I'm aware this might have been a chapter much antipated so here it is! Thnak you soooooomuch for all your lovely reviews! Please keep them oming as well as your amazing and fantastic support.

All I have to say is there's still plenty to discuss and their night is not over!

Enjoy!

I'm halfway through the bottle when I realise it's one of the weaker spirits. It would do its job. It would make me forget if I drank it quickly enough. With any hope it might even make me pass out. Especially with my eyes gushing so much moisture despite my need to calm myself and breathe like a normal human being.

I can't even do that right and pulling my knees up to my cheeks, I realise that if I don't stop crying, it's going to be clear where I'm hiding out.

My chest wheezes painfully, sending stabbing pains through my torso that makes me whine but I force myself not to breathe until the water stops. The more I drink, the worse the pain gets and even though I'm sat in a dark tiny room, I'm so dizzy and upset and wobbly, I can feel myself slurring without speaking.

And all my head wants to do is haunt me with those horrible images. From Sunday, from Monday, from Thursday, all leading up till Today. With me on my knees. That hand on my shoulder. The inescapable feeling of the room.

Much like downstairs. The inescapable judgement of every one of them. Every one.

After thirty long minutes, at which point I'm hoping everyone has left, there's gentle footsteps of the landing. They cross the rooms several times. Getting heavier with panic, creaking worry into the floorboards until I think someone's going to do something stupid and call the police.

Instead, there's a gentle knock on the cupboard door.

'Esme?'

Instead of replying, I hold my breath and wipe the tears off my sore face.

'It's me,' he murmurs, difficultly which only highlights every reasoning for my misery. If he's struggling to even talk to me than this isn't going to be one of those things I can hope he ignores.

He doesn't open the door as I think he's going to do, he doesn't do anything but waits to see if I move.

'Es?'

'Leave me alone.' I hush but even the sound of that is lost in voided darkness.

'Not until you talk to me?' He returns and it's one of those moments I just wish he'd drop the ego and give me my time.

'I don't want to talk.'

'Fine.' His words are coming out a little more quickly and I imagine the frown on his face turning into a glare as he winds himself up. 'But I can't leave 'till I see that you're- until you come out.'

It takes a few minutes for me to give in. But only a few. If his words are enough to make me sob, I needed to get the tone out of the way before I drown. With a shaky hand, I slowly push open the door. He's leant up against the wall, staring at my inevitable seating with a blank expression.

'How'd you know I'd be in here?' I ask miserably, letting him help me up out of the dark though it causes me to stumble a few times.

'It's where you'd go in an Earthquake.'

He's holding my fingers as he drags me into his room, slamming the door shut though no sound utters. Now at the edge of the bed, he drops his hold, gazing at our hands with misery. I seat myself on the bed.

'We don't get that many earthquakes.' I mutter back.

He shrugs, the movement robotic and cold. It's making me well up again.

'Well?'

Maybe his tone is meant to be gentle and we're both misinterpreting it. I still shrink inside myself.

'Well, what?!' I snap, my fingers squeezing the neck of the bottle. The sudden movement has caught his suspicion and without even bothering to address himself, he sharply snatches it from my hand and pushes it to the edge of the desk.

'Well say something?' He begs, the fury and utter desolation of his temper emotively reaching out to me. I don't come up with anything meaningful.

'Why do you get to be angry?'

This is giving him the excuse he wants to lose his shit. And I can't be bothered to attempt to fight with him anymore.

'Excuse me?' Okay, so now he's really hurt. His whole expression cracks.

'You heard me, Carlisle. What reason have you got to be so mad?'

His footing falters a little, as if I pushed him away using the strength of forty mountains, but he tries hard not to sway.

'Why am I mad?' he asks, sarcastically.

Uh oh.

'Why am I mad?! Are you kidding me?!'

'Well how should I know- I'm not a fucking mind reader. Am I?!'

Whatever I might've thought about him being a calm and reserved gentleman seems to blow up as he fists his hands in his hair and holds in what only can be determined as a scream. The panicked anger in my attitude seems to tremble beneath his broken exterior.

'Not a mind reader?!' He repeats with a squeal.

'Fucking hell, Carlisle. Drop it! Just because you want to go screaming after someone doesn't make you some sort of Divine Hero!' I shout angrily, making sure my bite is several notches worse than his. He's pacing in front of me, small, circular steps, rounding to that same position. It's going to make him go loopy.

'Screaming after him?! You really think I'm going to scream at your boss?!'

'What am I meant to think with you pacing everywhere?!' I continue to yell, trying to stop myself flounder in emotion.

'You think I'm going to scream?! Are you joking?!' Now his voice has reached an unusual octave and throwing as much energy and as much passion into his point- he genuinely loses it. 'Scream at him?! I'm going to rip his fucking teeth out. I'm going to break every single bone in his body and force-fucking feed it to him-'

If I wasn't so drunk, maybe I'd question where the violence is coming from. For all he knew, I'd elected to be in that position. He'd never been this angry when I'd been with other people.

'Stop being so dramatic-'

'I'm going to be as dramatic as I like. I'm going to pulverize that indisputable, insipid-'

'Stop it!' I scream again but my voices catches the wave of tears and out comes the River Nile from my eyes.

'Why?! Why should I stop?!' He seethes, hysterically. 'What right does he have for mercy? Did he stop for you?'

He knows.

'Carlisle!'

'Well did he?!' He's avoiding looking at me, probably because I'm such a fucking state that any kind of look is going to be disturbing but his lip is pulled over his teeth like he's seconds away from tearing down these walls.

'Why are you screaming at me?!'

I really didn't expect those words to fall from my mouth but they do and they come out in such a cry that I see his shoulders slump. He angles his face towards me, so that the side of his cheek is illuminated by the light. And it looks to me to be resembling a very pink and very harsh hand mark?

'I'm yelling at you because I'm furious!'

The bitterness of his tone is diluted by the volume in which he speaks. He turns to face me straight on, still stood in the middle of the room, away from me. I don't know if that's meant to hurt more than his judgement. It's certainly not the nicest feeling. He rubs his forehead roughly and then shakes his hand into his hair to try and control himself.

'You stood there and lied to my face-'

'Because I knew this is how you'd react!'

'And you still stand there, crying, like I'm the bad guy and yet again I'm pandering to your tears-'

'Please.' I whimper. His jaw at this moment looks harder than steel, like I could punch him and come off worse- it's not a look I'm used to. Nor particularly like.

'You know what the worst thing is?! It's that if I followed my instinct, if I'd done what I'd set out to do, you wouldn't have been hurt!'

He groans once more and let's himself quite literally, collapse to the floor, his lower back curved against his bed. He's got his elbows on his knees and his hands covering his face as he takes staggered breaths.

'That's a lie.' I murmur.

Beneath the space of his arms, I see him squeeze his eyes shut. I wipe my nose on my wrist and take a tentative move towards him.

'You would've hurt me.' I whisper and it's only down to my intoxication that I can thank these words leaving my mouth. It's silent for a few seconds, the longest seconds of my life to be fair, the only sound in the room being the stumbling air falling from our mouths.

'I know.' He murmurs, regrettably. He inhales widely and directs himself into more of an apologetic look. 'I know I'm doing it now, too.'

I nod, still in a system of drunken unconsciousness, waiting for him to say something better. Waiting for my own brain to come up with something better.

'I didn't…' I begin to say, but the words fall into silence. He looks towards me with a pained expression on his face.

I start again, taking a horribly shaky breath that won't let my words come out clear.

'I didn't want to…touch-'

'Es.'

'Tilly walked in. I didn't want to-'

'Es- stop.'

'I swear, I fought it. I was even yelling and –' I have to stop because his face is heart breaking. He's got both eyes tightly closed and fisted hands into his hair as he breathes shallowly.

'I'm really sorry…' I whisper emotionally. More tears falling over my cheeks.

'You?' He asks, his voice shattering.

He's unable to move just yet as he tries to calm down but his shoulders are shaking as if he's cold. Carlisle was never cold. He could never be cold. You didn't ask for comfort from someone cold.

'I didn't want to hurt you….' I confess.

He winces, his eyes squeezing tighter. 'You didn't want to hurt me?' he asks, his voice stiff.

Perhaps on a happier topic, the constant repetition of my own sentences would piss me off. At this current moment it's only saddening. Safe to say the utter desolation of his face is doing worse to cripple me.

'You're suffering.' I surmise, head tilted towards the side as I try to really take a guess at why he's so angry. Because I lied to him maybe? Reading my confusion, he murmurs out an explanation quickly.

'I'm suffering because you're suffering.' He breathes a little more and wipes a hands down his face but his whole posture softens when he sees my face. 'Come here.'

'Why?' I ask miserably, still crying a bit.

He sighs a little and rubs his forehead. 'Because if you don't I'm worried I'm going to leave this house and do something illegal…'

Warily, I look at his face. He still looks devastated and infuriated at the same time but his uncomfortable posture is open to my intrusion. My heavy feet almost don't want to move at first. It doesn't take long for me to be overcome with emotion and stumbling to the floor I move to be next to him. We're pretty much side to side now despite the large amount of space in his room but I turn a little and lean into his open arms. His breathing is still shaky but his warmth seems to be doing everything it needs to.

The noise in my head falls to silence so that all I'm left with is the safety of him arms.

'He didn't…' He stops mid-sentence and tries again, forcing a neutral tone. 'Has he…touched you?'

I'm thinking about lying again. It's my first instinct but I realise I can't do that. Not anymore. We're past that.

'Slapped my ass a few times.'

He goes stiff. Not breathing.

'But it's fine. It's fine. I promise, I'm fine.' I blurt out quickly, squeezing on his torso tighter and shielding my face. He rubs his hand down my back. Remote at first and then more composed, a little needier, too. His grip is just as tight as mine as he holds me awkwardly to his side, reluctant to let go.

'I'm sorry for causing,' I whisper after a few moments.

He sighs tensely, angling his exhausted face towards me so that the unnatural pink stands out.

'I'm praying the only reason you're apologising is because you're drunk.'

'Why?' I ask, frowning.

'Because it's wrong. Why are you sitting here apologising when you're the one that's been-.' He stops once again and groans so that the sound ripples against my hair, I bury myself a little more. 'I don't want you to be bottling this up.'

'Only slightly.' I admit. The alcohol in my stomach seems to be finally hitting my brain and not in a gentle manner. I've got an urge to sit on Cullen's lap which I think he'll kill me for. Especially at this moment.

'All I've done this week is cry and sob?'

He winces again, his chin resting on the top of my head.

'Don't be like that, you make me feel better.' I murmur gently, a tiny smile biting at the corner of my mouth. He's not impressed.

'Stop, Esme.'

'I'm being serious!' I pull myself up now and put an unstable hand to his shoulder to shake him gently till he's looking at me. 'Why do you think I never want to talk to you about it? You make me forget.'

Mostly.

He raises an unamused eyebrow, his mouth in a hard line as he fights with my flattery.

'Stop looking at me like that, Cullen. I'm not lying.'

The sharp line of his jaw is suggesting he's gritting his teeth.

'What?' I ask, sitting up on my knees.

'How can you do that?'

'Do what?' I ask with a smile. He groans again.

'That! How can you go from crying to giggling the next minute like it's nothing?' He might look wound up though it can be promised he's far worse than that. I've never seen him so drained.

'Stop getting angry.' I say softly. 'I already said you make me feel better.'

'So that you just ignore everything that's been done?' He's not yelling at me, or even yelling in general. He's getting emotional and Cullen's emotional is passion. He's gripping onto the back of his hair trying to breathe normally again.

I've always respected passion.

'No, of course not. It's fucking infuriating. I can't even masturbate without it being ruined-'

He throws his head back, his chin to the ceiling, trying not to react.

'Now you're not looking at me.'

'You're drunk out your skull.' He mutters, irritably. But his pale complexion, excusing the mysterious cheek, seems to grow whiter as he puts a hand to his mouth.

'I'll be better, tomorrow.'

'You won't even remember tomorrow. Yet again I'll have to sit here in a bumble trying to explain what we talked about and-'

'Calm down, will you.' I complain lightly, an intrusion of silliness watering down the tone. He sighs, his breath both warm and cold at the same time. 'It's fine. I'll drink a gallon of water and I'll remember everything. If you're that worried, I'll even video myself-'

He whines a little and rubs the back of his neck.

'You get so rude anytime I have a drink around you.'

'I panic!' He admits but his eyes are a lot softer when he looks at me. 'I'm sorry. I just panic.'

I squeeze his knee playfully and offer a soppy grin.

'If you want me to stop, I'll stop…' I promise, trying to hold myself up a little more respectively.

He groans again and rubs his face, bringing his head down a little so his hair slips forward into his eyes.

'I wasn't lying when I said I just wanted you safe.'

'And happy.' I add, cheekily.

'And happy.' He repeats.

We stay sitting in silence for a little while longer and even though we're not necessarily 'cuddling', he still has his hand on the small of my back, blue eyes watching over me and his thin mouth pouting as he chews on the inside of his lip.

'I think we should go back downstairs…' I whisper to him. He rolls his eyes, his shoulders stooping in a calming manner as I lean into him.

'It wasn't an hour ago you were wanting them to leave.'

'I know… but Emmett's finally playing good music and dancing around our kitchen in my fluffy socks sounds fun.' I lift up my leg to wiggle my toes in the air. He gently smiles, pulling up the slipped ankle for me before leaning forward out of my grip.

He helps me stand up, because I'm far drunker than I was when I sat in his blasted wardrobe, and I stumble awkwardly before throwing my head back in laughter, gripping onto his black-Tee for support. The hallway light is brighter so he looks less sombre and more tired, the shadow of his jaw seeming darker with stubble, and one particular cheek seeming too red.

'I think maybe we ought to wash your face before you go down there.' He says gently, finally lightening up a little.

'We, huh?' Casually ignoring how offensive this statement is…

'You know what I meant.' He complains gently, those blue eyes rolling. 'As I'm sure you can tell, you're a little pinker than normal-'

'You're meeean.' I sing, skipping along to the bathroom and running the hot tap.

Curse him being such a know it all. But the water is soothing and it's bringing a back a little reality to my hazy view. Which is a shame when I think back to my ideas with Cullen and water from earlier. I wash my face a few times. Scrubbing at my neck with a flannel despite the fact I haven't worn make-up since last Saturday.

'All done?' He asks.

My eyes are squinted to stop water falling into my eyes. I can't see anything. I reach my hand out for a towel when a square of warm material is pressed gently to my face. I jump and immediately start to laugh. Despite himself, he laughs a little too, pressing the fabric to my hair line, my cheeks and my eyes so that the water is dried from my face and I can see.

'Hey.'

'Hey, yourself.' He replies, raising an eyebrow when I wobble on my perfectly flat feet. He's lifted his arms up just in case I'm about to fall but with my face dry and now smelling like perfume thanks to the cream on his hands, I just giggle a little and go to take the stairs.

'Wait.' He murmurs, tucking he moisturiser away in the cabinet before rushing over to push his hand in front of my stomach, stopping me. I roll my eyes.

'Wait for what?'

'If you can't even walk on flat ground, I don't exactly feel safe letting you down the stairs. They're steep enough without your lack of balance.'

'Are you gunna give me a piggy back?' I ask with a grin. He shares my smile, shaking his head just slightly.

'I was actually going to suggest going down on your-?' He nods his head towards the top of my legs, letting his eyes downcast and very much avoiding the very thing he's implying; My ass. Hmm?

Probably not the best thing to do considering the state of it, to be honest.

'Carlisle Cullen, you tease!'

Those blue eyes of his look to the ceiling and with a sigh, he pulls me by the hand to the top step before kneeling in front of me.

'You Gentleman.' I say playfully, squeezing onto his shoulders as I jump onto his back. He wraps his hands around my calves, close to where my knees are squeezing into his hip, and slowly begins to descend the steps where I remain safe in his capture.

'You drunkard.' He murmurs, thinking I can't hear but I can and so I squeeze my knees together into the inside of his waist so that he yelps a little, clearly not expecting such an action.

'You've got to stop doing that!' He complains lightly, his hands warm on my ankle.

'I know all your weak spots, Mister. Don't get smart with me.'

I know he's smirking without even looking at him. He's still holding firmly onto my legs when he reaches the living room carpet. There's no explanation why but he doesn't put me down until we're in the kitchen where he reverses close to a counter top and clearly expects me to shuffle off.

'Thanks for the lift.' I say, grinning.

His mouth rises in a gentle move and he goes to take a step away but I reach out for a fistful of his shirt and pull him so that he falls into the space of my legs, his stomach against the line of the marble. He raises an eyebrow, perhaps at my hand and lifts his face up so that his nose is to my forehead.

We can just about hear everyone in living room. I'm not sure what they're talking about, something meaningless but they're all involved and they're all, apparently, enjoying themselves.

'I'm sorry.' He says softly, the word gentle as it passes into the space between us.

He has both hands gripping onto the edge of my seat, either side of my thighs but not intimate enough to be questioned upon. He's aware I'm staring. Smoothly, he plays a wave of a tune between his fingertips, lifting his hand to stare at it before brushing his knuckles under my cheeks.

'I had no right to be so foul to you, I'm so sorry.'

'Shh, Carlisle. It's over now.'

He makes a face, his eyes closing as he leans a little closer, his head bent low.

'It's not though, is it?'

'Stop.' I tell him, my eyebrows knitting together.

'I'm sorry… I just can't bear it. The thought of-' He has to hold his breath again to stop the passion eating away. But I'm liking the passion. It spoke volumes to me.

'You can't protect me forever. You know that.'

'I can try?' He pleads, the blue of his eyes making me drown once more. I settle into a position, holding my torso to replicate his own stance.

'You have Alaska to think of? And all your boring Doctor conferences?' I tease, my feet moving to the tune of the song currently playing.

It amazes me Edward's ability to control any element of music around him. And what amazed me more is how he could change the expectations of a suited party with just the use of an unexpected playlist.

'I'm not going…' He says sullenly, still staring at my jeans and finding an unusual piece of thread to look at.

'What?!'

'I said…' He brings his chin up, biting his lip. 'I'm not going. I'm staying here…'

'Carlisle!'

'You can't stop me, Es.'

'You're being ridiculous. You can't just not go.'

It's only because I'm intoxicated that I continue to grin despite my apparent reprimands. Though on this notice it could probably be argued that I'm forgiven. Seeing as his own face is breaking up into his reserved smile. And I still have the question of his face to comment on.

I shake my head a little, suddenly aware that I'm still gripping tightly onto his shirt and realising this, I playfully pull him in closer. He spreads out his hands again to break his, miniature, fall.

'Question?' Cullen poses, squinting at nothing in particular, his chest inches from my own and my hand blending into normality.

'Shoot?'

'If this is a 'party'?' He gives quotation marks with his fingers. 'Then what's with the sad music?'

'It's not sad?' I retort, frowning. It's passion. It's excitement. It's our flatmate's favourite ballads

'Oh yeah? 'It must have been love'? Shouldn't we be listening to dance party tunes or whatever?'

My hand goes to copy his own and fiddles with a few strands of my hair. 'You know how much Edward loves to set a tone.'

'Are you suggesting our Dear lil' Edward is flirting?'

I giggle a little, my feet still tapping against the door I've pushed them against. The reminder of Edward gives him the responsibility to look towards the living room in wonder. Apparently satisfied, he faces me with a shrug. From the sound of their conversation they're not exactly ready to move just yet. Neither am I.

'Are you?

He nods a little, trying to conceal his smirk as he looks behind my head thinking. Though he then does something unbelievable and awkwardly taps his foot in the same rhythm as mine.

'And what was that?' I whisper quietly, nodding to his feet. By the time I look up, his cheeks are pink and he's avoiding looking at me.

'Nothing?' He says far too quickly.

Oh, ho Cullen. Don't give me the ammo.

'Aww don't be shy, now! Show me the moves.'

He rolls his eyes, smiling widely as he continues to hold my attention for the evening.

'So what's this one then?' He asks, pointing upwards with a perfect finger.

'It's called Baby, Can I Hold You….'

'It's a nice one.' He says, his lips moving in appreciation.

The movement has captured me. Despite the fact that I am drunk, and feeling more so in his intimate presence, I am unbelievably captivated by his beauty. But I don't just mean his face beauty. It's like a different type. The kind that's managed to make me feel like an Ethereal being. The kind that keeps my heart beating and my mouth grinning. He's my sea of calm after the storm. The patience to my panic and the relaxed to my chaotic.

I sway gently to it when I think he's not paying attention. Just my top half because I'm sat on flat marble. It's a nice moment because I can hear my family in the front room, laughing and joking, cheering, singing like we normally all do- and yet I've got the best seat in the house.

The warming build of the song's chorus reaches its peak and with another heavy sigh, he rests back on his heels, tilting his neck back so that his hair follows. I'm not an idiot. He's surveying me, questioning my judgement and my sanity. But who cares. He's still facing me. In an effort to spot his expression, I lift my chin up. It probably looks like I'm mocking him when I'm actually just trying to get a sight of his eyes. He has them closed. I can't tell if that's because he's tired or not.

'What are you thinking about?' I ask softly, my mouth close to the edge of his chin so that I can see every tiny freckle hidden beneath his complexion. The side of his face lights up in a smile.

'The lyrics…'

'These ones?'

He nods and pulls his head down to look at me in the eye. A few moments go by where he doesn't say much just watches me sway but then I realise that I'm swaying and I pause, embarrassed.

'Don't stop on my accord, please.'

'I didn't even realise I was doing it…' I murmur pathetically, looking at my sweaty hands. They're no longer resting on his chest but rather in my lap, patient. 'Probably says quite a bit about how much I've had to drink?'

'Or how much you like the song?' He suggests instead.

'I think I like your theory better.'

'Thought you might.' He waits for the chorus to come around again and playfully nudges my arm as if copying my passive 'dancing'. I giggle at first and then I laugh properly. To which he joins in.

My laughter seems to fall silent then. Not for a bad reason. For the perfect one.

We're naturally close to each other meaning I can reach him without moving. Instead, I lift my head up towards him though he's still taller. His hair is still flopping in front of his eyes, interfering with his lashes so I comb it back. Somehow both my hands are resting on the sides of his face, sincerely, feeling the warmth of his cheeks run into the heels of my hands and through to my quiet heart.

I'm already sitting up but now I sit taller, coming over to pinch my knees into the slides of his legs to prevent him moving. The Adam's apple in his throat bobs and he keeps a careful eye, and a ragged breath at my neck.

With a teasing look and a smile, I let my left hand weave itself in the back of his hair so that his eyes momentarily close. My right hand slips gently from his sore cheek, passing his hard jaw and coming to rest the space of his neck and shoulder. The place that might just have him whining out if I felt like becoming a masseuse.

He tries to take even breaths but they come out heavy and uncoordinated, wisping over the hollow of my throat where his shirt has failed to cover. Every single part of my body is nervous. Nervous and alive as I feel him tense around me, his eyes tightly squeezed closed, his mouth parted slightly in anticipation.

My fingers continue to tease the back of his hair, playfully but not necessarily lightly, causing a simultaneous frown and grin. Staring gives me the overwhelming push I need and I lean to, gently and innocently, press my mouth to his.

But with a grimace, he leans away.

'I- can't.' He apologises weakly, his own confidence faltering on his last word. He rests his hot forehead to my fringe, gently so that our hair colours intertwine. 'I'm sorry. I just can't.'

I don't know what to do. My first instinct is to cry (which isn't great, I need to stop that) and my second is to hit him.

'Es, please don't look at me like that.'

I can't look like anything else. What is his obsession with keeping me on the hook?! He's worse than a fuck-boy!

Warm hands touch my face, the thumbs gently wiping the padding of my cheeks. All I can focus on is trying not to be humiliated which is hard with the fact I've watered down my own alcohol intake. So I just close my eyes, bite my lip and pretended not to notice.

'Look at me?' He pleads, gently.

Still in darkness, I shift to a less invasive position and wait for a few moments in a bit of a strop.

'Esme, please?'

'If you haven't noticed, I'm pretending I don't exist in order to deal with the fact that you've rejected me... twice now-'

'Will you just let me explain?' He interrupts playfully. I open one eye and wish I didn't.

He's grinning at me and he's still gorgeous and beautiful and now I really think I'm going to cry. He takes a hand from my face and threads it into my hair, combing it back with such gentle movements I feel he's casting a sleeping spell on me.

'I'm not going to kiss you when you're drunk. You should know that?'

I turn my glare to him. 'So you'll completely lead me on instead and deny me the goods? Thanks.' I retort miserably.

He continues to interlock his fingers with the gentle curls on my head, following them down to my shoulder.

'Secondly-'

'There's more than one reason?!' I complain, feeling utterly destroyed now. This world just needs to let me burn eurgh. Fucking hell.

'Es, just look at me.'

It's not fair he's finding this so funny when I'm fucking infuriated. And still kinda horny. And humiliated. Ass.

'Secondly, we have company.' He juts his head behind him in the direction of the yelling and the chanting. 'Not exactly appropriate?' He says laughing.

I'm not laughing, I'm angry.

'The first one I'll accept but I'm not happy about it-'

'I'm not finished yet.' He sighs.

I glare at him with basically means he can carry on but as stated, I'm not happy. I'm immediately starting to question what I want to drink first. Maybe I should just head straight back to the Vodka where I'm guaranteed to pass out.

He steps back and rubs the back of his hair so that it frays out messily.

'I also think maybe you might need some time? It'd be immoral of me to even think about myself when you're so-'

'Disgusting?' I guess, sourly.

He frowns, leaning away to give some ventilation to my rising temper.

'Vile?' I continue to slur. I've got to be close now?

'No. Of course not-'

'Revolting? Abhorrent? Abominable? Come on, Cullen. I can give you a thesaurus, if you want?!'

I'll give you a thesaurus and use it to whack you upside the head. Urgh. How is this even fair?!

'Esme, stop overthinking! I was going to say-'

'Broken?!' That one doesn't come out as forceful as the others. It kind of falls out my mouth like a whimper for attention. He rubs the front of his neck and shakes his head.

'Vulnerable.'

I'm going to scream. And not in a fun way.

'Oh for Fuck sake. I already told you I was trying to masturbate earlier?! What more do you want?!'

He jumps a little, attention thrown completely to the other room before returning back to me, pink and panicked as usual.

'Will you keep your voice down?' He asks, startled by my honesty and trying to be irritated. He's smiling again.

'I don't see why that's a reason to wait when-'

'Lastly-'

Urgh!

'This better be your last, Cullen. I don't want a fucking essay on why I'm so repulsive.'

If he continues to smirk, I will take it as given permission to tear his head off and feed it to some Lions at a zoo.

'I never said you were repulsive? Please don't be upset.-'

No, of course not? Why would I be upset that you spend you're life Humiliating the fuck out of me?!

'Well okay, lastly, I just wanted to ask that I be the…' His sentence unexpectedly stops.

My patience is gone. And I am drunk. Two things you don't want to be at the same time: pissed and pissed.

'The what, Carlisle?'

'Well. I kinda want to be the one to…?'

Spit it out, will you?!

'You don't want me to kiss you?' I assume and once more the sound of my voice is not the sound that I wanted. I'm like a measly teenage girl about to burst into tears.

Oh holy shit man, it feels so much worse when you say it out loud. He grimaces, his eyebrows coming together as he frowns really hard at me. When I say frown, perhaps I should be more specific. He's crumbling.

'Not just yet. I would, please, like the opportunity…' Is this a fucking job interview? 'To, err, prove that I am not as shy as you may have once assumed..?'

He's clearly feeling in a state of calm now. It must give him some overarching thrill of authority knowing that I'm pathetic enough to continually throw myself at him. Look at that proud smile. He's loving every second of my utter embarrassment.

I don't answer him. I just wait for him to clarify.

'If you'd permit me, I would like to be the one to… kiss you?'

If he can't feel my glare than I suggest he go to a hospital.

'Is that an easy way of telling me you're not interested?!' Or rather, is this the cold hearted, frugal and damn-right offensive way of saying it?

'No!' He says eagerly, his grin diluting.

'Or of telling me to fuck off?' That sounds likely. Look I know I'm not as saintly as he is but all he has to do is be polite. I don't need all this drama!

'No?' He's back to amused, how nice. Fucking hell, he's more inconsistent than the weather.

'-And die?'

'Esme! Stop being so excessive. I just want you to be …patient… if that's okay?'

You've got to love the way his own mouth is trying not to pronounce the word 'patient'. That's real hilarious. I stare at him as though he's grown a big ass ugly head.

'You want me to be patient when you're the one who can't wait a day even without demanding to know my life issues?!'

'Hey! That's not fair, yours is in a completely different context-'

'But it's the same complex?' I argue, frowning so hard I'm seconds away from ripping apart my brain, I'm so mad.

'Es? Why are you angry?' He asks laughing.

But he doesn't need to say another word. I lean my weight into where my hands are positioned on the edge of counter and I'm about to thrust off and jump when I see his face. He's got an eyebrow raised.

'What now?' I whine. But he curls his arm gently around my waist and carefully pulls my weight off the counter, lowering me to the floor with a gentle movement and stepping back. Fuck him and give me a double vodka.