AN: The only honest comments that I need to add to this chapter are really mixes of apologies and gratitude. This chapter is long delayed and while there is still a finish line, it is not yet aproaching. One of the reasons this was particularly difficult to post is not only due to the sensitivity of people's grief but simirlary the group dynamics of the effects of grief. It took me many months of writing, re-writing and scraping to get this chapter to the write place and while it will always benefit from more work, it has been too long awaited to let it fester some more.

Your loyal, patience, kindness is forever appreciated.

'My darling… Understanding comes, not when it is wanted, but when it is needed.'

My father was right. Before long, I knew… and I could never plead ignorance again.

'Can you imagine!' roars Edward one night. He bursts through the front door at speed, throwing the wood backward with enough force to grasp the attention of the room.

For three long months, three months that have felt like three years, there had been an unbroken gentleness of the house. A fragility radius that spanned the street. People would look away; my friends murmur and weep.

Everyone knew and yet no one said.

I had recently been cast as the lead victim in the town's newest sob story. My paparazzi were haunting me.

So when Edward throws back the door with such violent force on an early summer evening, both Carlisle and I are struck from our mindless presence to respond with a physical jump.

'Can you imagine,' the youngest sneers, tiny iridescent bubbles of spit appearing on his protruding bottom lip.

Carlisle, never far away but still frightened of being too close these days, is sat once more at the table. His new rectangle glasses slip down his slighted nose as he looks beadily, and uninterestedly, at our suited peer.

Suited is a vague description. Not only drenched in the stench of musician sweat, but with his locks and brows curled over in anguish, part of me is relieved to see such ferocity return home. Even if it must be through Edward.

The boys had recently been moulded into the two sides of opposing currencies.

'Can you imagine?!'.

The boy's hysteria is as high as his pointed finger. He throws his lump of keys to the table but they slide past our landlord's stationary and skid off the table. The youngest groans as if this is typical to his Freudian fate.

There is a murmur of impatience to Carlisle's answering sigh. His so-called dormant temper, while still dormant, has been disturbed by a threat. The loyal defence dog he is has assessed the danger to my instability, and he quickly surveys his options to remedy the situation as soon and as harmlessly as possible.

'Spit it out, Edward?' he murmurs slowly, pulling the frames from his face in a way that he doesn't think I'll notice anymore. He's an Antarctic iceberg to Edward's tropical heat.

'Spit it out?' The boy repeats incredulously. 'Spit it out, you say?!' His voice is rising, fog horns signalled. Sirens are going off in Gibraltar. 'Oh, I'll spit it out for you!'

In his petulant way, he throws his silk black tie to the floor. He tries to do the same with his coat-tails, but he gets caught in shredding the arms from his limbs and flaps around like a tornado.

My lips move.

'How about this?!' He demands, laughing manically at Carlisle, thwapping the fabric to his feet. 'How about I spunk it out?!'

With a closed expression, I look up from my book.

The look of confusion on the Alpha's face speaks volumes. Until he considers the possibility that such words could do some intensive damage to the weaker sex in the room, in which case he turns to an overcast storm, the words causing deep offence to a pearly exterior.

'I beg your Pardon?' But it doesn't sound like begging. Carlisle is practically giving him the retreat.

'Pardon?! You think you deserve my pardon?!' The teenager looks to me as if I resemble an entire audience. He's waiting for my participation. 'I wouldn't pardon you if you left me your millions-'

At this point, I move from the blanket and place my book on the coffee table carefully. There's a tickle in my chest that I've grown unaccustomed to. Movement wiggling from my diaphragm… and the more I look at Edward… the harder it is to restrain my mouth.

'I wouldn't pardon you, Sir, if a pardon was a piss on your hat!'

Blondie over here is doing calculations in his head. They're not equalling out. He's recounting. Edward is drooling with madness. He's the rabid dog gone nuts.

'Are you…' he pauses, looking at the younger Masen as if he can't quite decide his status. His puzzled look becomes confusion. 'Are you mocking me?'

'Mocking you?!' The musician puffs out. 'Mocking you, am I mate?! Oh cheerio guv'nah. Am I mocking you, Sire?!'

Pause. Those fierce eyes do not pallor.

'Eyy, seniora, am-a I-a a-mocking You?!' He flips his thumb and forefinger in act of complete political incorrectness. The confusion on the other's face makes my chest wheeze. 'And don't you dare laugh, you!' He adds, pointing an accusing finger directly towards my nose.

It's only then that I realise I'm smothering giggles. Actual giggles. Pathetic ones, too…

'You-You….'

'Ez-May,' I offer between my grin.

Carlisle does not laugh like he ought to.

'You… you Hussy!' He finishes, jumping as he jabs the air. My guard dog has mistaken food colouring for blood. He's sensed danger, and leaps.

Irregardless of the fact that Edward has found a word in the dictionary and thrown it at me with desperation.

'Edward! How dare-'

'What are you on about, Masen?!' I ask humouredly, adding a benign shrug.

The Saint is struggling. I've commanded him to heel with just a laugh, but he's already stood up, fingertips wrenched to his thigh and stance spread across me. The terminator has located target.

'Did you know I got fired today?!' Edwards asks the furniture.

'It's not hard to guess….' I surmise playfully.

'Well thank you Mrs four-point-oh-GPA. Yes! I got fired today! I got fired!' He slumps loudly on the stool near the piano. He slumps so hard I think it won't hold the weight of his attitude.

It is obviously not the first time I'm wrong.

'I got fired from the only job that I was good at! The only job I could make a career out of!'

'That job you hated…?' Carlisle adds.

It feels like I'm breathing for the first time in months.

I'm not breathing though.

I am laughing.

'I Got fired. From the most- you hear me?!- most prestigious class act of a restaurant I have ever worked at. You wanna know why?!'

Humour him. Play the game. Pawn to knight…

'Sure.' I say, carelessly. Carlisle has sat back down but he's perched on the edge of his chair, his face still like a mask; A caught bishop in a separate game.

'What happened?' His voice is sympathetic even if he's not. Attempting to stop his hands from moving, he folds his arms across his chest.

'I got fired because some dirty ass kids decided to have Sexual Re-lay-tions on my coat tails!'

The intensity of his glare suggests that either the saint is a slut, or that Edward is trying to force his eyeballs out of his head.

'What?' We say simultaneously.

A sarcastic giggle emanates from his chest. He then makes a face that makes me feel like he's been spending too much time with Alice.

'Look, I'm really fucking proud that you're being safe. Congratulations!' He adds in a yell.

'Edward-!' Carlisle utters but he sees me shake my head at him. He might not care to remember. But boy, I do.

Our saintly bishop is calculating.

'Did you know it goes mouldy?' The kid says this in a way that makes it both sound obvious and sarcastic. I feel like I'm being given a science lesson. By a toddler.

'Wha-'

He cuts me off, now throwing his across his chest, pacing the room. 'Jizz. Spunk. Layonaisse... Is that clear for you EZ-May? The seed? Dirty toothpaste? Spoog?'

'You mean semen?' The saint guesses impatiently, and my light of laughter shines harder at the indecency of his blush. '…Sperm nor Semen goes mouldy, Edward…'

For a moment I think about how disappointed he would be to hear my eager response to the pronunciation of semen.

And then as easily as the laughter came, a sudden burn of guilty shame burns along my stomach lining. At the glance of his unamused face, I feel slightly nauseous...

'Wanna bet?!'

'Edward, I do not need nor want to bet… I have been studying this for-'

He pauses as Edward ferociously and dramatically wrenches an arm from his inside pocket. He has a magician's flourish when he opens his fingers, holding onto a crumpled tissue with the length of his thumb.

He does not seem humoured, nor disgusted. He looks insane.

As the blush warms my cheeks and I refuse to answer to the kid's wondering eye, Carlisle's expression moves from a furrowed intense look to something more recognisable. His mouth loses its tightness and though still bruised in aspects and untouched in others, they start to break apart and take an unsteady breath.

'Oh.'

The flash of blue under blonde lashes is bright…almost… mischievous.

''Oh' is damn right Cullen. Dr Cullen!' Edward has started to take in his surroundings, he's started to go nuts again… 'You split your load on my Suit!'

'Edward- you need to understand-'

'Understand?!' He seethes.

'It's not what you think-' I interject quickly, looking at a spot in the ceiling and posing the point as if I'm a theorist at Harvard. God help me…

'There aren't enough contamination filters in the world to deal with this!' He gives the tissue a shake and watches as both Carlisle and I recoil. With suspicions apparently confirmed, his freckled face turns green.

'Look, it's - stop shaking it about, will you?!' Carlisle yells emphatically.

'This is your spunk?! I'm touching your spunk!' He suddenly shrieks. 'I got fired for wearing your jizz so you can deal with it in your face!'

'Edward it's not- Edward… Edward Antony Masen don't you dare!'

And though I should, the sudden disaster in Edward's eyes as he creepily and monstrously lunges towards Carlisle has certified I'm am not to get anywhere near them. The Saint has scented the plan and retreats two steps for every step forward.

'Edward really…' I begin. Though I know very well that he has chosen to ignore me and I'm not willing to take the slack.

'Edward, really, it's not-Hey!' He jumps back with his stomach, breathing tightly in as the animal lurches.

'How about I make you wear it, huh?! How do you like it?!'

Stalker like Edward has climbed over the obstacles of furniture, wrenching the tissue in hand towards Carlisle's face and he hurriedly tries to move away. My chest has started to throb, I'm trying to help Carlisle out but-

Oh my God.

My snort bursts noisily from my throat and I have to try and smother the sound from my face to avoid being targeted.

I'm laughing. I'm really, really laughing. And for every quick catch I get of the elder's retreating form, his blushing but playful eyes… I laugh harder.

'Edward- it's not spunk-' Just as I yell, Carlisle makes a break for it.

Following from a few clumsy steps behind, he launches himself sideways over the kitchen island and out the back door and Edward chases after him. I see them run frantically past the window, the younger within grasp as he swerves over the plant pots, swings on the porch support beam and comes running through the front door.

Running past me in a blur of blonde hair and red cheeks, I notice he's biting his lip. He stops a few steps ahead, noisily grasps a few breaths back turns to me.

'I see he's not chasing after you –' His eyes catch the predator. 'Oh, Fuck off, will you!'

The Kid in expensive shoes flies through the door and knocking over a side table, runs towards the guilty party. I'm speechless, though not noiseless and croak with desperations of laughter the more I hear them fumble about, trying to out manoeuvre each other.

The landlord comes running down past again again, storming his weight on every step and jumping over a fallen book or two before stopping to rest his slightly moist hands on his knees. His breath runs ragged across broken rocks.

'It's not semen!' He repeats, gritting his teeth this time.

Edward comes flying down the stairs after him, skipping the last step and falling hard past Carlisle who has already moved round the table. Tiger-like Masen copies and slowly, with very slow measured steps, they circle each other.

'It's icing sugar!' He hushes exasperatedly but Edward has already dismissed it before the last sound is off his tongue.

I should be rushing to his defensive but I'm imitating a Halloween witch and cackiling. Besides, it's over before it's began. Carlisle has cornered himself by the furniture and just as he goes to move, trips over his own feet and tumbles lightly to the floor.

Edward moves and raises the tissue above, letting the sticky, solidified condom dangle in the air, colourlessly.

'What kind of bullshit lie is that?!'

'Edward it's-'

Given the attuned hearing, you would think either of the boys would have had the ability to recognise the silliest of notes. In fact, even the musician fails to recognise the sound of keys. Keys he has newly gifted to his beloved. Keys… he doesn't hear in the front door lock.

The poor little lamb barely breathes out her confusion before the rush of her breath catches the boys' attention.

'Bella!'

'Er-'

And all at once… that door she didn't shut, is thrown open by another animal.

'Honey, we're home- What the fuck?!'

Emmett glares at Edward's poised hand and as he jumps from the alarm the damn thing slips from his hand with an unfortunate thump to the carpet.

There are almost a few seconds of unbroken silence, as everyone tries to judge the next move. Carlisle hesitates, inching further from Edward's guilty hand, Bambi hides behind the stairs and Emmett's big bright eyes light up like headlights.

With a deep, Emmett-like gulp, he draws air into his lungs, nods carefully, eyeing the perspiring children, the frightened Bella, the wary me… and bellows to the rest of them with a bowed hand to echo his call.

'You would not believe what kinda hot sex party they got going on here!'

I would like to think that after a cheery intrusion and a light laugh, we'd settle down to dinner and play happy families.

Instead it takes for Carlisle and I to explain and assert our innocence for Edward to convince himself we are all the more guilty, and it takes less than an hour before Carlisle wearies of the group dynamic and locks himself in his room.

Well, he doesn't lock himself away, but it has come to feel like that recently.

'Heard you've been in touch with the art snots?' Jasper mentions, pointing at me with a forkful of food. The TV is playing in the background to make up for the absence of ignorance, and with a cynical smile, I nod.

'Even though I won't necessarily be able to start a scholarship… Mr Masen reckons we might be able to get compensation.' I say this in the clear manner that shows I don't believe it.

'That's good.' He has to remind me. 'Better than babysitting for the rest of your life?'

'Hm.'

'Well, it's what you wanted, right?' Alice chimes in. She says it softly, too softly and I quickly realise everyone is looking at me. 'Well maybe not wanted but-'

'They won't want you going public with this drama.' Rosalie adds, throwing a shrug in. 'You'll be rolling in it before the week ends.'

I feel a snide sense of boredom at the act that both my flatmate and my friends now operate on one narrative: money.

The few conversations Carlisle has made recently has been about this stupid compensation.

'Yeah.' I push the rest of my food around my plate before giving in to the growling of my stomach and using it to hide my non-existent smile. 'Yeah…' I repeat.

'No,' Edward mutters.

'Well, I think it's better than nothing!' Alice says, musically, her slim hand resting on my knee.

'Could always use someone to tutor me if you need the money, Es?' Emmett adds, taking a long gulp of his beer and adding a nonchalant shrug. Rosalie winces. Alice looks away. Bella bites her lip.

'Not going well?' I ask.

'Gah.' He plays it off with a fallen bear hand, leaning out his posture and throwing his foot to the empty chair. 'College is for suck ups, anyway.'

He doesn't even feign innocence when he casts his warm eyes above him, looking accusing at the ceiling.

'He has exams soon,' I find myself excusing.

'Mm.'

'They even reckon he could still be in the chance of-'

'Does he just not eat anymore?' he interrupts.

Rosalie hits her lover's arm in a way that shows we have been a constant topic of conversation these several weeks. I say we…. But I'm not being judged..

'Just because you have thirteen meals, Emmett, doesn't mean everyone else does.'

He tries to laugh like he was joking but even with Alice's teasing, there's a downcast silence and no one brave enough to break it…

When I come to knock on Carlisle's door a little later, I'm hurt but not surprised, to find an awkward distance in the room.

'It's open, Esme.'

And though he says it gently, I feel like he's chiding me.

He's sat in his robust desk chair, under a white light like a parody of last term. He looks older, haunted and less patience than he ought to with his spine curved over his work.

'You missed everyone at dinner…' I remind him. I'm polite enough to suggest he didn't do it on purpose but neither of us is stupid. He looks up from his fat textbook, eyes sore and pink at the rims, and his pouting lip still not smooth.

'Yes.' He stares at me like he's not listening… and then remembers himself with a shake of his fringe. 'Yes, I suppose I did… Sorry…'

You don't sound sorry.

'Emmett knows it wasn't really… that…' I tell him impatiently, running my foot behind myself on the smooth carpet. He hasn't noticed that he hasn't invited me in.

I'm not sure when I started requiring it.

'No.' He smiles crookedly. 'I imagine he has been looking at his own long enough to know the consistency of…'

'Exactly.' I agree.

My voice echoes.

'The neighbours on the other hand…'

He looks back to his textbook and swallows hard. Not that it hurts him, by like he's had to force himself to swallow a gigantic marble. When he looks back to me, his smooth features are tight.

'I doubt they give a shit.' I say, waving a hand. 'Or that they even heard?'

'Hm.'

He looks away once more, back to his book and pinches the corner of his eyes. Like he's asking me to leave without kicking me out.

'A long time ago now…' I whisper.

'Yes,' he agrees automatically.

He's not listening. I could say anything. I could strip naked, pierce my vulva, push him to the floor and he would not give a shit. His once deep expression is automatic and forced.

He frowns.

'Huh?'

'What?' I ask

'What was a long time ago?'

'What?' I repeat.

'You said a long time ago… you mean …' he moves his eyes between the two of us and then looks to the floor. I hate how he says it with a finality. Like we'd had a grown-up discussion rather than a mute acknowledging that sparks faded.

My stomach aches again, my muscles are pulled into my gut as I think about the suggestion… They might have faded for him.

'May I come in?' I say at last, feeling somewhat insulted that it has taken me this long, and a sudden rush of frustration, to ask. I have to hide the emotion in my voice but less because he's noticed and more because if I start...

Well, it's irrelevant.

'It's unlike you to request permission?' he notices.

He sounds equally offended.

I feel my gaze soften a little as I look down at him. Though his hair and shirt may be dishevelled with stress… he still has his smart shoes tied tightly onto his feet. I can't quite believe he was looking almost jovial earlier when all he looks now is… quiet. I don't know if I want to comfort him or worm my way into his pants but I feel a deep sense of guilt about the latter.

'You're telling me.' I answer smartly.

'No'. He sounds defiant at first but he can't hold my look long enough. 'No, you don't need permission…'

'Can I sit down?'

'Of course, you don't need to ask me this-'. His impatience only leads to me pushing more buttons. He's gritting his teeth by the time I make my next suggestion like my very presence is causing his skin to crawl.

'Can I sit here?' I ask, pointing to the corner of the bed.

'Stop asking me!' He snaps. The regret builds on his face like Lego bricks, he rolls his eyes.

I sit uncomfortably on the corner of the bed. We don't say anything. Just silently sit in the same room, me looking at him, him dropping my gaze.

'I see you didn't eat your dinner…' I tell him. His left ear rises in a manner that proves he's raising an eyebrow at his wall.

'No… And yourself?'

'Two servings,' I brag proudly. But considering the majority got brought back up, I don't think it's much competition.

'That's really good.'

'Yes.' I agree.

'Yes.' He repeats.

His room is colder than usual. The windows have been opened and they're leaving a coolness that makes it less of a bedroom and more of a library. He sees me staring around the room as if I have never stayed here before.

'Will you sit with me?' I ask.

He hesitates and then nods, walks very slowly to sit on the bed by my side, not too close and not too far either. I breathe in, to the extent that my lungs push out my chest to an uncomfortable breadth, trying desperately to inhale that pine freshness.

Here goes….

'I had my last appointment with Dr Browning today…'

In a manner wholly unlike himself, he physically startles.

'Dr Browning?'

'She reckons that-'

'You've been seeing Doctor Browning?' he clarifies, suspiciously stern again. Another forced secret and I can see him getting irritated again.

'Yeah…?'

'I didn't even- I didn't ask.' He mutters to himself, irrationally.

'You did recommend it though.' I wonder if he can tell I'm trying to glide over the point.

'Yes, but I didn't actually- I didn't even ask.' When he says it again, I realise he's telling himself off. Viciously. He's in a furious disbelief and thankfully not with me.

'You've been busy.'

'I'm being an asshole.' He corrects.

The self-awareness impresses me.

'Well… yes. But a busy one.' I look at him again and can't help but feel a weight in my stomach, just the desperation to bridge a gap. He rubs the knuckles on his right hand, ignoring the rapid jump of his kneecap.

It takes him a long time to ask.

'How has it been going?'

'Yeah.' I dismiss, not even feigning gratitude. 'It's been grand. We sit around in a circle and point out things on a doll. I'm sharing experiences with everyone.'

Though heavily bitter by voice, I'm not being as cruel as Carlisle takes it. I haven't gone to all the group therapy sessions… but some had… helped. Not that I said much. I more was there to prove I had no right to complain compared to some people. But over time, I forgot about that and just started attending by habit.

The doll bit was actually from a TV show.

'I'm kidding, Carlisle. It's been … well, I'm not going to say good…'

'You can say 'good'.'

I frown at him and he shakes his head. This doesn't look like a conversation he wants. 'Alright, maybe not good.' He concedes, still looking at his hands.

I nudge his arm with my own in a goofy manner.

'I'm pretty sure one of the attendees brought Pot brownies the other day… Made quite the difference.' I can feel myself pouting and have to imagine the horrific image of me re-enacting the scene.

He breathes a little heavier and rolls his eyes, highlighting just how purpled they are under this light. At least the balloon has the polite sense to make a funny noise when it's deflated…

'I'm pleased for you Esme.'

There's another pregnant pause that I refuse to fill.

'I know I've been a shit frie-. Well… just a shit recently but I'm pleased that you're looking after yourself…' He winces on the final word, realising just how bad it sounds out loud.

'Carlisle…' His name on my mouth feels heavy and I squirm with the realisation that he's about to say something equally stupid to top that off.

'I didn't mean that you can't look after yourself,' he adds, but his usually flurry of embarrassment is replaced by disgust for himself. There's no light of pink to his cheek, just the tensing lock of his jaw as he grinds his back teeth.

'Obviously.'

He moves his hands in emphatic display of despair.

'I just meant-'

'Yep.' My final word cuts him short and he rubs his eyes again.

I wonder how long it might take me to get this conversation out. I wonder how pissed he will be if I don't let him sleep.

Well, let the fool be foolish.

'I can't quite believe Edward thought Semen went mouldy.' I begin again, reaffirming the true stupidity of the talented youngster.

He lets out a sober smile, his mouth splitting in the centre to let the air in. He thinks on this for a moment more and with a crooked, almost sad smile, leans his weight into the tort bedsheets.

'Oh I think I can.' He covers his eyes, attempting to continue his smile but it falls short. Maybe he's embarrassed for Edward. For his parents, for himself for not teaching him better.

I feel like I'm trying to learn Japanese from a Spaniard.

'Probably wasn't great for us to forget where we left certain pranks…' It's only really for my ego that I am daring to include him in the suggestion. 'And I guess timing was a bit delayed, too?'

'I concur.'

We fall quiet again, but I'm not letting it bend me to disappointment. Particularly since it's hard to feel anything in this vacuum of a room.

'Lifetime away, really…'

He peaks at me with a breezy, suspicious look. 'Another pun?' He inquires.

'On what?' I ask, peering around to see if he's bothered to change his expression. A hot and heavy sigh fills my lungs like lead.

'Lifetime?' He repeats, rattling out an equation of semantics. 'Life being..? …Nevermind...'

'No,' I reaffirm.

He pulls his weight back up and rubs his hand through his hair until it clings on the back of his neck. I don't know if it's the guilt or the memory but I shiver.

'Esme, why are we talking about semen?'

Maybe he's trying to not sound like a snobbish twat. Maybe he's trying to make conversation. Maybe he's not bored. Maybe he's just tired.

Maybe he shouldn't be expecting me to drag this conversation like a Trojan horse.

'Why is it the only conversation we've had in weeks.' I bark, not even bothering to try and be quiet. He looks guiltily away from me, his hand clawing the ends of his hair.

'Because I'm a shit?' He whimpers hopefully.

You would've thought given the lack of communication recently, he would have the decency to face me when he says this. In a manner that makes me want to hit him, he fatalistic accepts the notion with a nod.

A spark inside my chest burns my ribs.

'Yes. Yes you're a shit! Yes you've been absent, yes you nearly got yourself arrested, demanded we move across country, lost absolutely every sense of sanity left in your brain only to go into hiding a moment later.'

He seems to not want to hear this judging by the rise of his elbows towards his ears nevertheless, he doesn't try to correct me.

I brush my mane of hair behind my ear as if it is meant to give me some element of determination.

'And what are you going to do about it, Cullen?'

I might as well as thrown him to the wall and pushed a cigar in his agape, sore and yet completely kissable mouth...

'Huh?'

He seems surprised that I have offered him the chance. I'm not so into the taste of desperation either. I try and look him in the eye but he's making a hard go of it. As am I… so I try an honest angle.

'I think I have had healing time. My own healing time… And…' I look at him, shyly at first, but then a little more seriously. 'And I would like to say I've given you yours, too?'

'Yes.'

Great, thank you, awkwardness over.

'Just being with you feels like walking on glass sometimes!' I add impatiently but while I stare at him like I'm etching his picture on my skull, my hands are sweating and wringing each other out. 'You don't even look at me without recoiling…'

'That's not true, Esme.' He whispers, the words pathetic on his lip as he watches his fiddling hands.

'Everyone looks at me like I'm a victim and I can't stand it!' I pause, watching as he screws up his face, leaning closer to his bent fingertips. 'But you don't even look, Carlisle. You just shudder.'

'That's not fair.' He pleads, emptily.

'Damn right it's not. It didn't happen to you-'

'No! It happened because of me.'

WOW.

Despite myself, I gasp. Angrily, emotionally, excessively. Yet, while he's statuesque on his bent knees, I feel like I'm a prophetic crow clawing at his shoulders.

'I can't believe you would be so self-infatuated-' I can't believe- I can't believe…. URGH!

'I lied, Esme!' He's launches himself to his feet, screams the words at me and jumps about thirteen feet in the air. Those brittle hands go immediately to his hair. 'I lied to you… and because I lied… I did this.'

When he turns to look at me over his shoulder I find with confusion that his eyes are wet and there are streaky lines of tears falling below his chin. It alarms me at first how much he looks like Edward. When his mouth opens, the words don't come out. The sentence catches in his throat and with a distraught cough, he drops back to the floor, away from me.

I wonder if he's trying to run. I wonder if I must be on too much medication considering my non reaction to either his tears or his desperation to crawl away. I wonder how I'm meant to stop wanting him to love me again.

'Whenever I look at you…' He catches my eyes for a bit but tearily drops them in favour for blinking. 'When I look at you, I see what I've done to you…'

'You haven't done anything,' I try to argue. The lump in my throat is making it difficult to speak so I stay where I am, tightening my hands together to stop them shaking.

'I made you come with me!' He stops, like he's hearing these words aloud for the first time, like he's driven the knife into a bleeding gut. 'I condemned you to this… all because I was too selfish-'

'Really-!' I add impatiently.

'You were my responsibility!' He shouts, throwing himself as far away from me as possible. 'Edward told me not to do it, and I made you attend! I knew what they were capable of and I let you down…'

I don't mean to, but the breath of disapproval noisily leaves my nose before I think to listen to him. The immaturity pushes him over the edge and in a dramatic cry, he turns and yells at me.

'I knew what they were capable of!'

In another unexpected move, he buries his face between his raised arms. He's shaking so violently I think he's going to be sick.

I think I'm going to be sick.

Instead I breathe.

'You sound like Edward...' I murmur, carefully mapping out my distance. I don't move too close to him. I stay somewhat away bump on my limbs, the way a child might investigate an unusual stranger.

He tries to speak but with his face muffled I can only make out apologies and excessive statements of blame. I don't respond at first. I wait, patiently, breathing more noisily than I would until finally, he starts to meet an unnatural rhythm.

'I… I've been reading…' he rushes in, still swathing through a mouthful of clogged spit and salt water. 'Everything about Trauma said to just. to… to let you speak…' He breathes soberly and rubs his face. 'I haven't shut up for three months.'

'You haven't said a word.' I correct. When I look at him again, I realise that this is not a comment on me, nor literally what he has said. 'I'm not your responsibility, Carlisle…'

'Yes you are.' He whines, exasperatedly. 'You and Edward, Alice. Elizabeth, Senior. All the while my blood does this… I lied to all of you.'

I don't think I have the energy to try bicker with him, and so I wave my hand dismissively and let the argument be pushed away.

'Fine, whatever. You lied but so what?' I move my hand and watch its slight tremble when I put it dramatically against his chest. He's warmer than normal, his temperature pricking my fingertips as I consider exactly what I'm touching and what my correct response should be. 'You didn't lie here.'

He sniffs, leaning close to me to rest an inch on his sweating forehead on mine. His breathing is still sore and ragged, hitting at my nose and mouth like he hasn't worked out how to regulate it yet. And then he draws away.

'Not your best line…' he whispers, faintly. A faded dimple appears in his cheek when he exhales.

'Carlisle, I should tell you something.'

'Hm?'

'About the photos?' I whisper gently…

And just like that, he crumbles.

'Carlisle, I know... I knew… I…' I greedily steal his air. The crunch of broken glass feels loud in my ears, the memory of my gravelled hands as I confronted to Eustace… 'There were photos with some-'

'I know.' He hushes, recoiling a little more. His colour drains a little, his eyebrows knitting deeper as he shrivels away.

'Carlisle…'

'I know!' He curses again, shutting my mouth with the cut of his tone. He looks a me from underneath his scowl, a tense bitterness in his eye as his voice rises 'When I say I know, it's because I was there and not because I need you to make me relive it!'

My whole body shrieks in alarm, my shoulders up to my ears as the blood leaves my thumping heart and pools inside my feet.

With less than a pause he takes in my reaction, his posture opening up in regret.

'Esme-'

I have already left the room.

Like the unfortunate masochist I am, I end up spending a long time in the bathroom that evening. Cullen imagines me cutting my hair off and rising to the threat, Edward will assume I'm crying…

It's neither. My stomach flips and groans, and the images of the predator like fury in the once cooled eyes enables the rest of my dinner to end up in our town's sewage system.

It seems I'm always sick at night now.

It turns out that my room is less cosy with the household now at war. I think about how I would feel about moving out, about dramatically joining the army, becoming a teacher like my brother Daniel.

Smoking as much pot as Daniel…

For obvious reasons, I don't sleep well. I think about the should've been's. About my life back home and try to judge if it's any worse. If it could be worse. There's a good chance I still would've been with my ex, smoking enough to challenge my father's early heart attack, looking after the kids… throwing myself off a cliff… deliberately this time.

For the first time this evening, the sound of Cullen's approach makes me shudder. His hand is firm but short upon my door and for a minute second, I debate about not inviting him in.

I'm weak and hate myself for it.

'It's open.' I say knowing that I'll have to open it anyway.

He's still in a crumpled shirt, trousers, smart brown shoes… He holds a bowl of pungent garlic rice towards me and shrinks inside himself. The smell of smoke hits me before I even realise, he's trying to feed me.

'Hypocrite, I know.'

I don't say anything, mostly because my throat is sore, and I can't think of the words to say. He holds out the food again, guiltily. It makes my stomach turn, my hand automatically covering up my nose.

'You smell awful…'

He laughs to himself, bitterly and then brushes off some non-existent ash from his shirt. 'But the food is good.'

If my nose can attest to anything, it's that I believe this to be a bold face lie…

He weakly offers the bowl towards me again, his hands drawn back from the pattern as he stays calmly out of the way. He looks so ashamed...

Maybe he should be. Regardless of not walking on thin ice, no asshole gets to talk to me like shit. Especially not someone as humanly good as Cullen. It's illogical.

Satanistic.

'Did you want to…' I realise I'm finding it harder to be stronger, and so I shoot for a passive aggressive, empathetic mix. 'Are you coming in?'

He doesn't reply in words, just offers a fragile smile and follows his footsteps. He looks around the room like he's unfamiliar with the exit routes and rocks uneasily on his heels, his hands clutching his pleas of forgiveness.

'I thought you might be hungry.'

Despite the stench, I nod and slump numbly on the bed, on my normal side, and shiver violently. He passes the bowl to me, followed by a cloth and stays standing, watching me with caution.

'If you're going to watch me eat, you might as well sit.' I indicate his standing position.

He doesn't sit on the bed. The trained guard dog has barked and now seeks repentance in his authority. He clumsily sits below me on the carpet, holding a knee to him as he rests his back against a shelf. His eyes are continuously looking up to me, his pout mouth aghast if ready to speak.

His food is warm in my hands but unforgivably sickening.

I wasn't lying when I said I was hungry… however…

He is waiting for me to take the first bite and with great care and resistance, I force a mouthful. I hear him sigh.

'Esme,' he begins, waiting specifically until my mouth is full to say a word. I chew even slower, my eyes welling up from the intensity of the spice and my stomach growling. He leans back a little more, but keeps his eyes on my face, or rather my jaw, ensuring I chew every mouthful.

If I wasn't self-conscious about vomiting in front of him, I'd happily up chuck it here.

'The way I handled…'

If I so much as cough, I'll vomit…

'How I spoke to you earlier…' he looks away, and up again, then away, not knowing where to look till he rests with his hands. 'I was deplorable. Unforgivable-'

''s Fine.'

There's slight movement in my stomach again, my head spinning as more of the food hits me. I realise that I'm not even slightly hungry and push the bowl to the side of the table. I don't even think I've considered my answer, all I can think is banning him from the kitchen.

He is listening however, and he looks irritated.

'Don't do that…' he breathes in and catches me full in the face. That rocky, misty blue still inviting and calming and… miserable. He starts again. 'We were having a conversation and I behaved inexcusably. On all accounts.'

I roll my eyes, forget that he's watching me and end up biting my lip. I can't judge his reaction when I don't look at him, but he sounds normal when he continues.

'Esme, I am so sorry for what I have done to you-.' He sees me open my mouth in complaint and continues quickly. 'Regardless of what happened then… how I am treating you now as well. You won't ever be hurt by me again.'

When he finishes, I feel like a drum is beating, silencing the world. No traffic, no Edward, no music, just the drums. It's a while before I realise it's my heart.

'You can't make dramatic statements like that.' I answer eventually, and I decide with my better judgement not to indicate his disgustingly foul garlic. 'You're going to end up hurting me. I'm going to end up hurting you. It's just what happens. People hurt people.'

'It doesn't have to be that way-'

'Oh don't be so naïve!' He's very still against my bookshelf, so I feign ease and rest my weight into my bed as if I have been comfortable here for the last three months and nothing will change that. 'Look at Edward, we got him fired, it hurt him. You didn't eat dinner with Emmett, you hurt him. Alice and I don't talk as much, I'm hurting her. You hurt people every day, you've just got to choose which hurt you can live with-'

'But-'

'Carlisle, you wouldn't not amputate a leg to save somebody's life because you know it would hurt them. You administer pain every day, it is a lifestyle.' I say this with a shrug, forgetting that he doesn't have a sense of humour these days.

Just a louder lung capacity.

'A-and Doctor Browning?' He asks, hopefully.

'All she does is show you where the pain is.'

'It's helped?' He asks, his voice off and strained.

'It's no Walk in Central, but to some degree…' I peer around my arm to look at him. 'Yes.' I finalise, confidently.

His chin moves down, his golden hair bunching as he very slowly nods.

'Why are you sitting on the floor, Cullen?'

I see movement in him, charmed confusion at the attention, the affectionate call of his name. 'I mean, considering you paid for it, you might as well sit on the bed?'

He hesitates, tries to soften the refusal with a smile but my bitter humour attacks him like a viper.

'Chill out, I'm not going to attack you.' I say, shrugging it off like I'm the coolest, bad ass I know. Until I see his expression, of course.

'Too soon.' He states, neutrally. Then he moves very simply to sit on the end of my bed, towards me but not touching. 'I see you haven't eaten much…'

In less than three seconds, regardless of my running nose and my burning eyes, I had forgotten the offensive attempt and remember the offer with distaste. I'd rather he'd offered me the cigarette.

'For valid reasons.' I murmur. 'Unfortunately you have lost the ability to cook.' He doesn't defend himself, much to my irritation, just assumes I am unnecessarily jibing him. 'No, really Carlisle, it's disgusting.'

He rolls those blue eyes, a light of a smile at his lip 'You love garlic?'

'So?'

'You have eaten garlic raw. On several occasions. You're like one of those people that eats couch cushions, or dry wall but with garlic bulbs.'

'I call this slander!' I announce, letting my feet slide towards his legs but he shifts his posture back. 'Garlic, I might like but whatever that mess is there.' I look toward the bowl and childish stick out my tongue at him.

'It's the same dish you would make for us every Thursday!' He complains, a sad smile warming in temperature despite his distance.

'Well clearly, you've cocked up. it's gross!'

'I didn't even put much garlic in-'

'But you added coriander and I hate coriander!' I say, folding my arms over. He frowns a little, then slowly starts to shake his head. 'What?'

'You're unbelievable.'

'What now?' I ask, irritably.

'How did you know about the Coriander?'

'What do you mean?' I let my shoulders shrug for me. 'I can smell it, it's making my stomach curl, I've always hated coriander.'

'That's...' he chuckles to himself, shaking his head slightly. I can feel myself get impatient.

'What?!' I repeat.

'I didn't even put it in. I was about to when I remembered. So I just left it on the kitchen side…'

Wow.

What a bullshitter.

'As if, Cullen.'

'Really!' he implores. 'There is no coriander in there.'

'Well it must be on your hands then.' I decide, adamantly. He shrugs, rubs his hair out his eye and smiles slightly.

'I've smoked since then…'

'Roll ups or cigarettes?' I ask, dirtily, hungering over the image in a sad, tormented way. While I might not crave the cigarette itself… the image of him…

Guiltily, I let his tone remind me that I shouldn't be thinking this.

'It's none of your business.' He murmurs, shrugging. 'If I choose cancer, so be it but if you-'

'That just makes you a hypocrite.' I complain.

'No, it makes me a homeowner. You'll see when you get your place…'

I assume he's smiling, offering a cheeky grin, pink tongue on show, displaying a perfect full set of offensively good teeth. But he's looking at the ceiling, holding in knee again. In all honesty, I've forgotten to listen to him. My sorely wounded heart is caring bitterly for the loss of his love.

I try to not let him know that I'm shaking. That my pulse is beating unnecessarily fast, that I feel crazed and clingy and dangerously in awe and desperation for him. But he notices me staring…

'Sorry, I should be leaving.' He starts to move, to arrange himself ready to go, guiltily avoiding my imploring, pleading posture.

'Stay.'

'Es… I…' He rubs the back of his neck, clawing his skin, swallows hard. I don't want to.

'Please, Carlisle. Talk to me?'

He pauses, he thinks, he breathes, and he nods sadly.

'Okay. But I'm turning the light off…'

I think about him having to look at my swollen face in the light, my locked expression, and feeling even more repulsed. I feel the gratitude when I shake my head.

But he doesn't utter a word. He moves the cover back for me in the dark and while I lay painfully straight, wishing him to climb in next to me, to pull me into his centre and shower me with heat…

He moves to the floor, stretches out his legs and with his shoes still on, leans robotically against the frame of my bed.

Not a word leaves his lips.

This should be the time that I sleep silently. I do in fact. In spite of all the bitterness, and the maturing and the exhaustion. The manipulation, and the pain and the grief, I feel safer with him on watch than without him. I can't pretend he sleeps but he does stay close to me, moving in time to his stuttered breaths.

But at some point in the night, those stuttered breaths become gasps.

Guilt invades him with tenacity and attitude.

'Esme?' His whispers, invariably soft, haunted and very small. 'My love?'

It's then that I realise something is up.

His fringe is over his sweaty face and he looks pained as he tries to help me up. He looks like a fallen angel, weeping over a casket with skin like thin cotton. His hand is raised away from me and with the morning's light cast on his outstretched hand, I see the greyish, wet shading on his hand.

He is out of breath when he speaks again. 'Esme, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry… but you're bleeding.'

As I turn, I feel the dampness between my legs and lift my hand to see the faint colour of blood against my hands.

It's worth noting, if not to me but to Edward that though he is trying to be more normal with me he feels more broken by the minute.

Doctorly, he tends to wounds, he hides in shifts, he skips meals, runs every moment he can and does the upmost to avoid us. Yet when he is with me, his shield turns tender, he looks at me, he laughs with me and bravely but brokenly, tries to heal me once more. He doesn't leave me alone until he can afford to ensure I am safe.

He rips off his bandages and wraps them over my wounds.

He pretends, badly.

He doesn't sleep. He always has shoes on his feet. He writes continuously but doesn't touch his text book. He doesn't exhale, doesn't look us in the eye, doesn't say a word. Not even when he gets his way and a compensation cheque comes through the door.

'Es?' Edward calls, his voice shaking this time. Though he sounds horrified once more, he isn't fierce. He's loud enough that he wakes me from my slumber

I was sleeping. It's my new hobby it seems. Sometimes I spend hours in bed, only to wake up more tired.

I rationalise that this must be the source of Carlisle's guilt. He thinks I'm not coping. Given his reaction to my (albeit short lived and unusual) period the other night, it's a valid assumption from him.

Three months later and yes… there is still spotting…

It breaks him.

'Esme?!'

I push off the cover lazily and try to pull myself up. The room spins, nausea hits and I remind myself the dangers of spending my life asleep.

No wonder Carlisle thinks I'm depressed.

'What's up?' I yawn through my door. He starts drumming on it with frightened impatience. I groan carelessly, and noticing Carlisle's absence from my floor, stumble towards the source of my torture.

The kid falls through the door, panting noisily. His hands are shaking.

'Where the fuck is he?!'

Things had obviously been tense recently but not as tense as this.

'What's the matter?' I ask, rubbing a hand into the bottom of my sore back. I'm getting old, I need medicine and a masseuse. I want to go back to bed and can't understand why he's unnecessarily woken me.

'My parents are downstairs.' The kid is sounding angrier by the minute. He's inviting all sorts of therapy problems into his life. We might have to become a care-home soon.

'What's the problem?' I repeat, impatiently.

'Esme,' he throws a stack of paper to me. 'The bastard is kicking us out.'

I grip the paper in two hands, dismissing the child when the words catch my eye.

Eviction.

This time, I don't manage to make it to the bathroom in time.

It's a standoff as we face each other.

I'm now dressed but shaking, shaking all over, shaking with so much anger that my knees start going into damage control mode. Elizabeth is sitting as close to me as she possibly can, in floods of tears as Edward screams dramatically.

I realise that I must look more depressed now than I did three months ago. I'm bloated with over-eating, grumpy, sleepy, angry and have been screaming insults to her beloved for the last half an hour. She hasn't yet judged me.

'We don't have to do fuck all!' Edward snorts. He's standing between the sofa and the chairs, standing as tall as possible like he's sewn his feet to the house's foundations. His hair is looking more thin on one side and I realise, particularly from his hand shape, that this is because he is wrenching it out lock by lock.

I should be proud to be dressed.

I'm not.

I'm murderous.

'It's his property Edward.' Senior repeats knowingly. He rubs his arms uncomfortably and hopes that this time, I'll believe him.

'We're not going anywhere!' I repeat, guffawing. Regardless of where Edward's staying, I am rooting my legs to the beams of this poisoned property.

'This isn't a request Esme, it's Court Order.'

'He's not going to burn the property while we're in it!' Edward argues.

'Don't be ridiculous Edward!' Liz bursts in, mouth like cotton wool as she tearily looks between the two of us. I'm on my feet, rocking side to side and groaning.

'We have to have rights!' I jump in. 'You can't just up and out your tenants, it's illegal!'

'As far as the law is considered Esme, you are squatters. You're on no paperwork, no gas bill, no tax bill-'

'I have been paying my rent-' I seethe but he interrupts me again.

The closest I get to screaming is dreaming about throwing a chair into the upper-class twat.

'And I appreciate that.' Senior insist, unempathetically. 'But without a contract-'

'Sir, with all respect, you can shove whatever legal requirements up Eustace's ass. Carlisle is not kicking us out. Fuck all contracts-'

'Esme, please.' His features have a guilty expression to them. I wonder how long he's known. 'He has waited this long, you are both having your rent reimbursed.'

'Oh for Fuck sake!' I scream

'That's three years' worth of rent, Esme. And given the fact-'

'He's a fucking coward!' Edward shouts from behind me, animatedly throwing his weight from a distance. 'Tell him that. Tell him he's a fucking coward and tell him, we are not going anywhere until he has the decency to evict us to our face!'

Senior puts his hand to his head and concealing a frustrated father's growl, seethes under his breath to the two of us. 'Considering the position he has put the both of you in, I'd expect you to be damn grateful and respect his wishes!'

'Edward!' Elizabeth gasps, her delicate hands covering her lipsticked mouth. But he husband, weary for the first time in a while, simply undoes his top button and breathes in.

'I appreciate this is not comfortable for either party- I appreciate the extent of what he is asking!" He has to yell this last bit because Edward has opened his mouth again. Senior puts his hand on the back of an armchair and leans his weight into the fabric. 'Consider that he is offering you the best a man in his shoes can do. He is offering you freedom and safety with the added benefit of a home and financial security-'

The mere suggestion of home makes the rattling key from upstairs rattle furiously in the box. I can almost feel his silver jagged edge cutting into my pump flesh.

'Please,' he whispers when we fall silent. 'Respect his wishes?'

He gets all of ten seconds.

'I'll respect the twat when he stops being a self-centred jack-ass!'

'Edward!' Elizabeth again, this time to her pride and joy.

'Mr Masen, you cannot seriously expect us to listen to this bullshit!' I find myself sweating from the fierce gesturing and have to remind myself that even my grandfather was a goddamn sailor- that didn't mean I had to sound like one.

'Have either of you thought he's doing this for your safety?!' He looks between the two of us, cutting his eye on me particularly short for obvious reasons.

It's like when you're little and your grouchy neighbour won't give you your ball back. We're meant to be learning something very important here. And not that Washington state really is a great place to live.

The thought curdles my stomach.

Cullen really is a thoughtless tosspot as times.

'So that's it?' Edward surmises. 'His stupidity has run away with him in an act of over-dramatised sacrifice?'

I couldn't have put it better myself…

'We don't have to put up with this!' I say to Edward, ignoring the juvenile look of our defiance.

The kid's emerald eyes sparkle in a glint of comradery and with a tight expression, he starts to gather himself for an all-important storm out.

'Look, I know you two are obviously upset but please-' The elder's logical tones die out beneath the shuffling of us hurrying about.

Liz doesn't try to stop us, she just stays still on the sofa's arm with her hair brushing gently against her cheek.

'Edward, get your coat.'

With my trainers on, I snag the keys and don't even look back when Edward shoulders his father out of the way.

The kid doesn't say anything as I speed carelessly to the hospital. He doesn't try to restrain me when I swear at the receptionist and he doesn't seem to sense reason as we battle security while demanding for Cullen to show face.

We try to damage his career when Maddison shows up.

'Miss Platt, my. What is all the fuss?' He pretends like he doesn't know but the straightness of his mouth has lost the curve of interest. He knows and he doesn't want anything to do with it.

'Where is he?!' I demand, trying to move away from delicate restraining hands. I've had enough with pithy ass gentleman trying scrappily to restrain me into a sense of calm.

I was calm.

I've been calm for three months.

Yet, I acknowledge the elephant in the room and all of a sudden, the elephant causes a stampede. In a matter of days.

Obviously, that is a valid reason to no longer be calm.

The doctor looks red in the face, his wrinkles deep set and his mouth tight like he's holding his breath to hold back his words. He still smells like a grandfather should, except he looks grumpier, impatient. I find it incredibly impertinent of him.

'Please, restrain your volume.' He begs, looking nervously as staff and patients alike have started to stare.

'Show your face you Saintly Coward!' Edward yells from over me towards the direction of the wards. The clinical environment makes his voice echo louder and I wonder if we're really going to have to fight security for this.

Or worse, the nurses.

'Mr Masen!' jumps Maddison, furiously. He shuffles in his coat and tries with his arms outstretched to herd us away once more.

'Just tell me where he is!' I demand, furiously.

'He has asked not to be disturbed-'

'So he is here!' I go to walk through him but his stops me at the shoulders. I don't repel strangers as easily as I used to. Just the Saint apparently. 'Oi, Cullen!'

'Esme! He is not to be disturbed.' Maddison repeats, voice sharp. 'Besides, even if he was here, screaming about his work place is not the best way to get his attention, is it?'

I've started to sway somewhat, and nearly slip to a heap but Edward catches me at the last second. The room starts to spin, the lights the noises-.

I run past Edward, feel his hesitation and end up collapsing against the wall outside. He guilty joins me, rubs his forehead with frustration and helps me to stand up.

'He's a collosal twat-'

I have to breath through my nose a few times because the dizzying light is making me even dizzier than I was in the hospital. Edward carries on, nonplussed.

'He's a millionaire bastard. Buying people's safety-'

My hands curve to grip the brick a little more desperately, fingernails tight on the colour. As I intake a few more times, my stomach still swaying, the weight of outside, the noise, the traffic, the people and the smell sends my senses to haywire.

It's too much.

'Perverted republican Trollope. That is what he is!'

I groan, slipping to let my hands fall on my thighs but it only makes me feel weaker. Before long, I'm sat on the concrete, head in hands, thinking.

'This is pointless.' He declares, miserably.

It's taken him a while to get a feel for the tone, but I'm just pleased he's finished with the insults.

'It's not.' I gasp, throwing my hand over my mouth once more, tasting the putrid air. Yuck. 'It's not pointless.'

'Esme, look at what he is doing to us. Even if the intentions are good. He's got you doing worse that you've been for ages…' He says this last bit quietly, as if ashamed to put it out in the open.

He should be. It's bloody rude.

'I'm fine.' I insist, pathetically.

'Let's just go home?'

What home?, I want to say. I can't be bothered. So I let him drive home and wait, exhaustedly for Carlisle to return.

But it would be naïve of us to expect him to turn up. It would be similarly naïve for Mr Masen to expect us to leave or even start the packing process. Out of desperation, I even ring Jasper but he insists he hasn't heard from Carlisle since they came round for dinner and even then, he's not convinced he saw him.

'Have you no idea where he might have gone?' He asks via the line and I can hear the crew of them babbling in the background.

'We've checked everywhere. The University, the hospital, the Library...' Rivers, clifftops, prisons… Charlie Swan is on higher alert than he's been this whole week.

'He wouldn't…' Jasper pauses, making the receiver crackle with his breath. 'He wouldn't have gone to see Eustace?'

'He's not a masochist.' I grumble.

Not a masochist, just a great big twit. In fury, I kick my bedroom door, but nothing really happens. I wonder if Mr. Masen will bill me for that but considering he's promised to give us a few hours to digest the news, and given just how much money he is trying to pass off, I don't think I owe him any guilt.

Blood money has never been so dirtied.

'We'll keep an eye out,' Jazz promises but I can already hear him moving as he speaks.

'Phone me if you hear anything?'

'Esme, he didn't…'

'He didn't what?' I ask impatiently.

His voice lowers, and he takes a big deep breath. 'Didn't do anything stupid?'

'Like what?' I do little to hide the defensive tone.

'Nothing- we'll phone you soon.'

In all honesty, I don't appreciate him enough to be polite when hanging up. It's just the kind of comment to keep you up at night. What was he expecting? Asking every two minutes if he's gone to go commit murder?

Would it be murder? Some might consider it charity?

It's less than ten minutes before I start to feel nervous. The rooms start to feel cluttered and oppressive, closing in like the start of an Indiana Jones movie. The hysteria starts small… it lingers obsessively on a text book in the wastepaper basket downstairs.

It's not long till I'm pacing, admittedly slowly, round the house. My trainers scuff along the floor as I make the repetitious stroll around all the rooms over and over again.

My hands start to pull the books of shelves. I flick through them dramatically wondering if he's left a note anywhere. I check coat pockets, notebooks, bags, books, shoes before it dawns on me that I'm ignoring the one room where the answer lies.

His bedroom is as cold as it has been this month, even despite me sleeping in it. The desk looks the same as normal, a cigarette burn on top, pen marks, paperwork. There's too much paperwork for me to read but I do my best to shred apart the pile before rifling through the drawers instead.

Cigarettes, pens, tissue, KY jelly…

I never thought I'd feel so emotional over something that ridiculous…

Drawings, paper, notebooks…

I go back to the collection of papers, flick through them again until I find one with a posted note.

With my regret engraved sorely upon my soul; Una degna causa x

I regret my inability to take Latin at school because once I'm past the sticky note, that's all my eyes seem to stumble over at first. Latin upon Latin upon more dramatic Italian…

The Last Will and Testament of Carlisle E. Cullen.

"Pop?"

"Not now, Maple!" My father croaked through tearful eyes. His artist hand was clutched in his fist at his mouth and as more noises of scream and panic and desperation came from my mother's bathroom, I tried harder to throw my tiny weight into the scene.

"Get out, Esme!"

It was one of the only times he had ever raised his voice. But it wasn't loud, his scream was futile and if I had been able to notice it back then, if I hadn't had been so naïve, maybe I wouldn't have burst into tears and forced my way in.

With a hearty shrug, or hearty for a child, I weaved in-between the desperate circle of men. The bathroom tiles were soaking wet, slippery with a pink tinge to them.

The bathroom tap was running despite the water overflowing from the tub.

My three brothers were screaming amongst each other. My dad was hysterically crying but couldn't move. He just watched, noisily as Henry tried desperately to bring life back into my mother's blue flesh.

I say blue.

Even now, I can see the hasty red of her blood spilling forth in litres from slits of either of her wrists…

'It's me,' he murmurs.

The telephone crackles as my tears flow over my cheeks.

'He's been bought in.'

I try to find the words, the source of comfort in Maddison's regret but he is even more fragile than he was this afternoon.

He's regretful.

'Esme?' He asks, emotionally. He's ensuring I'm still responding but his own gruff voice goes weak. 'You need to be here.'

When we finally turn up to the hospital, we do so as a collaboration.

The team, all dressed in what is best named as disaster wear, are quiet amongst each other. They share looks between one another, their eyelashes light against each other and they fight out the bright sun of realisation.

Though we arrive collaboratively, and we wait silently in the waiting room together, we are all lost.

Edward hasn't spoken to me since he received the phone call, but he stays close by me, eyes swollen and red with his narrow hand gripping mine for stability.

A little after two and a half hours Frank comes to find us in the waiting room. We're slumped together on the floor like a litter of kittens, all of us craving each other's warm for fear of isolation. Mr and Mrs Masen have gone to get coffee from the machine in order to endure another cold night thanks to us.

Maddison is wearing his surgeons gear, but the blood is too dry to be Carlisle's. By the telling of his face, guilt mixed with exhaustion, he has only recently been updated, too. He calls me over just by lifting his chin and smiles weakly at the group.

'Quite the band he has here…' He says once I've reached him. Edward is standing close by but in an unfriendly manner, the senior turns so that he is speaking specifically to me and specifically in hushed tones.

'His father is still listed as his I.C.E… so I've broken a lot of rules by contacting you.'

I nod, pulling my arm closer to conceal from everyone's desperate expression. That and I'm shaking. I've been shaking for a while but thankfully not sick yet. Which is what I think he considers when he looks amongst us once more.

'You can go in and see him.' He announces tensely to the group. 'No more than three at a time though and don't stay long.'

As the group of them look eagerly to one another, I realise that Maddison has more to say and less ability to say it.

I can feel Edward hovering close to me.

'Go,' I tell him softly, squeezing his arm in a brief note of affection. His locks are curled into his eyes again and with simple shake of his fringe, he moves to arrange the group into manageable chunks.

'Given the hour, no longer than twenty minutes,' Maddison says as Emmett, Rose and Jasper sleepily follow a nurse. 'He will need his rest and there are a lot of you that will want to see him.'

He catches the face of the clock and lets his height shrink a little.

'In honesty, if he wasn't him, there's no way we would be letting anyone in there.'

'I appreciate it,' I say honestly and though I'm still quivering, the adrenaline is doing well to keep me serious.

As Maddison leads me to a quieter end of the corridor, Edward points towards his parents and waits for me to reply in understanding.

The grandfatherly smell has gone and is replaced by surgical disinfectant and misery.

'I want to repeat that I'm breaking a lot of rules by telling you…' Maddison murmurs, he has his hands clasped in front of him and looks at it for a while.

'He'll forgive you,' I promise warmly.

'Given the incident earlier, I want to apologise for not being honest with you-'

'Sir,' I breathe noisily and whimper a little. 'If anything we had done recently was handled correctly… this wasn't you…'

The calm in my voice should surprise me but it doesn't. I am careful to await further information. 'Please just tell me he's going to be okay?'

He doesn't move and then gently shakes his head.

'His injuries… he's very lucky but I will leave that to him to explain.' He lets out a sharp exhale and pinches his nose. 'I noticed a few months ago he was a little off his game. I put it down to recent events but… overtime he seemed to get worse.'

'How so?' I ask weakly.

'The local press came in and started pushing for a story. Instigating one in fact. He held his tongue but… lost his confidence.' He looks up to me. 'He's talented Esme, you know this more than anyone. But the longer he stays here under this volcano… he's off his game.'

'Dangerously?'

'Oh no,' a small dismissive shake of his head sends relief through my veins. 'Cullen's dangerous is a surgeon's perfect case.'

The little note of pride brings delight to his miserable look. If he wasn't about to sack him, I might have forgiven him.

'But?' I push.

'Like I said. He's capable of more than we can offer him, better. I have names all over the country that would leap for him… But he won't travel from his father. Especially not now…'

'I still feel like you're holding something back.' I say honestly, keeping very still as I imagine a sickened housemate looking even more weak than he has recently. The shivers take over again.

'Funding is being pulled from six neonatal units across the country…'

'Oh my-'

'And it looks like he's about to invest the money in a coffee chain…' He looks up carefully, eyes crinkling a little. 'Carlisle doesn't know yet...'

I can feel the heat rise up from me again and bite down on my lip.

'Esme, I'm signing him off for three weeks. I can't do much more. If I fire him, it will send his leads scarpering, the risk is too great…'

'Esme?' Mr Masen calls my name with an oddly gentle note considering how badly I've cursed him out today. He stays at a distance, calling for my attention without wanting to intrude on the conversation. 'He's asking for you…'

I apologise to Maddison and instead of promising him a future that I doubt Carlisle can handle, I simply nod and thank him for his time.

Our Edward is by the door as I make my way to the private ward. He is fleshier in the face, a sign of relief, but still too haunted to be calm. He smiles very weakly, hands interlocked with Bella ignorant of his parent's interest.

He nods towards the inside and tries to smile again.

'Try not to be too... angry. He's surprisingly… Well… You know.'

'Thanks, Edward.'

'Esme,' he rubs the back of his head like Carlisle would do. 'I was going to go home with Bella… is that-'

'Oh Kid. Of course.' I smile and rub my face, making sure to look at Bella's similarly exhausted posture as she leans harder into her boyfriend. 'I'll catch you later.'

He pulls me into an impromptu hug, wrapping an arm around my neck so that I'm supporting his lanky weight.

'Call me if-'

'We'll be okay.' I promise.

Bella touches my arm and kisses my cheek lightly before making the move to go, Edward follows silently and though I am both desperate and desperately frightened to go in, I make sure to wait for the Masen's to say goodbye, too.

Elizabeth doesn't want to let me go and with tearful eyes once more, has to be dragged away by her husband yet again.

Regardless of the family, all of the family, and regardless of whatever sense of maturity I may be acting in, my adrenaline rush comes back in the form of shivers and I have to spend a minute composing myself before entering the little room.

He is laid at an uncomfortable angle against one of the harsh blue pillows. His sore eyes are scarcely open and now with all these windows and the pathetic lamp light of his square room, I finally see just how hallow his cheeks are.

I am not sure when he got so thin but yet again, the bruises and scratches run along the back of his hands and lead up his paper gown shirt. He doesn't have a duvet, just an enormous baby blanket type which fits the swaddled look he's going for.

I smell Rosalie's choice of flowers before I move into sight and hear the rhythmic beeping of both his several thousand monitors and his warped breathing.

'Hey,' he whispers softly. He doesn't open his bruised eye much but tries weakly to pull himself up before giving in and staying at his curved posture, looking in my direction.

'Hey yourself.' I respond. My feet move automatically towards him, magnetised to his pain. He tries to sit up again but without using force, I place my hand on his shoulder and shake my head. 'Don't get up, just rest.'

'Hm,' he sounds sleepy but tries stupidly to move towards me again. I keep my hand on his shoulder as a reminder. 'I can't go far anyway.' He promises, his lips curving.

'Oh?' I keep my voice low, barely above a breath to try and encourage him to sleep. 'And why is that?'

Weakly, he lifts his left hand so that there's a clatter of chains against the railings.

'Oh, Carlisle.'

'A gift from Alice.' He says humouredly. 'Wondered when those handcuffs were next going to come in handy…'

I look towards the monitor to see if I can understand what he's on or whether it's just sleep deprivation. As I lean, I see the crack of a smile form on his blue lips.

'Not just saline…' he slurs, still struggling to peel open his eyelids as he catches sight of my exposed stomach. I step back down, pull my shirt down and lean to place my lips against his temple instead. But I have to wipe my tears away quickly for fear of waking him up. 'We both know I don't deserve that.'

I have to swallow my emotions again to speak to him, but when I do I find it fairly easy to make conversation.

'So if Alice has chained you to the bed… how are you meant to pee?' With a hand on the cold metal of the bed railing, I swivel round to the bathroom door which is very obviously not accessible with a bed attached.

'You don't want to know,' he hums, but he has another drug induced smile on his lips. I look on the bedside and notice the bag and then shiver when I realise where they must have stuck that. 'I was technically dead for 6 minutes so it's just a precaution.'

He frowns and ignoring me completely, pulls himself up so that he's half sat up in the middle on the bed now.

'Carlisle!'

'I want to see you.'

'That's because you're off your face, lay back down!' Though I hiss at him, he very obviously has a look of extreme soberness, squinting against what I presume is a headache.

'No, it's not.'

He reaches out his hand and smiles gratefully when I place the cup of water in it. I expect him to gulp it thirstily, but he doesn't, he sips it, his hands shaking so badly that I have to take it from him before he wears it.

I try to lift the cup to his lips and encourage him to drink but he's resistant, making noises unexpectedly.

'I've been a fool Esme…'

'Stop it.' I murmur curtly.

'But -'

'I said stop it?' Though I have just snapped at him, I soften the bite by careful pulling his fringe off his damp forehead. 'The last time you started with this apologetic bullshit, next thing I knew you were in the hospital... technically dead... so if it's okay with you… I don't want to hear it right now.'

He nods, reasonably and lets me guide him to a laying position. 'Understandable.'

I wait for his breathing to even out before pulling a chair closer and placing it close to his bedside. He's not yet asleep, which I can tell but the fact he keeps waking himself up to check I haven't left, but I stay seated upright, watching his frame move.

'Can I say something nuts without judgement?' He asks, tongue lazily lounging on his lower lip.

'You can say it but anything you do say can and will be held against you… once you're sober.'

He smiles weakly. 'I think I saw my mother.'

I sit up properly at this point, weakly checking those vitals and listening out for a regular beep on the monitor. I haven't been trained in this, I'm using TV as my intelligence source and I'm using it badly.

'It was my mother in the water. Not the Madonna.'

'Rest, my love…' I urge him but he's insistent, even with closed eyes. He reaches his free hand over the framing, searching for my hand with desperation. I hesitate and he witnesses it.

'Are you mad with me?' he whispers, frowning again. I gently touch the crease of his frown with my thumb.

'Surprisingly no. But I will be if you keep waking yourself up.' He breathes deeper so that I can feel the air on my nose. 'I am however, revoking your eviction notice. And your Will.'

'Can we negotiate?'

'No, you dramatic sod! You can sleep and hope that the forgiveness lasts indefinitely.' Bit of a stretch but desperate times.

He smiles delicately.

His hand though thinner come up to lay over mine, I think he tries to squeeze my knuckles but it's so weak that it's hard to tell.

'All this time I thought I could make things better for you…'

'Shh, Carlisle.'

'But you make things better for everyone else. You're the chemistry.'

Before he goes on to confess more dramatic statements, and mostly because I am a little overwhelmed with every emotion under the sun, I very delicately drag my fingers along his heavily stubbled jaw and without responsibility, or thought, briefly capture his lips.

It has the desired effect.

At first, I feel his caution, the intense cold and fragility of his lips on my smooth and plump mouth. In a breath, his body relaxes and before the beeping starts to get too loud for comfort, I pull away.

Sleeping Beauty slumbers with a smile on his cheek and a smirk on his face.