Well... who said Saint's can't have a solo-sex life?

Would be honoured if you could let me know what you think!

By Sunday Morning I don't think to put two and two together.

Considering I usually wake up early for church, I'm surprised to find that this Morning I wake with a dagger like ache in the pit of my stomach. I'm not ill or nauseous so the pain is unwarranted and briefly considering lunch yesterday, I sleepily move my hand beneath the sheets.

Oh.

Well.

That explained the discomfort.

Reaching into the front of my boxers, I free myself from the constraints of fabric and shift my hips a little. The original plan of course would just be to get up, have a shower, study...

Such considerations were a rare treat and while I wasn't lost to a Morning Glory, I'd never know them to be so pressing for my attention.

I consider the time first. And then the moral implications of masturbating before church.

It wasn't like I was in church... And ... I was in genuine discomfort so waiting for the shower didn't seem strictly necessary, right? Besides, the main benefit to living alone was surely meant for instances such as this.

With my left hand, I take a firm grasp of myself, squeezing the tip till I am eye to eye with that pearl of excitement. My flesh felt warm, the tip pushing into the skin just below my naval, as tightly strung as an instrument. I attempt to tease myself a little, drag my hand up by the back except impatience demands control and at the sheer vault of hips, I have to concede to the fact that I am so wound up this morning that a leisurely tease is not going to be worth my while.

I stretch in the sheets, pulling the cover down with a foot and raising my arm behind my head, massage the back of my neck as I mimic the same movements below.

I squeeze myself a little harder, grunt contentedly and let a rhythm occur. I'd started from the base originally but now hungry and bound with tensed, locked muscles, I let my grip return to the head. My cock is like solid stone but as I repeat my movements, moving up the shaft, twisting ever so slightly until my stomach starts to relax.

I increase the speed, rubbing myself, letting beads of semen leak onto myself as I tug.

Uh. Uh that was it.

The pleasure spreads into my soles now and soon, I start to return to the original tensing I had awoken to.

Hissing when I nearly lose myself, I grasp myself from a different angle and start again. Considering I wasn't wet and soapy, I would've thought that the dryness would be regretful but I was quickly becoming my own lubricant. I move harder with myself now. Faster. Wrenching my eyes closed, I move my right hand to fondle my balls and unexpectedly pleasured by the clasp, the slight pinch...

I am about to come.

The breath is coming from me rapidly and gasping, whining ever so slightly and outright lip biting, I feel my body lock.

'God,' I utter, meeting my fists with a thrust and moving them together till every one of my cells was singing- 'Oh God,' I repeat.

And

And-.

The crashing waves of pleasure burst forth from every vibration. Groaning now, I release a silky hot load not just onto my t-shirt but rather violently, at the headboard just millimetres from my face.

'Eurgh' I say aloud, panting and now laughing, particularly on account of nearly losing an eye, I exhaustively drop my head to the pillow and chuckle. I feel the sweat slip from my forehead and with my mouth now dry but my very essence relaxed, I move towards the shower.

I decide on account of this violent undoing that it's worth having the sheets washed and because my home laundry is busy on clothes, it makes sense that I take the sheets to the launderette. That's my plan. Of course, it just so happens that when you're pulling soiled sheets of yourself and your infertile semen into said washer, the very person who was nothing other than a mirage unless in the common room- happens to enter the dreaded shop.

'Long time no see?' She greets behind my shoulder, and not expecting noise or disturbance or even, her very face, the movement of her hand on my arm vaults me forward into the machine.

'E-Esme?!'

'You remember my name then?' She chuckles, peering around to look at my expression.

Panic leads to the sheets slipping from the machine, pooling onto the floor like a sea of guilt. I know she's frowning at me. Most likely because I am the colour of rubies and even looking at me- oh God. Frowning at my peculiarity, she moves around to gather the sheets from the floor. I couldn't do it. Hell was too consuming for it. Oh dear God.

'Don't touch that!' I half shriek and jumping she drops the fabric and raises her hands. She's still kneeling in it though. Kneeling in my- oh God.

'What?' She laughs, confused. 'It's just a bed-sheet-'

'No,' I repeat, sternly. 'Don't touch it.'

'Carlisle-?' she laughs again but it has an open end to it. She's lost. I'm lost. Oh dear, Jesus H Christ.

'I-I had an accident,' I blurt and suddenly, she does move out the way.

'Oh...' she murmurs and then looking up to me, woodland eyes perturbed by my grotesqueness. 'A-are you okay?'

Me and my stupid, brainless mouth.

'No- no,' I amend hastily, breathless now. 'I mean- not an accident. Yes- yes an accident- I was- It's not. Not what you think-'

It's so much worse than she thinks.

'Have you thought... about maybe talking to someone about it? There's professionals that can help with that kind of thing?'

'No-' I repeat, pained from the burn in my cheeks. I was starting to feel a bit dizzy even. 'I, er, I spilt something...'

That wasn't a lie, was it? Would I get in trouble for that?

'Oh!' she repeats and now laughing more heartily, arms crossing her stomach, she bursts into several ferocious chuckles. 'Oh Carlisle, bless you.'

Bless me, baptize me, send me to church and I'll convert. Confess the sins now. Or perhaps I'll just climb into the machine and hope I drown.

'You only wore this T-shirt yesterday,' she adds, now passing me the fabric from the floor. I half snatch it from her hands. Guilty as sin. Still, she chuckles as she adds, 'It doesn't look stained to me.'

'It's not-'

'Then why are you putting it on such a high wash?' Moving in my way, she lowers the dial and looking in the machine drawer, shakes her head at me. 'What was it? Yogurt? You really don't need this much detergent-'

'I, er... You're right.'

'Are you always this peculiar on Sundays?' She asks now and twisting on her hip, I dazedly notice she's put the machine on for me.

I hadn't even had time to look at her, I was too busy trying not to faint. Still, she didn't look too out of character. Her bangs are still framing her face but while she had all her hair in a ponytail yesterday, this time it's just the top half. The bottom runs straight down her back like a haircare advert.

She looked a little more casual today, too. An over-sized jumper was tucked into her jeans- oh... those jeans and I look to see her ankles again.

'Hm?' I ask a little lost. I watch her feet move, tapping curiously. 'I mean, you're well, yes?'

'At least you're not so red now.'

She laughs and moving to a free machine, she empties her clothes into it and presses several buttons. I don't look. It didn't seem appropriate. Likewise, I am so tasked with my inability to talk... particularly after she had very nearly handled my... oh dear God.

'Er,' I mumble, rubbing my fringe back. 'No, you're right. I'm... how are you?'

'You've already asked that.' She reminds me.

'Ha. Yes... yes...' I rub the back of my head, grinning. 'What was your answer?'

'I am well.' She chuckles. 'No different to the first time I answered. And you Carlisle Cullen? You look like you've run a marathon?'

'I feel like it.' I confess and perching temporarily on a seat by her side, I touch my neck in caution to the warmth there.

'You're not often here on Sundays?' she asks, looking over at me. I shrug a little, still warm from the Morning's start.

'No, I normally have-' I stand up in a panic. 'I've got to go,' I remember, covering my face again. 'I'm really sorry- I completely forgot-'

'Don't apologise-' she laughs, moving as I gather my coat in one hand and hurry towards the door.

'I'll er- catch you later?'

Her musical laughter is in my ear again, her grin taking up her full cheeks and as quickly as I entered the shop, I leave on triple speed, running down to the back of second street in haste.

I don't see her for a while after that.

Anxiety leads to horrible conclusions and I picture the Dean throwing me out on account of indirect sexual harassment.

Soon I settle into my lessons instead. They're getting heavier, the days are longer and so even if she did come to the common room, I didn't have many opportunities to meet her. That doesn't mean I don't look out for her though. Particularly on the basis that after drying my sheets for me and folding them in a way that screamed she ironed them...

Well I should've thanked her.

It's a Thursday in mid-November when I spot her in the common room of my building. I'm hesitant at first. And then nervous. And now peering from the glass, cold in the scrubs and smelling like death itself, I hesitate.

She hasn't changed much.

She has different equipment with her though and it takes up a wider space on the desk she's using. I wonder for a moment if she even has room for me to join her, regardless if she were happy to accept it.

A hand twists a fallen lock of hair around her braided bun by her neck. I can't tell if she seems stressed but there is certainly a frown on her face and she regularly stretches to the side like she hasn't moved in too long.

Well... there is a coffee shop round the corner...

By the time I make it back, I'm lucky she hasn't moved from her seat and now returning the favour, careful not to disturb her thoughts, I place the coffee in front of her.

Looking up at me, hitting me with those natural eyes, she jumps so violently, I immediately start to retreat a little.

'Carlisle!' she groans, manipulating her whine into a laugh as she puts her hand to the chest of her beige turtleneck. 'You frightened me.'

'My apologies,' I murmur a little guiltily but she grins with a glossy lip and indicates for me to sit.

It felt rude to decline after the break of not seeing her so I do sit, if distant from an angle. Conscious of the stench of course.

'Thank you for the coffee.' she sighs, taking it one handed and finishing a shading on the lower left corner of her drawing.

'Are you well?' I ask, looking to the outfit. I hadn't seen overalls in a while. Particularly not black, denim ones and while odd, I was intrigued to the look. Perhaps a return to farmer routes.

Farm-er comfortable, I joke to myself.

'Exhausted,' she confesses. 'I've had seven displays due in this month. Seven. Look at my hands-' she indicates the palms, the delicate canvas of burnt and calloused skin. I frown. 'I've been pulling splinters from my fingers for days.'

'Did you get them all out?' I ask, trying to see if I could spot any with the naked eye. I frown again.

'Annoyingly no, but I suspect in time- where are you going?'

'Do you have to leave soon?' I ask. She shakes her head as she sips her drink, twirling a hand back again. 'I'll be right back-'

'Carlisle- huh?'

I escape quickly and take the flights of stairs in leaps so that I reach my apartment in gasps and chest pains. Flicking the shower on and compiling my books together, I hunt around for the materials and throw them into the bag too. It's a quick shower. It would be quicker if I didn't have to do it twice but the smell of disinfectant is making my eyes water and cautious to her sense of smell and whether it was as sensitive as mine, I drop half the contents of shower gel over myself... And then have to return to the shower for a third time where I've failed to rinse it properly.

'Shit.'

I put the heel of my hand to my eye and wince a little. The sting is there now, soap sitting on my cornea, drying it-. I pull the lids open into the stream of water.

'Ow, shit.'

Don't rub it. Don't rub it. Don't- fucking doctors and ignoring myself, I rub my eye. It makes the pain worse of course and though it's quite comfortable to sit with my eyes closed, and impossible to open it to the light of my room, I'm in such a rush, that I make do with blindness and hop out the shower.

I am grateful to half-see her once I tumble back into the common room. I didn't expect her to leave necessarily. It was just that she was so hard to place on your average day that I wouldn't have been surprised if she was an apparition.

She has her lips over the cup's rim when she spots me, her laughter breathing into her drink.

'What happened?' she asks.

'Pardon?'

'Your eye...'

Oh. I touch it from where it's a little pink and perhaps inflamed. Blinking a few times, I shrug the comment away but she's giggling again.

'Your jumper is on backwards...'

'My-?'

I look down and instead of the blue fabric breaking around my neck, it covers it. I glare at the label. Also inside out. With a groan, I pull the fabric over my head and stretch it back over my torso now noticing just how damp the front is. Cautiously I touch my hair.

'You needn't have rushed,' she laughs but when I lean forward, she pushes me back a bit. 'Careful, my notes are written in pen.'

Oh ... I'm being a nuisance.

I feel my cheeks warm up as I try to lean towards the back of my chair, except she's rifling through her bag before she passes me a T-shirt.

'Here?'

My confusion is obvious.

'To dry your hair with.' She explains cheerfully. I hesitate at first but then conscious of ruining her work, I unfold it and pat it to the ends of my hair, scrunching the excess water from it.

'It'll help with the frizz, too.' She jokes despite my hasty ruffling. I wasn't quite sure if this was a reference to her own hair or perhaps something else.

Her hair never seemed frizzy. I didn't really notice my own locks much to consider their frizz. Was it bad? Noticeable even?

'My apologies,' I murmur guiltily.

Apparently, she considers my look hilarious and leaning, moves a strand of my hair from my eyes. I haven't thought to ask but now my hair is no longer dripping, I hesitate to return the shirt, particularly after I had soaked it from my idiocy...

'I'll have this returned to you once-' I explain. She shakes her head.

'I'll put it by the window and it'll dry naturally.' She does so, folding the cloth over a chair, angling it before crossing over to her original seat, sipping from the coffee.

Clothes were an odd thing to carry around with her. Though the thought jumps quite significantly and after just a few seconds of enjoying her giggle, I think on the real reason to carry a spare T-shirt across campus.

Unless she had more clothes in there of course. Which would usually mean staying elsewhere. Like with a boyfriend.

Maybe she has a boyfriend.

It wasn't a far off thought. She was naturally very ...

Well...

I knew that she would've been the type to easily catch an eye, regardless if she meant to or not. Far from unforeseeable that she would spend her evenings with someone. I wonder for a moment if it will be the kind of boy to make her laugh as much as seems to now ... and if he walks with her around the greener ends of the campus... or if he's from her hometown, too.

Then when the thought plays on me more, I wonder if she whispers goodnight to him. Most likely in bed together. With his arms around her, resting on the curve of her hip, pulling her T-shirt torso towards him so that she curls into his chest...

The image plagues me.

'Something on your mind?' she asks, turning her attention from her drafting board and kicking an eyebrow my way. I likewise wonder if she looks as such to her boyfriend. If she throws her expression into a dance. Pouts. Grins. Giggles.

I hope she loses her temper with him too.

'No?' I answer and then I indicate for her to move closer.

Fishing a torch from my bag and small pack of tweezers, I request her to keep her hand flat as she points the torch. She offers her right hand first, eyeing me curiously when I try to detail the splinters from sight. I briefly run a thumb over one mark and feeling the raise of skin, point my nail into the wooden spike.

'This might sting,' I apologise, pressuring the point till the head breaks out. She fidgets uncomfortably, squirming when I pick at the intruder with the tweezers. In fact, she gasps a little, vocalising her irritation so that I pause. 'Would you like me to stop?'

She shakes her hair though she's wincing, her eyes wrenched closed. 'No but be quick about it.'

'How have you been?' I ask, finding the words startlingly easy to come now I'm focused in her palm. I pull a tan splint of wood free from her peach skin and drop it to the paper beside me, quickly moving over to another intruder while she noises her complaints in breathy grunts.

'It was, ow-'

'Sorry.'

'Yes, busy,' she remembers. 'I'm sorry I haven't seen you for a while. I would've explained but- urgh-'

'Sorry.' I murmur again, absently smoothing the break of her flesh.

'No, you're fine. Sorry, I'm just a pussy.'

I chuckle, more from my nose than my mouth so I expect she feels it on her palm. Such violent phrases from her. Possibly on account of her brothers. Why else would such a poised young woman be so victimised by the curses.

Though thinking of it, I wasn't too sure if she was referring to the cat metaphor from a while ago or simply taking part in structural misogyny. Otherwise peculiar she would consider such anatomy to be a weakness.

'I would've explained but I -ow- ... I don't have your number? Ow.'

'Sorry, sorry.'

Lifting my eyes now, I realise she's wincing again, not necessarily from the pain I would hope. Just that she seems to be blushing about something. I check my work and deducing her hand smooth, request the other. She's shy as she hands it my way.

I didn't understand why. She had nothing to be shy for. Her hand was smooth. Soft. A light freckle sitting under a knuckle that I could feel with just the grazes of my fingers.

'Maybe I would've maybe suggested we, er, we go to coffee or something?'

Oh.

Coffee.

Possibly due to my focus being taken in her hand, I don't think to hide the grimace.

'Or not?' she mutters, perhaps caught by my silence.

It was really about time I confessed anyway. I'd taken too many hits of the soil water and I was keen not to become co-dependent on a drink I fiercely disliked the taste of.

'I think I'd prefer not to,' I murmur honestly. Besides, what would her boyfriend think?

'Ouch.'

This time, I hadn't noticed I'd caught her skin, and smile sheepishly.

'Last one?' I indicate, pinching the offending spike from her palms and dropping the tools to my wrist. 'All done.' I say brightly but she is not looking at me now. Flushed, she looks at her notes and not much else.

'Sorry if that hurt.' I say now, nodding to her hands.

'No, don't be. It's err... well makes things clearer.'

I don't really understand what she means but considering her work and her studies were her hands, it isn't usual for me to not understand the point. She's still looking at her notes.

'I...' And now she looks up and starts to pile her books together. 'I think I ought to go.'

'Oh?' I murmur. 'So soon?'

'I've...' she moves a long strand behind her ear but then lets her bangs fall into her eyes anyway. 'I need to head to the library -'

'Well, I can-'

'I'll catch you later.' she interrupts, and compiling her bundle in her arm, she takes her coffee, smiles a bit brusquely and leaves me a little lost in the common room.

I hadn't realised I'd been so brutish and now looking at my hands, I resign myself to be a bit more delicate in the future.

I expect not to see her for a while after that.

Manners colour me corrected.

She had left her Tshirt hanging on the back of the chair in the common room and from the embarrassment of using it, I decide I will have it dry cleaned.

The returning of the item is the difficulty. I knew her name and her block and so spend early Friday Morning persuading the Dorm Monitors that I wasn't a stalker, just that I had an item that needed to be returned to its owner. And a cup of coffee of course. That was quickly becoming part of my routine.

They don't trust me at first and then seeing the drink, they likely presume I must be the boyfriend and though I ought to correct them, I thank them for their conclusions and watch them disappear upstairs.

I don't hang around to know if the coffee reached her as hot as intended. I instead head to my classes and get on with my day.

Come Saturday Morning, I'm awoken by a ringing landline. Edward was not usually awake at this hour and to my understanding was the only one with knowledge of the number but considering stranger things had happened, I pick up the phone in preparation for his weekend gripes.

'What's the issue this time?' I answer, rolling my eyes.

'Oh, er, Carlisle?'

Oh. Not Edward then.

'It's er. It's Esme... Esme Platt...'

I wasn't sure how many Esmes she suspected I knew. Despite this, I still find myself chuckling.

'Good Morning,' I greet cheerily, curling a hand on the ancient plastic.

'I hope I didn't wake you-'

'No, I've been up for a while.'

Interesting choice of phrasing but I hadn't meant it as risky as I thought it. Perhaps that was another rather strange side-effect of coffee. It made me unusually alert in the mornings.

Whether I was drinking it or not.

'Great.' She whispers and I detect an ounce of nervousness in her voice. 'I... I er. Well, I just wanted to apologise for my behaviour on Thursday...'

'Why?' I ask, frowning. 'What did you do on Thursday?'

'I'm not proud of how I left things and I... well, I wondered if you were busy today?'

'No, not busy.' I murmur. Never busy on the weekend.

'It's just that I've got another essay due-.'

'Sounds great to me.' I reply and I realise that I meant it. That I was looking forward to studying. 'I can meet you downstairs in fifteen?'

'Well... I might be a bit longer but I'll be down soon...'

'Great.' I repeat.

'Great.' She agrees.

And then with a whispered goodbye, she hangs up.

I'd already dressed for the morning though exchanging my shirt for a cleaner option, I leave earlier than I said I would and head round to the coffee shop. By the time I make it to the common room, the space is empty, void of people so I settle myself in our usual spot and wait.

She is quicker than she led me to believe. Half an hour from our phone call, she punches the code into the door and seeing me, bounds on over, smile reaching. She's wearing the T-shirt I recently returned. It looks smooth on her though, baggy with the front tucked into her jeans... I smile, briefly acknowledging her ankles and push her chair out with my foot.

'Good Morning,' she says, her cheeks bronzed, her hair down and waved excusing once side where a plait is tying her bangs away.

'For you,' I murmur, pushing the coffee her way. She rolls her eyes though she's grinning and thanks me with a nod.

'Are you well?' She asks, pulling her books from her bag and displaying them out in front of her.

I nod, direct the question back so that she nods, her hand returning the cardigan over her shoulder again.

'How are your hands?' I ask, looking to them in case I spot any missed spikes. She smiles.

'Perfect, thank you.' And she twists them in demonstration. 'Impressive work there, Doctor.'

The smile I return is a little sheepish though I hope not rude and following her introduction, she pulls out her drawing instruments and busies her fingers.

Strange how she worked. Almost more physically. Like she had to be touching the paper to have the inspiration reach her. There were a few occasions like that. When equations were worked out from the surface of her lip, brown today, matching the cheekbones.

'I hope you didn't mind the early wake up call,' she murmurs, frowning at her piece so that I doubt I had even been in reference to the comment. I peer around the laptop screen. She's brushing eraser rubbings off her paper.

'I really was already awake.' I promise. I was a bit of an Early bird anyway.

'I would've just messaged you but the old phones in the dorm don't really allow for that...'

I laugh again now. I'd thought of the same thing myself, the bulkiness of the tool hung against the wall, the cord around it in ringlets. This is also the second time she's referred to correspondence and it's safe to believe she has a cell phone.

Most people did.

'It doesn't really allow for emails, either.' I acknowledge though she doesn't get why this is relevant.

I tended to answer emails fairly early in the morning. It was rare that an email went missed. Though with that said, I close the few from Italy and move the screen back to the document I had been writing up.

She doesn't mention her boyfriend in the time we study together. She hums again, this time a different song but older. I'm almost sure I recognised it until it comes to recalling the title. Nevertheless, we let the morning go by, productive, settled and come lunchtime, I make sure to invite the break she has likely been wanting.

'Are you hungry?' I ask, thinking myself on possible lunch options.

'Starved!' She agrees, slamming her book audibly. 'What do you fancy?'

I didn't know. The suggestion was more for her than me. Nevertheless, as she rattles off a few options, I find I'd quite like to try the sandwich shop again.

She's more talkative today. In fact, when we leave the common room, she skips a little again, murmuring words to songs and insisting I increase my speed. She opts for salad this time, and sits opposite me with swinging legs.

'So heading home for Thanksgiving?'

Ah, she was excited for the upcoming break. That made sense.

'Er, no... Not the day itself.'

'The Weekend?' she guesses and I find myself nodding.

'Most likely. How about you?'

'My niece is visiting.' She informs, smiling through the cutlery. Ah, she was an aunt. Another role that suited her.

'That will be nice.' I agree. 'Will she be alone-?'

'She's one.' Esme laughs, her waves bouncing on her collar. I chuckle too, watching the way a hand curls over the coffee cup. 'My brother is coming down so I'll meet them for the break.'

'Portland is nice in the autumn.' I offer, demolishing my own food from utter starvation. Ridiculous really, I'd never considered my appetite to be so insatiable. Like other things as of recent.

'Perhaps I'll suggest there.' She smiles, moving her fork around before she looks up beneath her lashes. 'You won't be studying, will you? I hate to think of you alone on Thanksgiving...'

The crux of the matter. I blush a little.

'Most probably.' I admit. 'But less out of need and more from choice. Free reign of the library and all that.'

'I'm starting to think you work too hard,'

At my smile of agreement, she chuckles and then she takes a napkin from the cutlery cubby hole on her right and displays an open hand. I frown then hesitantly put my own hand onto the path of her palm.

Warm.

Inviting.

She often led with touch.

'No,' she laughs, wiggling her digits. 'I was asking for a pen.'

'Oh.' I suspect I am warm now; my skin feels as such. Diving into the recesses of my pockets, I produce my fountain pen and pass it. 'Is this okay?'

She loops her numbers together, neatly and expressively clear on the tissue before spinning it my way.

- Esme, she has detailed it.

'I suspect my family won't arrive till midday anyway...'

I look at the number now, repeating them in my head until they created a song and then I repeat it a few more times just to know I had it. She did have a cell phone then, as predicted.

'Thank you.' I murmur.

'Who knows?' She teases. 'We may even fit in a few more hours of studying beforehand?'

I see her consecutively for the next three days following Saturday. She prefers to study in the evenings I find but enjoys sketching in the daylight and though my lessons leave it so that the hours I spend with her are few and far between, her dedication to her attendance is to be admired.

By Thursday, my order finally arrives.

'Er, hello?' Edward answers cautiously. I laugh.

'Hey, it's me.'

'Oh... hi?' I can hear the reservation from my 3,100 kilometres away. 'Strange, your number-'

'Yes, I've-er. I've bought a cell phone.'

He laughs for an inexcusable amount of time.

'No, no.' He insists, still laughing 'Really, where are you?'

'I'm not kidding. I have actually bought a cell phone. I was phoning so that you could save the number.'

'What?'

'C'mon, it's really not that big of a deal-'

'Cool it Grandpa,' Edward interrupts. 'You've actively chosen to buy a cell phone?'

'Er. Yes.' I murmur, wandering about the apartment with a warm face.

'I thought they rot brains?'

'Well-'

'And they were a crippling example of our generational dependence on immediate gratification-'

'Uh-'

'And that you'd rather be caught dead than sell your attention to the technology giants of-'

'Okay, okay.' I concede, blushing now. 'Look, I've got a cell phone. This is the number. Take it or leave it-'

'I'll take it.' he laughs. 'I just can't believe how quickly you changed your mind, I was sure you'd be last to purchase one.'

'Yes, well-'

'What made you change your mind?'

I was dreading this question. I move over to the edge of my bed now, sitting on the side and looking up at my desk. My voice is suspicious when I answer.

'Convenience.' I reply.

'Meaning?'

'I, er.' I sigh and touch my forehead. Like I could lie to him. 'I've... made a friend. A study friend. She- er-'

'She?' he repeats, the shock evident. 'Like a girl-friend?'

'No. No. No. No, God No.'

I was still expecting she had a boyfriend, of course. Though she hadn't mentioned him yet. And the only thing that supported this theory of his existence was the overnight wear that one time...

'Are you okay?'

'Yes. No, I'm fine. Don't make it weird-'

'You're making it weird-'

'How's school-'

'Carlisle. You're making this weird. Whose the girl? Why have you bought a phone for her?'

'I didn't buy a phone for her.' I defend. 'I bought a phone for me.'

'You seemed wholly against them before-'

'I'm wholly against them now-'

'So why have you bought-'

'Kid-.' I knew he'd make it weird. I sigh and touch my forehead again. 'All you need to know is that I have a phone. This is my number and I'll see you in a few weeks.'

'I'm going to text you emojis,' he warns, laughing sinisterly. I groan.

'Catch you later.'

'It's going to be like the AOL days all over again-'

'I'm hanging up-' I sing and now I have to follow it through except I don't know how to work the bloody thing.

'It's the red button-'

'I know, Edward.'

And finally, I hang up.

When I present the coffee to her side that evening, I place the phone next to it to see if she gathers the implication.

'New phone?' She asks.

Esme is looking the cosier of us two, today. She's wearing a thick knitted jumper that hangs to her thighs. Her jeans are dark. Skin tight. But also probably due to be thrown out judging the slits at the knees. I look at them curiously.

'Indeed.' I have to say indeed. I have to agree it being a new buy and not my first but judging from her eyebrow raise, she can tell I haven't had it long.

'Very snazzy.' She laughs, tucking a caramel strand behind her ear. I inadvertently sigh. Her hair was looking cosier, too. Soft. Though piled high towards the crown of her skull.

'Would you like to put your number in?' I ask now, warming on the suggestion.

It felt an impertinent request but seeing as she herself had directed the move at the weekend, I hoped it wasn't too forward to ask. She puts her pencil behind her ear when she types her number in, much more familiar with the buttons than I am yet. At one with the tech world.

'Strange,' she murmurs. 'It hasn't imported the photo from the i-Cloud.'

The what cloud?

'Huh?'

Quite at home with the machine, she turns the camera on and poses, tilting her jaw under a poised hand and grinning in her teasing way. I'm thankful she hasn't left the flash on but don't murmur as such.

'There,' she says, handing the phone back. My thumb tightens on the screen with her contact details on. It's just a smaller version of her pose, wisping autumn waves framing her face, her winged eyelid. 'Now you don't need to get me confused with your other Esmes.'

'Ha. Yeah.' I agree and then I realise she's teasing. She has to be. How popular did she think her name was?

My eyes fall to the screen again. The pixels didn't accurately capture the play in her eye or the slight pout of her lipstick grin though it did highlight that one dimple. She sees me staring at it now and pushes a curl to her loose bun.

'Is something the matter?' She asks, seeing that my attention is taken. It takes me a few more moments to lift my eyes to her. I'd fallen comfortable now.

'No.'

'You've gone awfully quiet?'

'You're my first picture.' I answer. She clearly didn't expect me to be so honest so quickly. She raises an eyebrow.

'Like on your cell?'

Anywhere. I didn't even have photographs of Edward and I. I'd never thought to. It would only make me miss him.

'Mm hmm.'

'Oh, er, I'm sorry, I can erase it?'

'No, no.' I laugh a little. 'I wasn't complaining.'

'Well here,' she holds her hand out for the phone and indicates for me to move closer with just an index finger. I forget what I'm doing entirely before her hurried, 'Well get in, then?'

Laughing, she leans closer to me. She makes a silly face to the screen, poses at an angle, her shoulder nesting into my collarbone. Her perfume is better up close. The summer smell splits into select fruits until the blueberries are almost crushed against my throat. Raspberries could be smeared across my lips now, strawberries, juiced, slipping on my tongue.

I wonder if it tastes as good-

'Now I'm your second, too.'

'Uh?'

What? Er? What? What was I just thinking?

'Photo on your phone.' She chuckles.

Yes. Phone. We were talking about the phone.

'I'm honoured,' I say, partly wishing it weren't true. Her laugh is like bathing in treacle... Sticky. I would be thinking on it for hours.

'Ah, the honour is all mine.'

Drunk on dizziness, I half fall into the opposite chair, watching the sweeping pulley system of her hand tipping the coffee into her mouth. Utterly graceful. The motion was dancing without music. Or rather there was music except it was in my head, to the tune of the recent song she'd been humming.

'I would say we'll spend tomorrow using up the memory but-'

'But?' I ask.

'But,' she laughs, meeting my expression with a glint in her eye. 'Unfortunately your model isn't well known for good storage.'

Good storage. What enjoyable words. Good storage. Buona memoria.

'That and lessons,' I complain, finally remembering to put said studying to use.

She hums, not listening as such as she returns to her paper. In fact she keeps her focus so caught on her notes for a while without pause that I almost worry something is wrong.

'Carlisle,' she announces eventually, still with her focus on her book. 'Can I ask you something?'

I stop typing whatever I was trying to type and move the laptop away. Why did the sentence sound so daunting? Was she about to ask something uncomfortable? Worse, was I about to hear about the boyfriend...

'Hm?'

So much reservation all of a sudden.

'I think you're a man of culture, right?'

What does that mean? Had she heard me talking in Italian? Had she read it? What had I said? What did she mean?

'I hope this isn't too forward of me asking-' she murmurs, hiding her gaze from me for once. 'Particularly when it's not meant as such- '

For no particular reason, my hands start to prickle. In a very few set of seconds, I go from being speechless to tongue tied, cringing without due reason.

'It's just that-'

Er?

'Well-' She breathes in visually, her chest rising so swimmingly that I almost forget I'm staring at her chest. And then I panic. And then stare so hard at her jaw that I wonder what was going through my mind initially. 'There's a local production of the Nutcracker at the community theatre... And... Erm. I wondered if you'd... consider coming along?'

That was another sound specific to her. When she said 'urm', she didn't say 'urm'. She said Erm. With an E. Erm. I find myself sighing again.

'Well?'

'Uh?'

'I know it sounds dumb,' she excuses, cheeks warming. 'And really, I wouldn't ask. I guess I don't know who I'd ask. Which is why I'm asking you I suppose. I just... I don't know Oregon very well and you clearly know it better than me and, and it'll probably be a disaster. Like most local productions. But it could be a laugh?... If you wanted?'

Wait, was she inviting me along?

'You'd like me to join?' I re-clarify, confused.

'Er... uh... yeah. If you want, I mean?'

'I'd love to go.'

Regardless of whatever it said about me, and wrongly, I was concerned to what image it presented of me, I did quite enjoy the theatre. As children, Elizabeth often took us boys and while Edward saw it is a chore, I couldn't deny how much I had enjoyed it.

'Really?'

'Sure.' I say. 'When is it?'

'It's er, Friday... the last Friday of the month?'

Not long away then. Regardless, something to look forward to. She seems unsure of whether to believe my excitement but on the basis that I don't want to suggest I'd comfortably belonged to certain stereotypes; I don't tell her about my interests.

'Great.' I say.

'Great.' She agrees and laughing now, she turns those forest eyes from me and studies long into the evening.

Unusually, Esme doesn't disembark from my company until it quite late and though she says something about the coffee, it's actually an hour or so later before she catches the clock on the edge of my watch.

'Shit! Is that the time?'

'Hm?' For once I seemed to have got pretty far in my notes and looking up, I find she's jumping about in a bit of a rush.

'I didn't realise it was so late- I better go.'

'Do you need me to-'

'No, Carlisle.' She laughs, twisting her pencil in her hair and scooping her bag to her shoulder. 'Goodnight, Sweet.'

Sweet? Did she call me Sweet? Was that a Mideastern thing? What did that mean? Was it- and in a jump, she claps her left hand, loudly, to the flat space of my thigh and squeezes.

I can hardly talk my skin is fizzing so violently.

'G-goodnight, Esme.'

Before I register, her spine is aligned against the glass door. She waves with the fingers of her right hand, whispering barely above a murmur. She didn't need to, of course. As ever we were the only ones left in the space.

'Sweet dreams,' she bids softly.

I wait till she's gone to pull the collar from my neck and gasping, discomfort reaching into my gut-. Discomfort?

No, I wasn't discomforted. I was uncomfortable. Burning under the heat of cooling lights, my tongue both dry and salivating. I realise I'm a bit breathless, too.

Clocking the visual confirmation, feeling the fabric threads constraining, a mortified grunt of air leaves me and despite the empty area, I speedily, rapidly, immediately escape to my apartment.

I'm even worse than usual when I make my way to bed. I really didn't know what was wrong with me recently, it must be her perfume but I felt... well I didn't know what I felt. Except that. I was feeling that.

But above those confused-fleshy undertones, I was suffering from something completely alien. On one hand, I felt weightless. Literally. Like I was high on amphetamines. With side-effects. And yet on the other, I was weighted. Grounded. Seeing the world better, feeling it...

Perhaps I am allergic to the scent.

For several hours I punish my lack of control by reading passages from scriptures gifted from my father.

The thought him alone does the trick.

I attempt to make myself dinner this evening, I even spend the effort the using up what I find in the refrigerator. I don't eat it of course. Or rather, I eat two forkfuls before I collapse onto my bed, phone in hand.

Like the hypocrite I am, I spend a while on my new device, staring at those two pictures. Her smile is as teasing on camera as it is in person and though I dislike the lost details, the sharpness of her eyes for example, the balance of her posture, the angle...

I couldn't say much for myself.

It had been a while since I saw myself in captured form. I didn't particularly enjoy having my photo taken and as typical, my expression was a bit chaotic. Yet she'd leaned in to me. She'd touched me. She'd been so close that I could almost... almost feel the silk of her hair... and her laugh.

Mere hours before she put pressure to play into my limbs.

Another thing the camera didn't capture. The fervent heat of her laugh, the melody, the rhythm. Or the delicate dewiness of her complexion. It was remarkable really that such a person could exist with these assets. Not even remarkable. Admirable. I admired her.

Platonically of course.

Despite what I might have let her Hall Monitors believe, despite nature's biology incident this evening- I didn't hold those feelings. It wasn't within my make-up. If it was, I would've been married already. Not to say I was gay either because I was fairly confident I wasn't.

I was just one of those rare cogs left in neutral.

I wasn't interested in relationships. Or sex... Or... Esme...

No, I just admired her.

Science had no play in that.

This evening, I have to try harder with my prayers and though I end them quickly on the rare fault of tiredness, possibly due to the atypical amount of energy in my core, I find instead of sleeping, it is far more profitable to grasp a hold of myself and unleash into my hand.

I wash the guilt off of course. Thoroughly. I keep the shower cooler, just one or two degrees between warm. It's nice at first. Refreshing and the shower gel is scented enough to take my mind off... well. Whatever I was thinking of.

Studying. I was thinking about studying.

Looking down my sternum then, I find myself hard once more. My stomach felt knotted too and though my shoulders were relaxed with the repetitive beads of water scaling my back, my legs had locked. When I do wrap a hand around myself therefore, I do it more for the need to sleep than the satisfaction of any needs.

Now in the shower I can afford to be lazier with the results. I jack-off hard. Sloppily. The tight grip of my left hand edging me, fiercely to my relief. I was loud, too. Need had made me loud. Louder than my usual repressive uttering. Losing my breath to the tiles, I use my arm to bear my weight on the shower wall, rub my soapy cock to the point of no return.

The steam is making me dizzy. My muscles are tight, straining from pressure and with every delectable tug of my flesh, I could feel the high sailing.

'Uh Yes,' I hiss, cowering slightly into my clasp. My fingers are gripping the head now, the steam in every space of my lungs.

I groan a little more. Grunt.

'Ungh.' The orgasm ripples through me, violent, harsher than the original and collapsing onto the wall, I milk myself of ejaculate and wash it down the drain with the rest of my sins.

I'm no longer catholic but I resolve on three Hail Mary's before bed. Climbing into the sheets, not caring about the lack of clothes, I sleep far into the night into late next Morning.