed it on me; if I wasn't so focused on my schoolwork, she wouldn't have felt the need to get attention elsewhere. She still thought it would be a good idea to go through with the wedding, because she would only have her boyfriend over when I was at work or school, so we could pretend like she wasn't cheating."
"Carlisle, I'm sorry," I say before I fall into an awkward silence, unsure of what else to say.
Carlisle shrugs. "I'm glad I found out before the wedding. I threw myself into my classes, got my M.D., and became just as absorbed in my work. I haven't dated much, either, you're not the only one who was nervous for tonight."
"I got married when I turned eighteen," I stop to take a steadying breath. "He worked for my father and was several decades older than me, but he still took interest. My father loved him, saw him as the son he always wanted but never got- he would do anything to make him happy."
I look sideways at Carlisle before continuing. "In our house, my father's word was law; you got severely punished if you disobeyed him. When he suggested an outing with Charles, I couldn't refuse, though I didn't want to be dating a man nearly thirty years my senior. He was nice enough, though he always wanted more than a goodnight kiss at the end of our dates. He proposed at a family dinner; my father cheered, my mother cried, and Edward, my brother, got angry and started yelling. My father yelled back, saying that I was to marry Charles and that was final. I didn't even get a chance to speak.
"Our marriage was held just three months later. Charles wanted us married as soon as possible and got angry if anyone so much as suggested otherwise. My mother helped me get ready, and she told me what to expect on my wedding night, what I should expect if Charles was anything like my mother feared. He was worse."
My voice cuts off as I glance at Carlisle again. Fear trickles down my spine when I finally realize how angry he looks. He'll want nothing to do with me after this, after realizing how pathetic I am. I wrap my arms around myself and lower my head. No one will want me after what I've been through. I carry on, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. "He beat me. Sometimes I knew why, most of the time I didn't. I know I sound pathetic-"
"Esme," Carlisle stops walking, turning to face me. I take an automatic step back, the repressed anger in his voice sets me on edge. "You're not pathetic, so please don't call yourself that. You went through a horrible, traumatic experience no one should ever have to go through. Is this why you were so nervous for dinner tonight?"
I relax slightly at his words and I nod my head. "This is the first date I've been on since my divorce a year and a half ago. I was so nervous I stood outside for fifteen minutes, and once inside it just got worse- I would have been in so much trouble if I did that to Charles and I just… I panicked. Sorry I ran off like that."
He waves off my apology with a small smile, one that didn't reach his eyes which were still stormy. "Are you upset with me?"
"No," he says, looking shocked. "Why would you say that?"
"I've gotten very good at seeing when someone is angry, even if they try to hide it."
Carlisle studies me for a moment. "I'm not upset with you, but with what happened to you. I'm not a father, but I can't imagine ever treating my children like that, putting them at risk, taking away their choice in who they date- who they marry. I am furious with your father, for encouraging that man to behave that way towards you. Charles had absolutely no excuse to ever lay a hand on you. It doesn't matter how drunk he was, or that you didn't do something they way he wanted, or said something he didn't like. There is no excuse to beat your significant other. I could never do that to the woman I claimed to love."
Tears prick behind my eyes and I blink rapidly to try and stem them from pooling and spilling over, only now realizing that Carlisle walked us in a circle, and we were in the parking lot of the restaurant again. He thanks me for the night, though I really don't know why- it was a horrible first date if you ask me. But he pulls out a slip of paper with his phone number on it.
"Feel free to call or text me any time, Esme, for anything," he says, handing the paper over. Our fingers graze as it passes from his hand to mine. Warmth spreads up my arm and I realize it is the first physical contact we've had tonight. We part once we reach my car- an old blue Toyota, and I watch as he makes his way to a shiny black Mercedes.
I drive back to my apartment and go through my bedtime routine in a semi daze, my thoughts on Carlisle until my head hits the pillow and unconsciousness takes over. In the morning, I hunt down the crumpled piece of paper and dial the numbers into my phone. He picks up on the third ring and I find myself smiling despite the bundle of nerves bouncing around in my stomach.
"Those things that you said yesterday… did you mean them?"
A/N: It might seem a little (or a lot) rushed for Esme to share something that makes her so vulnerable on her first date with Carlisle, and it might be rushed for some people. On a first date, I told the guy that I had been sexually assaulted by a friend. Part of why I told them was so that they knew what kind of mess they were getting into. I was dealing with a lot of shame and embarrassment, and I blamed myself for what had happened to me (people I trusted and told them what happened had also said I must have done something to make the 'friend' think what he was doing was okay, he (my 'friend', not my date) even blamed me for what he did that night- anyway I'm getting carried away). I felt like I was damaged goods, I came with too much baggage, and I felt that my date needed an out they could use right away because this wasn't going to be a 'normal' relationship because of all my 'issues' (I was ridiculously hard on myself). Well, he proposed five months later, and we have been happily married for nearly three years now.
Everyone deals with trauma differently, and there's nothing wrong with that. And there is nothing to be ashamed about, either. You didn't let what happened to you happen willingly, or happily. You didn't choose for it to happen to you, you didn't do anything to reason why it happened to you. What happened to you- be it sexual assault, rape, an abusive relationship, etc.- didn't happen by your choice, it isn't your fault. Don't listen to those that try to tell you it is.