Sorry for the delay but thank you as ever for your kind words and patience.

Please do leave your thoughts!

April 1st 2016 -onwards

Despite the light being on, there's no one to greet me at the front door. It could almost be silent until I realise Edward has a classical CD on so low, that even I struggle to make out the familiar tunes between the fuzz of my hearing.

With lost, tired hands, I throw the bundle of paperwork to the table and start to shrug out of my jacket.

'Ouh fuck!'

'Holy shit, Carlisle!'

My head snaps up at the greetings and seeing Bella and Edward standing in the kitchen jars my nerves into a stiffness.

'Bella? Jesus, are you trying to get me locked up?!' I ask, looking between the two in disbelief. 'What are you doing here this late?!'

It's not late, it's very, very early but I doubt her father would come to appreciate semantics.

Edward's face folds when he sees me, the embarrassment eating his expression as he stands in jeans and a shirt... my shirt... crumpled by the evening. His guest lounges by his side, her hands buried in her back pockets, unable to word the apparent concern on her face. Both of them look exhausted, likewise surprised to see me though they catch each other with such intensity… it makes my throbbing head hurt more.

Particularly with Edward staring.

'Your eye-?!'

'Does Charlie know you're here?' I interrupt, deliberately ignoring the Kid and preparing to already break my house detainment. Honestly, the choice between Swan arresting me for breaking curfew and not having his daughter home would be an obvious answer even to the naïvest of people.

'No, no,' she explains hurriedly. 'Don't worry. I've told him I'm staying with Alice...'

This makes me even more wary. I look around the living room for the sign of further life. Everything had been, rather spookily, retired to it's proper home. Like a show house. Uncomfortable.

'They just left,' Edward explains quietly and seeing my worry, elaborates. 'Just Alice and Rose. Alice cooked dinner again…'

'I'm surprised you can bear the babysitting.' I murmur automatically and I feel his expelled breath hit me from all those steps away. He smiles weakly and shrugs.

'It's probably a needed compromise in refute of starvation…' Bella teases but the loopy smile suggests she's eager for the smile to be returned.

Edward is clearly all too happy to obey, open stance, hands itching to reach her at an inch away. He's still not touching her while in my presence but the curl of his mouth, the confused, blushing smirk suggests he considered this worthy of my approval. The self-control is impressive. If not patronising.

'You really do look awful…' he says, nodding towards me.

'I know,' I dismiss, cringing. 'It's cosmetic, I'm fine.'

My lungs were undoubtedly on the brink of collapse, my ribs already had, and if I chose to open my eye, I was positive I'd rip my optic nerve in shreds from the pressure. The couple stand watching me for a few seconds more, possibly doing as I would and reading my imbalance, my drawn face and finally unable to diagnose any more, Bella kindly disappears from view and moving comfortably within our kitchen, fetches some ice.

Admittedly, I am not quite sure what to make of the act though it allows me to talk without observation.

'What's the music for?' I say quietly, trying to locate which compilation he had chosen and from which room it was actually playing. He attempts to keep quiet on the matter, whispering softly enough to show this tactic is hidden from the very feature of his Mind's eye.

I was goading myself up to the mention of her name. I was preparing for the question. So when he says it so casually, my clawed chest contracts that bit tighter.

'I thought Es might find it comforting…'

How easy it was for him. How the jealousy struck through me in fear.

'Is she-?'

'No,' he says quietly. 'We knocked once or twice but- no.'

'Alice said you thought…?' I start to ask. Bella has started to approach from my bad side, bringing my tongue to silence. I easily accept her offering, though for fear of further damage, I take the ice from her hands and try not to stream out curses when I hold it against my face. The Kid catches my flinch.

Honestly the sting was enough to make both my eyes water and when the searing, ache follows, I can feel my feet waver from the way the blind pain runs down one side of my body.

Had she called out? I wonder, staring at him in case he reads the question.

He shrugs, lacking enthusiasm to do so while he watches me dab at the swellings on my cheek.

'It was a good idea.' I agree. 'The music. It was a good suggestion.'

Likewise, I had once needed an auditory assault just to shut off. Once I had needed the sound so desperately just to drown out my thoughts and commit biology lessons to memory. I needed to face noise enough to relax with lost conciousness.

Further, on those few times that I had ended up with unexpected company, the fuss of being awoken by fidgeting was almost always quickly relieved by the timely sound of her breath, lulling me back to sleep.

And now I was back to square one and I would soon begin to build to resistance.

'Was Dad pissed?' Edward asks, now coming close enough to sit near me. I hesitate and then give up and decide to resign myself into the corner of the sofa. I was hardly convinced I wanted to go upstairs anyway. Firstly, the stairs were an obstacle I was not yet willing to predict my success on, and more importantly… I knew I wouldn't be able to stop myself from seeing her.

And if she was calling out… perhaps she was lucid…

And if she was lucid, she might see the true horror I had put myself in.

I really was a coward.

'Oh yeah.' I murmur.

I look to Bella now and her earthly tired expression, her… well, intrusion. It was rude but I didn't like to discuss it in front of her. Mostly incase I slipped and said something regrettable about her father. Things that I importantly did not truly feel.

Respectfully, I admired Charlie but I couldn't deny that he, Masen and Maddison were my newest causes of fury. The more the three of them tried to help, the worse they made the situation…

And then removed me from it.

'Another time.' He murmurs, agreeing. 'How are you feeling though?'

I pull the ice from my eye and try to look at him full on.

He winces and nods. 'You should really get some sleep…'

'Hark at the kettle.' I say.

'Huh?'

'You can talk,' I explain looking again at Bella. For a moment, it looks like she's following the conversation, her pointed chin moving like she is at a tennis match, her hung locks slipping round below it. Until you looked at the purple under those expressive brown eyes sleepy, deep in thought.

'Take her to bed, Kid.'

'Hmm?' he repeats, and then following he blushes hard and shakes his head. 'Oh.'

It was far too late to expect her to return to Alice. Even if that's where she was expected to be, the simple removal of one part from the other- to expect them to part was the feel the ripped Velcro shriek.

'You can take my room.' I offer and then feel my mouth pout regrettably.

Yes I was offering the room and moreover, the bed. I hoped he would gather the line of my suggestion and know I wasn't inviting anything to take place. Particularly with Esme in the next room.

The thought was horrific.

'Carlisle…' he whispers, shaking his head, relieved I suspect in saving him from the drive across town. 'You need the sleep.'

'No, I insist.' I have to repeat myself a few more times for him to concede and I can't help but warn him as he thanks me. 'Be… respectful.'

'We're too tired for that.' He promises, jokingly and then, unable to stop himself, he puts his foot in it. 'It also… you know… wouldn't seem right…'

'Please just go to bed…' I plead.

He makes a face, embarrassed, relieved and follows a lagging, part grateful Bella upstairs. She was trying to murmur something at me I feel, but I had barely the sight nor intuition to read it.

Besides, the bed was the limit of hospitality I would be willing the offer in my current state. My frustration had lost the battle to the discomfort I was in and as my bones screamed for antibiotics, my emotions were vulnerable and flippant.

In fact, I was clearly damaging the suggestion of anything happening. He could take my room; Bella could take my room. The suggestion was that the other would be in the alternate room.

It was cruel almost.

Sleeping with someone, literally sleeping, was one of the most intimate graces I would ever know. It was evidence to humanity's evolution. People forcing themselves to relax under the shared presence of an intruder, to open themselves up to the vulnerability of embarrassment and give in….

I listen out for the close of my door, for the soft murmurings of the couple but they stay deadly silent compared to the music, and despite preconceptions, stay in separate areas.

Moreover, the offer was a good excuse to stay downstairs, to not tempt fate… and promising myself a shower once everyone had awoken, I try and settle now into the large sofa cushions. To frisk with sleep if not give myself to it.

Peace refused to take me this Morning and even though I manage to drift off here and there, by several moments later, I soon give in and turn on the TV, keeping the sound off in hopes that reading will put me to sleep.

It does the opposite.

As Emmett had promised, the local news had material on me to share to thousands. In the first piece, reporters talk of my charity work and my recent bestowed kindness in the Neo-Natal name change and once I've awoken to that distaste, they then share perfectly timed images of me hauling King 'out of a burning building'.

The pictures are horrifically well timed. The reports are worse. Basing my character on previous news, various 'witnesses' attest to my 'quick and heroic intentions' in saving the both of us from death.

Either Masen worked fast or the real trap had been set. In no time, I'd be all but fleeing to Italy.

And so I spend another morning without the rejuvenation of silence, I lay fidgeting on the sofa and wait for a noise to break from above me.

At a little past eleven, Bella's poised feet find themselves upon the steps and though she doesn't announce herself coming down them, I find the pounding making remnants in my brain.

She jumps when she sees me, burning up to a florescent shade of red and realising I have forgone sleep, offers me a drink.

I shake my head.

She asks me how I am doing, about the extent to my injuries and taking in my disgusting lump of bruised and battered skin, she tries to sweetly offer me several medications she recognises from the medicine cabinet upstairs.

At first I put her off, but she sticks to her decisions like a limpet and I am forced to let her attempt to get her own way despite her shy stance, and her foreign understanding of our friendship.

I find it awkward. I find it very uncomfortable but nevertheless I appreciate it.

Then, thankfully, Edward awakens similarly dressed, similarly tired. He admits that he didn't sleep much and before my teeth grind on the suggestion, he explains that the music he'd chosen was not his preferred choice of lullaby.

They eat, they try to engage my attention, they try to encourage my interaction but I say very little and in the end, slink off to have a shower.

As expected, the stairs require a heavier foot and I have to drag myself up the bannister despite the movements crushing my lungs together. My stiff hands don't want to close and the weight snags at the breath in my breast so that every step is a workout.

Then I'm at her door, shaking beyond control…

I don't remember a second of it. I peak around the door and giving the simplest of examinations from all these steps away, I immediately retreat from the scene. She was breathing. There was no sign of sickness and I couldn't see blood.

Good.

Undressing robotically and keeping the shower on a neutral temperature I have to clamber towards the water. Pain escapes my lips in a hiss. The droplets beat onto my wounds like piano keys, clawing up my chest like I'm asthmatic.

It hurts when I tip my head backwards. It hurts when my sight follows the line of my stomach until I am staring at that white scar and it hurts further when I have to engage my hands to actually wash myself.

I try not to think of yesterday, I try not to think of the showers I'd had at the start of the week, most of them shared… I couldn't think on it, it brought discomfort to every inch of my stomach. Maybe a psych test would prove exactly what I feared... That actually, I couldn't cope. That I was meant to be in Italy studying His words beneath wooden arches and stained glass windows…

I dress quickly once finished. I pull trainers on despite the fact I can't go anywhere and tumble down the steps to the dining room.

In another move to haunt me, Edward had insisted on clearing up after himself, leaving my idle hands left to twiddle. Finally resigning myself to delusion, I take the punishment as excuse to study.

Bella stays for a little longer. Mostly she leaves me uninterrupted, making odd bits of conversation here and there but once I turn the laptop on she understands that I am resigning myself away. Besides with Edward's eyes on her, I doubt she wanted my intrusion anyway.

Yet, rather than leave with her come early afternoon, Edward, besotted, stays loyally at the door.

Initially I tell him to go but he plants his feet so firmly on the inner lip of the door, hands juxtaposed as they cling to the outside of the frame, leaning above her open blank expression, a wrought smile on his mouth. With height he towers above her, head bent low to brush words on her face. Lost almost, the young girl matches his stare, coming closer till a millimetre of weather separates the two. Bella's blush is starting to return and realising that I am studying the two, I hurriedly throw my gaze away and leave their private moment to remain as such.

He doesn't kiss her when she leaves, just remains stranded at the door in hopes she might return.

She does not give in to temptation.

At some point that afternoon, the phone rings but before I have chance to move towards it, the Kid shakes his roughed-up hair.

'Don't,' he warns, standing in front till the answer machine clicks on.

'Hi there, err, my name is Gerrard Townsend, I'm a journalist for Capital News. I am looking to speak with a Carlisle Cullen following from-err- his recent promotion. If you could call me back, we will arrange an Interview-'

And then the beep cuts off.

My teeth grind together.

'It's been going off a lot,' he confesses, twisting his hand away from his face. 'First Mom. Then journalists. Doctor Madison called. More journalists. Some other lady Doctor, Emmett, Esme's mom...'

'Her Mother called?' I ask, now flicking my chin towards him.

The pen is poised in my hand, the nib paused on the notebook lines, slighted at an angle in space.

'Well, her sister I think but her Mom was on the line.'

'What did they say?' I ask breathily.

In his Edward way, I suspect he picks up on this edge of distrust in the question. Particularly because he treads carefully as he proceeds, coming closer with a hesitant preamble.

'Something about missing her Dad's birthday… they're pissed she didn't fly home…'

'Pissed?' I repeat, requesting elaboration. He shakes his hair again, unsure.

'I've deleted the message… they were fairly unforgiving…'

'Edward,' I groan. He likewise dislikes the need to clarify. His hard mouth manouvers into a hesitant line, and settling himself into the armchair furthest away from my direct eye contact, I see him fiddle with the television remote in his hand.

'They called her a 'spiteful cow', I think. That she was avoiding them on purpose. Said she had no sense of respect…'

'That's bullshit,' I snap thinking back to the cliff top. Every time she spoke of her father, the warmth was quite obviously there and though the memories obviously pained her, she-

I didn't want to think on it much more.

The suggestion made me angry.

To even indicate that such a person as she could be capable-. Alice had continued to nit-pick at her this whole month and Esme was the first to rush to her aid. Edward would irritate her but against even my criticisms she would defend him fiercely.

She hadn't even known Bella or Rose that long and still she itched to look out for them.

And her siblings.

I wasn't a fool.

Every Christmas card filled with the things she was too afraid to say aloud. Every, albeit rare phone call to her sister ending in a miserable, pleading 'I love you.' The pride on her face when she bragged of her brother's successes, the various memorial plants in the garden, hand crafted with delicate, nicked hands.

'You don't get on with your family?' I had asked but three years ago.

'They're just going through a tough time.' She had corrected.

And now, even when they were cruel and angry, she still believed they were close.

'I know…' he breathes deeply, hesitating towards voicing whatever currently plagued his attention.

'Just say it.' I mutter, careful not to roll my eyes. The damage might have settled down in size though I had naught the trust to use it. It was painful enough forcing myself to write… to use my lungs… to sit…

'You put King in hospital, Carlisle…'

I wince at the twist of his words and wince again when it sends shudders through my torso. It was ironic how pleased he had been at the violence to my father and not at someone conceivably worse.

'I know.' I say, trying to lessen the bite.

'You could've killed him.'

'I was trying to,' I admit, eyeing the dark stain of the dining table. 'So many times I could've but…. But I... I was a coward…'

Am a coward.

'Do you hear yourself, right now?' He whispers not unkindly. He looks to the spread of paperwork, diplomas I had recently felt the need to pour through and hesitating, he moves towards me. He's now dragging a wooden chair out from across me. Feigning casualty, I wait till he's seated to shrug my shoulders a little.

'I don't know what I hear. Everything is wrong…'

The bliss of confession was simultaneously more unforgivable when the one acting as your counsellor was far from qualified to admit your repentance.

'You wanted to kill him.' He repeats emphatically.

'You just don't get it, Edward…'

'Well, explain it to me then?' He asks, pleading almost as he avoids saying it. It didn't matter what he said. Those green eyes still wandered above him to the silent room, shaped in blatant questions; large, obtrusive and cautious.

'I…'

There's no value to the words.

When he patiently waits for the explanation to come, I find that even if I wanted to share half the point with him, I would once more be giving something that wasn't mine to give. How could I say that King and Eustace had inconceivably done this to her? That they had poured over the choice together, found a way to hurt and harm and brutilise her... all to send a message to me.

The church had confirmed it. King himself had confirmed it... they were capable, cuplable... proud... of what they had done to hurt her.

The extent of that hurt... I was not at liberty to know...

Finally accepting the defeat, I shake my floppy hair and look to my notes.

I was writing about muscle failure in patients' post-surgery.

'Did you plan the fire?' he asks miserably, looking away now. I was grateful. It meant I could stare at him, assess his own discomfort on the stubble of both his cheeks while when my eyes have fallen, he could judge my own state.

He was growing older before me and I was simply unable to understand it.

'It wasn't me.'

'Bullshit.' He scoffs, clearly irritable that I would so brazenly lie to him.

Frustratingly, Edward was one of the few people it was impossible to lie to. He would read it out your expression before the attempt.

'Honestly.' I say.

'Swear it.' He says, frowning.

In slight mockery, I quickly sign an 'X' with a loop of my index finger and nod.

'Why would I burn the place?' I ask, surprised. He looks hard at me momentarily, testing to see if I would falter. I keep my hand poised on the pen.

In the time that takes for him to determine if I am lying, my phone lights up again. It's Jasper. He's messaged to ask if I'll be joining him for a run come next week… and then come's a second, irritably naïve text.

How's Esme?

I ignore it for now and watch Edward glare at my notebook.

'Are you going to tell me what happened? Or am I to depend on the Press?'

The heat from my forehead starts to prickle.

'You were there. You don't need me to explain anything.'

He snorts. He's folded his arms tight across his chest now, less like he's trying to condescend me into submission and more like he's containing the shrieks. His chest expands robotically.

'Fine.' I complain, lowering my voice to a violent whisper. 'I suspect King started the fire either to get me arrested or to have me silenced. Either way, it didn't work because he was too busy confessing-'

'Confessing?!' Edward repeats. The irritation leaves my exposed lip in a grumble. I nearly go to rub my face and remembering the state of my nose, let my hand rip through my hair until it's holding the ends against my neck.

'Yes, confessing-'

At first, the length of his angular face seems relieved by such news. In a change of breeze, this quickly evolves into hard scepticism and finally, mocking disbelief.

'You don't actually believe that do you?' he snorts.

Even the effort of trying to calm my own tension leaves little room in my chest to breathe.

'Pardon?'

'Really, Carlisle?!' His eyebrows are arched to the top of his forehead now. 'If he caused the fire then of course he would look to confess. It would keep you there-'

'No,' I say, shaking from a chill in my blood. I didn't like the way we were heading again. I was too angry to hold a conversation. Every time I tried, I could feel myself get twisted in the response. My stomach would respond like boiling water and soon the bubbles would burst and I was left spitting demands. 'It wasn't like that.' I insist.

'Well think about it. If it is a trap, a poorly laid one, explains why you didn't get arrested-'

Truly, his father's son. I interrupt him with a tone we both regret.

'I did get arrested.' I correct, bitterly and he has the decency to remember this is his own fault. 'This is me being arrested. But because of your father, I'm stuck here.'

This was meant to come out a lot more gratefully. It was meant to sound something like; 'with thanks to your father, I can remain here.'

With a frown on his face once more, he has to find a way to forgive my disloyalty.

'I meant it explains why King hasn't pressed charges…' Edward whispers, still clearly bothered by my reaction. I find my lips pursed as I try to look at him through both eyes. The attempt was blinding.

'Like you said, he's in hospital.'

'Surgery?' he asks.

'How would I know, Kid? Why would I give a shit?' The only thing I cared about was that he was far from any region of this place. Exiled. Sighing, I move a few pieces of paper from my path and take a long swallow of water.

Hopefully that would drown the need to discuss it further.

'Because it changes everything,' he insists. 'It's like you're trying to get yourself back there. To Europe. It's positively insane-' He pauses for a moment and calculates a few emotional responses. We both know he wasn't referencing the Police station when he said there so the clarification was an unnecessary dart in my frontal cortex.

'Oh don't be so stupid,' I say, exasperated, guessing the direction of his understanding.

'Me don't be stupid? You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?! You're still trying to leave.'

'I am trying to find sense.' I emphasise, letting the words slips through a tight space in my teeth.

'You're so full of it. You're determined to get yourself deported-' He snorts again, twisting himself away and placing a fist under his chin.

'Of course I'm not!' I say hotly, hands across the table and over the papers. Like Masen said, it was leaving them undefended... If I were to truly believe that, of course…

My knuckles are a little more forgivable looking under this light though still stiff. I couldn't deny that as a patient, I would still be a bit put off if someone insisted I was to be treated by them. So while I begrudged the unprecedented time off… I was aware of a few positives.

'Tell me then. Promise me you're not leaving.'

'It's not as simple as that.' I try to explain. 'If your father is right, I have barely a month before they come in here and drag me back and do you know what will happen to you two?!'

'Fuck all.' He mutters, lifting a shoulder.

'If you're lucky, fuck all. If you're not, then both of you could be facing crippling fines upon fines upon Sentences-'

'Yeah, for housing a fucking fugitive.'

I can feel my patience begin to tire, my headache return and my heart beat a little harder just in an attempt to remain cool. This time I don't refrain from pinching my eye and I can feel the shooting pain from my feet right into the lower ache of my molars. 'I can't talk like this if you're going to be dramatic.'

'Fine,' The Kid sneers. 'Sit and sprout all the lies you want on 'how I'm doing it because I care'.'

'Despite your mockery, Edward-'

'Go on then, there's the door. Nice knowing you. Safe journey home.' He waves over-enthusiastically, as ever.

'Hilarious.' I snap, rubbing the lines on my forehead, I catch the scab a little and frown at the second thoughtless injury. Edward is still gesturing to our front door, waiting for me to inevitably back down. 'Now if you'd let me finish-'

'You know; I can't keep up with this. Do you want to be here or not? Because you say you're leaving and don't go and yet the moment your future is actually within reach, you are desperate to abandon it and fuck off to the other side of the globe.'

'Your geography really is questionable.'

'Stick to the point, you Old Fart.'

I frown at him, he frowns back. Were we arguing? It felt like we were arguing? I felt angry. Really angry, pulsating with fury and then he'd say stupid things like that I was left feeling a mixture of fury and a mistaken, confusing urge not to smile.

It was worse than that.

It wasn't solely anger. I hadn't even left yet and I was preparing to miss him. The presence of his future absence was a paradox even I couldn't begin to fathom.

'It won't be forever.' I promise, more to myself than to him.

'Bullshit. If you go, there is no guarantee you will ever get back.'

'You shouldn't doubt your father, Edward…' I murmur uncomfortably again. 'He will go above and beyond to ensure there's a solution. And so will I and give it some months…'

'You really are basing this on a hunch?! A fucking hunch?!'

'Look,' I say, opening my hands like open cards on the table. If he does listen, he does so reluctantly. 'As far as I am concerned, I am coming back.' I knew I was far too weak to bear longer than necessary in Volterra, anyway. 'I'll settle things with my father. I'll find a way to distance matters in Italy… and once it is safe… actually safe, I will come back for the two of you.'

'For or for?' he asks, tersely.

'Either or,' I answer. 'It'll be your choice. If you still want me home, then I'll be here…'

'How can you even say that?' he complains, his lips pressing into a line again as he gestures to a non-existent audience. 'How can you make these gigantic promises like that and yet on the other hand, try to fucking kill someone…'

I almost shrug. Almost.

And then I think about how much I still wanted King to suffer. How desperately I needed him to be silenced… but if Edward was right… if the matter was a trap inside a trap… well… I couldn't give time to the thought.

He stares at me for a moment and then the phone rings and we both jump from the tense mist fogging between us. This time I do answer it despite his requests to do otherwise.

It's Rosalie. She tells me she's on her way over and asks if we need anything. I explicitly tell her we do not need anything and to not come over. So when she turns up come twenty minutes later bearing Alice's third round of cooking she has no right to be irritated by my displeasure.

'Holy shit,' she gasps when I open the door. 'Look at the state of you!'

I'll admit I asked Alice for help… at this point I was burning with the desperation to revoke it and demand all of them stay the heck off the property until further notice.

Ignoring my silence, all five foot seven of Rosalie and her attitude push past me into the kitchen. She places some kind of casserole dish on the island, watches Edward and I shift around uncomfortably and tries to make some conversation as to my T.V appearances.

'In all honesty, if you wanted the Media to dry up, you could just present yourself as you are now. They'll scarper.'

I nod in agreement.

'Your conference is the talk of the town though. Even my Professors keep taking about what an asset to the College you are…'

'I don't get why,' I say, shrugging. 'I don't think I've ever taken a step in the School of Engineering.'

'Yes but it's people from their home town. They're proud, what can you expect?' She shrugs like I should really be thrilled at the attention, immediately forgetting just how dangerous this whole make-up actually would be career-wise.

I had been on the very brink of promotion, not just promotion, a career altering, life changing opportunity to do good…. And as Masen was eager to remind me, I was about to toss it to the dirt.

Even if I tried to rectify it myself, it teetered on the edge of vulnerable. King merely had to curse my name for my twenty-five years experiemce to sink itself to oblivion.

And I would be left even more incapable of helping than I currently was.

If that was possible…

Rosalie seems sturdy enough. She stands with that usual twist in her waist, hand out like we should be catching onto the speed of her conversation. Regardless, if Edward was right the other night, as he was surely suggesting by his inability to catch her eye, she did seem… nervous.

Though she had metaphorically dug her heels into our floor, her voice was quieter than either mine or Edward's, softer. She was fidgeting with both hands, constantly flicking her long hair from her pointed eyes and she rushed out her speech like she wanted to fill the silence.

Until she asked what she really wanted to know, of course.

'Well other than the Halloween costume… How are you guys... How is Es?'

'Rose,' I say, head shaking. 'Now really isn't the time…'

'What?' she asks, defensive and at my miserable pout she flares like a firework. 'You can't lock her up forever Carlisle. She has friends, you know.'

'I know that,' I agree, lowering my tone on the threat that Es really was alert enough to hear me. It didn't escape my notice that out of the two of us, it was more me being locked up… It was also me suffering from the restrictions.

Edward wanders even further away from the kitchen now, fearing the fray.

'Have you even spoken to her, do you even know-?'

'Rose,' I insist, remaining surprisingly calm though I repeat myself exactly. 'Now is not a good time…'

'It's never going to be a good time.' She hisses. 'Remember that, whatever she's hiding, there will never be a good time to talk about it.'

'Thank you for the food.' I say, trying to carefully invite her to leave. She catches the suggestion immediately.

'Oh bite me, Carlisle.' On her stomp towards the front door, she half deliberately bashes Edward in the shoulder and tears her way down the porch steps to her car.

The Kid catches my eye and makes a face but we don't say much else. We don't even touch the food. We just return to sitting in the living room both fighting to find a normal amongst a string of horror.

Rather luckily, we only have to suffer through two more phone calls that evening. Jasper calls asking if I received his message and when he tries to talk about the football scores and plans for next week, he can feel me remain aloof. He doesn't repeat asking how we are. He does what the rest of them fail to do and keeps the conversation short, to the point and clear of suggestion.

He doesn't even ask how she is, not this time. Yet I find myself forcing an explanation anyway and I don't even know how it came about.

It falls in a 'we're fine' kind of comment but he is more aware than I am at how badly this lie comes across.

The second call comes from Edward Senior. Or rather, him and Liz. They phone and luckily Edward answers. Comments are short, pleasantries false and after a second or two, I gather Masen is only on the line to ensure I'm at home. Until Liz forces her way into the conversation, of course.

'Oh my Love,' she greets when Edward passes the phone to me. At this point in the evening the weight of three days are pouring into my feet and without the energy to stand, to sit, to think, I can hardly answer with as much drama as I need to in order to convince them of my sanity.

Edward sits chewing on his dinner from the armchair. He's watching some medical show, possibly to wind me up or to send me to bed. I've mostly managed to drown the noise out till now.

'How are you both, Mrs Masen?

'No, no.' I can hear the voice shake a little, tense. 'How are you? Have you spoken to…?'

'To?' I ask, almost impatiently.

'Your boss. Edward informs me you won't be going back to work for a little bit…'

I swirl the spit in my mouth before swallowing. 'It won't be long,' I calmly assure her. 'I just need to make an appointment…' Depending on Masen's secrecy, which was often as unforgivable as his dependency on lying, this comment may or may not be self-explanatory to Liz. Regardless Senior would get the implication.

'I am actually taking the time off to study.' I say, calmly. Knowing that I hadn't yet missed a shift. I wouldn't be missing a shift until tomorrow.

Maddison would start grinding on my heels.

Then he would have two options. He would either baby me, keep me hidden from sight and leave me to study in the dingy hidden rooms of the private wards. Or he would send me into the fire, using such lucrative explanations like 'Gosh, what a violent sport Football is' as if to explain my injuries.

'Oh Sweetie, please don't over work yourself.' She pleads, thoughtfully. 'You're eating, yes?'

I look to the bowl of Alice's food. I had managed a few bites but the act of chewing was hurting my jaw.

'Mm,' I say.

'All of you?' She asks, voice quieting a little.

I knew what that meant. That meant Senior had, in fact, not been entirely explicit. It meant he used such vicious euphemisms such as 'Esme's not well.' Or 'it's just difficult for all at the moment.'

'She's fine.' I repeat, again aiming my words at Senior. Edward looks across to me, flinching a little and masticating more thoughtfully.

'Well, that's all that matters.' She murmurs, hopefully. 'So we will see you towards the end of the week, yes? We will all go out for dinner before we return home.'

'I'll need to check my shifts,' I murmur apologetically. 'But in our absence, Edward will surely be there.' I promise, seeing the roll of the eyes even from the back of his head.

'Yes, well, his presence is required. I have to schedule everything now if I want to see him.'

'Mm.'

'And you.' She adds, teasingly. 'You're both so busy. No time for us elderly lot anymore.'

'You know that's not the case.' I promise again, paying less attention that I would admit was fair. 'Your presence is always a welcome blessing.'

'You can't pull the wool over my eyes,' she laughs, still keeping it soft, likewise half-hearted. She stops too short for it to be her natural giggle. 'It's all friends and girlfriends and careers now.'

I hear her husband now gently reprimand the suggestion and feel my eyebrows screw up in frustration. I wish I could say otherwise, that I could make her feel less isolated but my own ability to comfort was a skill rapidly declining.

'Ignore me,' she begs of my silence, the threat of emotion wavering her melodic tone. 'I'm just being silly.'

'Not at all.'

'Well, I'll speak to you in the week okay? For dinner?'

'Sounds good.' I concede, trying to cut the call already… She ends up saying goodbye for about ten minutes, still reluctant to hang up the phone and fighting any excuse to keep Edward on the line for as long as possible despite his monotone responses.

When she does finally get off the line, Edward responds to my raised eyebrow with a similarly defensive; 'What?'

'You know what…' I mutter turning the phone off and half deliberately leaving it off the connector. If he was right, and we were in for another hounding by journalists, then it wouldn't be stupid to believe all their messages would come at night when people were less able to shut the damn thing off.

I look back to Edward, his face already impatient as he visibly swallows.

'If you're going to say-'

'I am going to say it,' I warn him. 'I'm telling you now that you need to try harder with them. I get that you are busy-'

The roll of his eyes winds me up just as much as him dismissing the phone call.

'Oh hush up, Carlisle. You're only saying that because they've suddenly started to mollycoddle you. Come back when you've got twenty years in the business-'

'They are clearly crying out for-'

'Funny,' he says through a mouthful of dinner. 'Didn't have you pinned as the hypocritical type…'

'Fine.' I agree, shortly. 'But perhaps it'll be nice for you to remember that of this household, you are the last one who has two genuinely loving parents-'

'If you're looking for an excuse to yell at me, just yell at me. But all the while you're complaining about Dad locking you up, you have no grounds on which to base your-.'

'Fine!' I repeat, just as bitterly. I've arisen from my spot at the dining table now and citing the clock and comparing it with the weak hold of my hand I decide I'm going to fuck off to bed and I am going to do it imminently.

I didn't really know why I bothered. But every time Liz said something along those lines… It bought buckets of ice cold shame to my shoulders. She only had to hint at loneliness and I felt incredibly awful.

Particularly since Edward was living with me.

He didn't get it. He wouldn't get it and God forbid, something did happen, he would spend every day regretting it.

'Just phone them once in a while!' I complain, already on the bottom step.

I don't hear him mutter 'hypocrite' again until I'm in my room.

It's not late, not as late as it should be for me to resign myself to sleep, early evening perhaps but taking some of the heavier pills in the cabinet, I try to quiet the migraine, flick off as many lights as I can and lay, silently on my bed, listening to lecture notes through tortured ear phones.

I know I must have drifted off, finally, because one moment I am half thinking about surgery, Alistair sneering down my neck, Maddison giving me dual instructions, forbidding me to go, urging me to leave, Doctor Newton demanding conferences, interviews and suddenly, screaming.

The screaming makes me jump so violently that I am moving before I am fully awake.

Noise. There was noise. An alarm was pulsing between the prints on my fingers, flooding from the back of my neck.

Judging the source without consideration, I run into Esme's room to locate the issue. Her timid body is thrashing about in her sleep. Desperate, she tries to smother herself with a duvet over her scarlet face, the pierce of her octaves vibrating through my muscles pulling me towards her like puppet strings.

'Es, wake up.' I call firmly, untying the sheets from her woven grip and shrouding her motionless. She continues to half-bawl, half-choke, weeping silently. My thoughtless hands touch upon her jaw, thumb upon a flushed, wet cheek, water cascading over the scraped knuckle. 'Honey, you're okay. Shh now. You're okay, you're okay…'

For a moment, her hold slips to my forearms, bruising the veins with a painter's steady clutch. Her cheek twists inwards; her fraught gasps warm on my palm.

'Esme?!' I ask, trying once more to wake her. 'Breathe, my Love. You're okay.'

Suddenly, she clamps her mouth shut, snapping her body awake with fractured movements. I take the opportunity to soften my voice to something more familiar, wary of my impertinent grip. My hands had now moved to her shoulders, enclosing them carefully to subdue the shake.

'Breathe.' I remind her, elongating the sound to breathe with it, my own breast painfully expanding in show. She does so, coughing her lungs free from sound, her chest rapidly beating beneath the same pullover I had put her in the other night.

Esme was looking through me now.

Her tired, watery eyes were wide in colour as she took in the extent of my features with caged assessment. The look clearly concerned her and frightened, from the mess of my lip, my wounds… my swollen, purple eye, she lightly pushes my hold away from her.

Of course, I hadn't quite realised just how expansively I had enclosed her and on the move away, I am reminded once more of the numbing ache of the loss. It was like rediscovering the ability to sleep only to forsake it quickly after for a life of insomnia.

Her own breaths still tumble chaotically from her lower lip and pulling her fists to her chest, I try to assess if she's feeling… ill or just… exhausted.

I try and breathe with her, unprepared as if to worry about the patronisation of it all. My own demonstrated breaths were as much benefit to her as they were to me. It was a forced reminder to take in the oxygen. To use it.

Was it wrong to feel elated at the relief that she was awake, capable of being awake even? She could actually, actively consider her surroundings; woodland pupils dilating in focus, in anger.

She stays slumped as if in sleep, weightless, swaying against the tiresome ability of screaming. With the silence back in the room, it was almost impossible to imagine there had been screaming.

'Guys?!' Edward calls, running clumsily into the room now that the area was… calmer. 'What's going on?!'

His voice is thick with sleep as he clutches the door behind me, his panic evident from his heavy footsteps.

My eyes, or eye, are quiescent on her face and watching a tear flee from her lower lashes, streaming delicately to the apple of her cheek, I can't forbid myself the excuse to wipe it away. She recoils, hard, and penitent with my own excessive over-familiarisation, I pull back further.

'It's fine.' I lie to him, terribly.

She turns her face from me, looking to the bedside at the glass of water despite her own clouding her view.

The figure behind me doesn't waver, his shadow disfigured. I know he is going to kick off when I repeat my new favoured instruction.

'It's fine.' I say again, twisting the sound to express how I was inexcusably I was yielding at his ego-centric temper. 'Why don't you go back to bed?'

When I look over my shoulder to him, the snarled fury is evident from just the shape of his mouth and before he can think to contain himself, the attack slips out, disguised as a need for understanding.

'Go back to bed?!' he repeats, astounded. 'She was screaming, Carlisle!'

This time, I do not venture to control the emotion as reflected on my features and considering we were on a tepid, capriciously rocky ground, I appreciate his heed to my suggestions even if I hate the stench of his attitude as he does it.

I have to wait until I am calm to return my focus to where it was needed.

'Are you okay?' I whisper, hoarsely. Embarrassed by Edward's outburst but fearful of the scene as it appeared to her, I try to seem neutral. I try to remember she didn't want me there and that even if she felt otherwise, my outbursts, particularly at the semi-innocent, would only come to hurt her more.

Forever on my knees, her wishes were easier to obey than I would like.

She nods, sluggishly, eyelids falling to her stomach, spine curved over with her long hair falling in very slight waves down her damp neck. From bandaged head to socks, she stayed in the same attire, quite likely overheating for three days. Not changing dressings, not drinking, simply had not awoken from the confines of the blankets. From what I could theorise.

And yet in spite of the stuffy heat of the room, she seemed chilled at the sudden exposure.

Without thinking, I grasp the edge of the covers and pull them towards her. She slinks beneath, tucks herself in, pulls her knees up to her chest and lets her eyes slip closed without so much as a thought.

She needed to sleep. And yet I mourned for the alertness in a response.

All time with her was fleeting and I could feel my desperation to cling to those closing hands.

'Do you need anything?' I ask, almost envisioning the ways she might say 'yes'. She would say yes and give a half sarcastic answer. She would ask for alcohol, for money, for cigarettes, for something I probably couldn't give…

So when she shakes her head, her hair dark in the colourless room, I notice my skin grow colder. She needed rest. She clearly wasn't resting and she needed rest. So I nod and slip out through the door.

Edward is at his bedroom door, arms folded at his chest as he glares at me from the hallway light. Now was not the time and yet regardless, he shakes his head of hair, his teeth bared and the sarcasm turning my blood cold.

'You should've told her.' He mocks, fiercely and before he gets chance to slam his door, I carefully pull Esme's closed.

The bang of the wood being thrown closed is loud enough to have my face tensing and as predictable, I resign myself to sit in silence at the door.

It is with foolish delusion that I try to goad myself back into sleep.

I had spent many days waning on a thin wire between consciousness, breathing, breaking and bending rules to suit my own priorities. I could aught but deny I knew better. Hanging by sore limbs, I encouraged myself awake and not bearing the silence once more, trudged my way to the living room.

It had been several exhausting hours of which I had only flirted with shutting off. The chance would have been a fine thing to return to and yet, I torment myself further and sit at the table to bore notes into my skull.

She had recognised me in part. The drugs had worn off.

Esme had looked me hard in the face, not noticed me as she assessed my attention-seeking eye. She had made sound, made movement, emotion had worn her face as familiarly as she wore it…

I couldn't think of it much more and decide to busy myself with rewriting until my knuckles ached and my chest wheezes on every inhale.

When Edward awakes that late Morning he likewise is angry. Incredibly, obscurely angry and refuses to acknowledge me in the first two hours. He attends his lessons in silence, returns in silence and keeps a stormy cloud over his general outlook.

By the afternoon, when I have likewise begun to resemble his sulking, we reach a conflict.

'This came for you,' he announces, enticingly. It was less like a tease and more like a dare.

How he resembled his father when displeased.

I myself had just come from the shower and try to pat my hair dry more with my collar than a towel. Admittedly I had been longer than expected for two reasons. First, as always, my focus was on the silent room. She had not fidgeted since last night. She hadn't said a murmur and this time, when I made her food, I could feel the locked shutters of her room.

I didn't disobey her wishes this time.

The second reason was more my own distraction. I had read too long, studied too hard and by the time I caught my reflection in the fog on the bathroom mirror, I flinched so hard it almost woke me up.

Welts of bruises stained my inner chest, fierce against the lighter bruising of my stomach. Similar scabbed slits decorated the surrounding areas, my cheeks were drawn, stubble was growing thick and my face, honestly… disturbing.

I knew I had dark eyes but the purple casing beneath them made them look harrowed. My wrists likewise were encased in the remains of the handcuffs and the only redeeming factor, the only good thing I had once felt about my body… was fading with time.

Absently I had put fingertips to the hollow of my collar bone and an inch above it, followed the heated vein in hopes of locating the marks once left by hurried lips.

They were gone.

We… were gone.

Nevertheless, as Edward thrusts a crumbled, open letter my way, I am aware that our mood with each other was soon about to evolve into another argument.

I barely had the patience to overcome the initial one… So I take the letter from him, slowly and already predicting the words, allow myself to read.

As predicted, my visa was being revoked unless I could provide evidence of my birth in seven working days.

Folding the paper back to a close, listening to the crack by my clumsy hands, I notice his hard eyes have yet to resist.

'So that's it then.' He hisses, unusually aware of his volume.

'Yes.' I agree and stretching my white sleeves over my arms I hide my expression beneath my hands for a second or two.

'So, so you're just going to-' he stops himself, stands straighter and pinches his nose in a way that would make me surely scream if I tried it.

I might have struggled to see yesterday but it was no such comparison to the sting of using half of your face so cautiously, you daren't breathe from it.

'Yes.' I agree, similarly rude with the speed in which that comes whistling from my tongue.

It is clear that he was not expecting me to be angry. I don't think I was either and then I remember Esme screaming. I think of her long hair straggled against a wet cheek, a bitten lip. I think of her gasping for breath in the middle of the night as another billionaire sits comfortably in a hospital suite possibly on some resort down south. Blue lighted my ass, if he was blue lighted, he would've been just as hounded by Press at the hospital as I was now.

The glow of the lounge plays upon Edward's band T-shirt. He has both hands in his pockets, his mouth pouting, his hair forever untidy.

'What does this mean?!' He demands, trying to twist me into another explanation.

The official state letter gave me seven days to provide evidence enabling me to stay. If I wanted to beat my father in fleeing to Europe, I would have to go in the next three days. Masen would potentially try and entice me elsewhere but at least if I was somewhere familiar…

I had once fled from the place with such ferocity, such fear… but if I stood against Senior's moral duty… if I braved the duty to look into those reports… what would I find? At the very least, I now knew I didn't want an inch of their money.

It crawled uncomfortably in my veins, laid in the foundations of the house, passed into Alice's innocent hands…

I would be changing the attitude to my finances almost imminently.

God, their fucking money.

Unknowingly, my feet start to come towards the Kid, shoes aligning heel to toe along the carpet.

'Carlisle?'

'What do you think it means?!' I snap, perhaps regretfully.

I'd have to go soon, I wouldn't pack this time. Just the bare essentials and once I got things sorted in Italy, once I'd bargained for their anonymity… maybe… maybe I could escape again.

I had promised Edward I would try.

As I nearer his desperation, my heels turn sharply and I walk to the banister this time. I do this again, and again and again, walking in a continuous circle as I try to iron out the details.

She had only just… Esme… she … needed me. She needed me here? I needed to be here.

Edward has apparently tried to engage me in conversation again as I distantly hear him curse my name and then follow this up with a breathless; 'Pacing isn't doing anything!'

'It's something.' I pathetically complain and this time, rather than pace as he so severely hates, I walk myself to the window and seething, the heat radiating from my shoulders, I stand and watch the threat of the world.

I feel his eyes go above him. I know he's thinking on her just from the way he softens his breathing, tweaks his tone. It makes my lip curl.

'You don't think I feel guilty, too?' He asks, imitating that said guilt as he lowers his voice a little.

The breeze has started up a little, coming through the spring trees like ribbons on branches. Even that can't untighten my jaw.

'Just shut-up, Edward…'

'I'm worried as well, Carlisle-' he insists, bristling. I didn't really care if he was worried. Or rather I could empathise with some aspect of his guilt but I was infuriated to think he was wasting his energy worrying about me. Less so when he pointed it at her.

And then I remember he had been home at the time. He had spoken to her, talked to her, urged her for all I knew. Convinced her perhaps. He knew she had gone to the coffee house…

'If you were so worried, you would never have-'

'That's not fair!' he defends, catching me full on. He looks very young again, very unsure. I had almost thought we were done with yelling at each other but the crack in his voice suggests otherwise. 'We did it for you! She was trying to sort this shitty-'

And while I didn't want to argue with him… it's so easy for Edward to neglect taking care with what he said…

'And look where we are now!' I interrupt, throwing my hand towards him. 'I am lying through my teeth telling everyone she is fine, I am accepting your bullshit excuses when I know she isn't fine and it's my fault-'

'Dude.'

'Don't!' I warn him, already hating how he trivialised it.

In his manner, he had sensed we're about to fall off one cliff and was trying to haul himself away from the other. His lower lip is pouting again, his hands twisting. He watches me silently for a second or more and then finally following my rather sinister train of thought, evolves his square jaw into something more shocked.

'You can't just act on assumptions!' He shrieks, reading my mind as though it were signposted. 'We don't know what happened-'

I feel like shattering glass when I scoff.

'We know that if I hadn't had been so careless, she wouldn't be-' My words are cut off by my own breathlessness. I have over-exerted my chest and gasping a little, I pinch the headache in my forehead with great regret.

Sombre, he shakes his head. 'That's bullshit, Carlisle…'

As interruption, the home phone lights up, seconds from ringing once more, just like it's been doing all day and before I get a chance to hurtle something towards it, Edward, rightly, throws it against a sideboard. I watch as the plastic crumbles, batteries spilling out of it peacefully and wonder if it's worth permanently abandoning the tool.

'Is it?' I ask, bringing my attention back to him. His shoulders are moving in heavy, regular beats, hands pinching. 'She hasn't left her room in three days and the only sound she does make is a scream. What are we meant to think?!'

I couldn't tell him the truth of the matter. I couldn't tell him I had reason to know better. His face contorts again, green eyes impaling my haggard expression. It wasn't like I was looking at my equal. My expression is too fallen…

'You need to talk to her,' he pleads, brokenly.

'And risk causing her more injury?' I demand, noticing his flinch. 'She doesn't want to see me Edward. She couldn't even look at me…'

Unconsciously, my hands go back to my hair, pulling the fallen strands back so that it is tucked from my sight. I tear my eyes away from the window to the Kid and then back to window, not knowing where to look. My hands are still in my hair when I feel my voice croak.

'It is my entire fucking fault…'

'You need to make her listen.' He pleads again, waving the letter in his hand.

'I'm not making her do anything.' I growl.

Why? Why was every conversation regarding Esme just males sheepherding her into decisions that she had no control of? I didn't know if I felt nauseous, furious or both. In the long run, it would only hurt her more, as I advise to the youngest in the house.

Regardless, he is flapping the letter around again.

'And how is it going to go down when she decides she's ready to talk and you are gone?' he asks, crossing his arms tightly against his chest, still gripping that letter. 'Did you think about that?'

'I won't risk hurting her.'

'She's already hurt.' He bemoans. 'Walking on eggshells isn't helping. You need to tell her before something bad happens!'

He really is horrifically delusional.

'She is fucking catatonic! She doesn't want anything to do with me, and I don't blame her. I just, I need to leave before I ruin-'

I really am spiralling. I start to take in the lounge, my eyes catching on decorations, textbooks I owned, plant pots and ornaments that Esme had requested. My mind goes to my briefcase, to my laptop, to my work badge. What would I need to escape without leading anyone here?

The Kid makes no effort to shield his groans.

'You really are fucking stupid!' He yells, gesticulating more about the space surrounding him. 'If you go, there is no guarantee you'll come back. How is she meant to cope with that?!'

It was just words. Just words. He wasn't considering what would actually happen… what could happen. He was just a kid.

'It's clearly better-' I try to persuade him. He instantly starts to whine again, throwing a fist at his head to insinuate I was irritating him.

'She… she can't lose you, Carlisle.'

I can't help but refute his screams with distracted, disorientated answers. 'She doesn't want me. Especially now-'

'Stop being so stupidly self-centred!' Edward groans. 'For fuck sake, have you considered that it's nothing to do with you-'

'It's everything to do with me!' I insist. I was the clockmaker in this scenario. I had set up the world around them to hang so delicately in the balance.

'You know she,' he hesitates '…deals with things… in this way...'

'What things, though, Edward?' I have lowered my voice again now, covering both my eyes and letting the hand fall to my mouth when I sink clumsily to the wall. He's watching me miserably when I speak again. 'What have I done to her?'

'It's not our fault…' He tries to soothe but it brings the elastic bands tight against my neck.

'You know perfectly well it is my fault!' I repeat once again, bearing teeth.

With a growl he rolls his eyes and then notices with concern, that I haven't looked up. My lower spine rests at the sideboard of the wall below the window, curtains pulled open with blinds tilted.

He looks miserably for another few moments, hands twisting again.

'You need to be supporting her...'

'Supporting her through what?' I repeat. 'I have no idea who to look at. I have no idea if it was someone involved in this shitty ordeal, if it was a stranger...I have nothing to go by. Except if I leave this house-'

I had an idea that King was almost certainly responsible… but as Edward intuitively pointed out yesterday… whether or not that was 100% responsibility… or if it could've been shared with anyone else… My father for example. He was with King a few evenings ago. Had he come up with something?

Then King similarly pointed out that…

That…

I grind my teeth together. King insisted he could've enlisted people to do anything…

My chest wheezes again, the breath escaping as I try to calm the thinking to silence. I was getting closer, gasping almost when I remembered I was stuck in this structural jail. I had two choices. Leave to Italy and hope to rectify things to a certain extent. Or rot to death in these horrific walls.

'Why are you blaming me?' Edward asks quietly and seeing my eyebrow raise, he twists his hands together again. 'Oh that's not fair, I had to call him.'

I snort, regretting how forgivable it sounded. 'You know darn well you didn't!'

'For fuck sake Carlisle, if it wasn't him, it would've been worse and you wouldn't even be under house arrest. You'd be right out the country-'

It explained the very reason why as much as I loved Edward, I couldn't trust his thoughtlessness in a second.

'Which is exactly where I'm going to end up, anyway. You had no right to get Charlie Swan involved!'

'Jesus Christ, can you not see it yet?!' Edward demands. 'You were seconds from having your license revoked. The man is in hospital and we don't even know if he had anything to do with-'

I feel a sick twisted giggle escape my lips as I hit the gates of madness.

'How can you say that?!' I seethe. Every two seconds he was contradicting himself and I was contradicting myself and everything Alice might have believed about the relationship between Esme and I being a mess… meant absolutely trite compared to this conversation.

'Why would it involve him? Really?'

I didn't even have the energy to convince him, or worse, convict him. He was safer being on the cusp of not-knowing. And yet… the bastard had sixth sense for lies.

'He started this whole shit. If it wasn't for him, she wouldn't be-'

'You can't know that!' Edward growls.

'No!' I agree, now shouting likewise. 'I can't. But you can.'

'You need to talk her-'

'Grow up.' I sneer and twisting from him, I face the window again and wait for him to leave the room.

Failing to think as ever, he flips me off behind my back, completely ignorant to the power of reflection and pounds his way up the stairs. I wait again for the door to slam until I approach the table when he has thrown the letter.

I look at it a little more, try to read any hidden lines in the Legal Latin and failing to appreciate much, abandon the attempt for the search of food. It doesn't go well. I sit alone in the kitchen and eat in silence before losing my temper and washing the plate away with half my sins.

In no less than an hour, I rap my closed fist upon Edward's door. I do so gently, so as not to awaken anyone though the sound of the angry music through the speakers on his inner walls is enough to suggest I should back off.

'Kid?' I murmur, regretfully.

'Oh fuck off back to Italy!' Comes the muffled call.

I rub my forehead again and leave him to calm, judging the suggestion of my room with more distaste than encouragement. Hesitating, I try to find some of the remaining sleeping tablets from the bathroom cabinet and rinsing them back with a handful of water, I settle myself to lay on my bed.

My sleeves still hang close by my wrists and with noise in my head and my eye on the ceiling above I do my best to wait for the cycle of sleep.

My well laid plans gang aft awry...

I count for an obsessive amount of time, read things back from memory, try to stretch my linguistic memory around the Latin languages once more but with every passing second, my hands uncontrollably cling to the memory of her face within my palm.

Twenty minutes have passed and I am not asleep.

Distracted thoughts on her gaze once more, I have to cough a few breaths free from obstructed lungs, using the noise to tear my attention back again. It's like catching ice in hot hands, every time I try to hold bitter memories to mind, they would slip and I would focus instead on mourning presence in the lonesome, silent room.

Not a speck of it was out of place.

My textbooks lay on the desk, my cross and chain on the top, untouched in days, movie tickets, receipts, change from my wallet spread. The drawers across were fully closed, paper still hidden away, bedside cabinets still contained notes and suggestive diagrams, questionable films…

It brought sweat to my neck. I was meant to be sleeping. I needed to sleep.

So I try again.

Losing my patience now, I turn towards the shared wall, a bent elbow under my cheek, hair still slipping into my sensitive eyes and wait for the noise to come. It is more silent now than I ever remember it being in my three years here. No sound stirs and no scream comes.

It takes me thirty-seven minutes to give in, and forever distrusting any medicine in and around my bloodstream, with a grunt of fury, I come downstairs once more, place myself at the desk and read.

Looking at the State provided letter, opening up the paper till the official logo on the top left shimmered under the lamp light, I calculate the loss of the day. How foolish I had been to spend it wasting breath on unchangeable factors.

Rather than continue my notes, I instead open a new document and start drafting my first letter of resignation. It comes out horrifically. The words jumble on the page regretfully, ungratefully and furious at the disorganisation, I close it without saving.

For a moment, I consider going back to look at the documents Charlie had given me but finding them to just be lists of various counsellors, I use my distraction to follow basic leads into the search engine. Trauma comes up most popularly in novels then self-help books followed by psychological, medical and psychoanalytical theory.

Considering optimism to be its blatant cause, I order several of the books and spend a stupid amount of hours reading the blurbs, consulting my own textbooks before eventually feeling my weight fall heavy. Uniting the two, I find I am looking at the dangers of trauma victims and responses to surgical intervention versus non-invasive treatment when my hands start to unfurl and unable to save the headache, I fall onto my notes.

Despite my ears sensitivity to the movements around my distracted hearing, it's not until a breeze falls upon my cheek that I can plough my eyelids open. On account of the medicine, I remain disorientated as I pull my static head from my hands. I had drooled slightly which in itself was odd considering the desert of my mouth. Squinting around the room and pulling my sleeve across my lip, I wait for the throbbing behind my eyes to subside.

The chair to my right had been dragged out from the table, but with my eyes on my shoes, I note how easily it could've been moved by my clumsily feet.

'Edward?' I murmur, out loud. I stretch now, yawning and complaining when the movements have my ligaments groaning. Confused, I check my watch and noticing the late hour, and horrific cotton throat, attempt to hydrate a fat tongue.

My nose twitches a little unusually and spotting the cups of tea in the kitchen, I frown and investigate the matter further. There were several slices of bread in and around the toaster, too…

If the Kid was now choosing to sneak Bella in, it was both pathetic and needless. Sure, I didn't want them necessarily … animated while the household was in pain… but I was far from forbidding it.

Even if I had requested they stay in separate rooms. I could hardly enforce the suggestion.

'Kid?' I ask again, louder, waiting for him to come round the corner with a blushing, doe eyed Bella in tow. As of yet, silence. Frowning slightly, I place the back of my fingers to the outside of the two cups. Perhaps a degree or two under hot. Drinkable temperature, not freshly brewed. I move my hand to the other and find it colder.

Unusual. Edward wasn't a huge tea fan but I couldn't ignore his desperation to create a good impression. If his beloved really was in bed with him… well, making tea wouldn't have been wildly beyond his capabilities. Though I hadn't heard the either of them from the lounge.

Unless he'd taken to sleepwalking which wasn't really his thing so much as… Esme's.

With a breeze slipping to the back of my neck, I jump a little and whip my head round to follow it. The front door was ajar by a millimetre or two. Thinking back, I was pretty convinced I had locked it… but then I'd been so tired…

My eyebrows hang low on my face as, I follow my footsteps to the wood and holding the handle with delayed fingertips, stare at the silent evening.

The street lamp was burning orange into the dark morning. Nothing was moving forsake a breeze or two, the distant sound of music in a far off bar…

My eyes slip upstairs to where I am half convinced I hear movement. Feet engaged before I have thoughts arranged, I jump up the stairs hurriedly and unsure, lay a few taps against Edward's door. My heart has started to pulse now, beating in tune to the fluid rapidly filling my lungs. I knock again and when I hear his grumble silencing my hand, the understanding shatters through me completely.

I check the bathroom first, incase I am being stupid and noticing the shower had been used but a toothbrush missing, I feel myself start to sweat. When I knock on her bedroom door, the echo hits deep in my vertebrae.

'Es?' I ask, hopefully. Disillusioned.

Silence.

I knock again and ignore the shake of my fingertips.

'Esme?'

I can't control my hand anymore and pushing the front open, the scene haunts me.

The room was without a participant. The bed where she had spent the last four evenings was empty, covers torn and twisted to the floor. The bedside table lamp had fallen to the side, glasses and pencils knocked away, her phone missing…

Clothes were strewn across the floor, too, I noticed spinning my torso.

I turn around again, hoping to be wrong, desperate to be asleep. Now up at a better vantage point, I lean to catch a glimpse from her window. I see the streetlight again but rather than reflect of the dulling silver of a '94 Fiesta, the spotlight hits the floor beneath it, spread like a magnifying glass burning light into the floor below.

Her car was gone.

The conclusion couldn't be avoided. The room was empty. Her car was gone. Her phone was gone. Her toothbrush was gone.

She was gone.

'Carlisle?' Alice complains, still struggling to speak through a mix of heavy breathing. I can hear Jasper beside her, asking for answers that she herself did not have.

'Is she with you?' I ask, unable to mould my desperation into demand. The sound is soulless through the telephone line. I had now slipped against the railing of her bed, spine curved, hand in my hair. She can hear me snivelling no matter how desperately I try to hide it.

'Huh?' She asks, confused.

'You don't have to…' I put my hands to my lips, nudging the snot away with a sleeve. 'Is she safe?'

'Hon, she's not… I'm sorry, Esme is not here.'

'Okay.' I murmur, now even more desolate than I was five minutes ago.

'Why? You don't think-?' She asks, now starting to awaken to the worry. 'Have you spoken to Rose?'

'I'm sorry for waking you, Alice.'

I had phoned Rose. Rose had told me I was being ridiculous. Rose had told me I was being excessive, over controlling, stupid. Rose had told me to calm down. And then she had begged for reassurances. She had asked if she was okay. She had begun to panic and eventually, had hung up half screaming at me.

Emmett had sent rather a fruitful text following that.

She's a grown Lady, Budd. She's probably nipped out for some peace. But I'd appreciate it if you didn't use the opportunity to wind up Rose. She's worried enough as is without needing to shoulder this as well…

Still, with Alice's restrained murmurs on the phone, I was more sold on the fact than optimism could refute. If you were popping off for a bit of space, you wouldn't take a toothbrush.

'I can come round?'

'No,' I say quietly. 'No go back to bed… I shouldn't have woken you, I'm sorry.'

'Hey,' she whispers. 'No apologies. I can stay on the phone with you? If you just need someone to talk to? Or if you don't?'

'Thank you, Sweet…' I say. She was more than aware this was the closest I could get to another No. She sighs, regretfully, and tells me to go to bed and rest. I nod despite the fact she can't see it.

'Goodnight, Carlisle…'

'Goodnight.' And I close the mobile, watching my hands once I do so.

I could phone the rest of them.

I could phone everyone in the address book to my mind and interrogate them tenfold. Course, I wouldn't do so. She had gone because she wanted to. If I tried… or worse, if I phoned the town for her, it would become the single most depressing and manipulative thing…

She had left because she wanted to. Which meant she might be safer…

Like the image of a fallen, stupid fool, I stay sat with my knees up, head bent to my clasped hands leaning into the floor with words escaping my lip. The Latin came easily to me now, several receipts of safe travels, promises of trust and faith, pleading for forgiveness for the things that I had done, all uttered lowly under my breath.

'Carlisle?' Edward calls, half asleep. He pushes Esme's door open and sees me huddled like the allegory of regret into the floor. His bottom lip falls downwards and matching my misery with an understanding look, he comes close to my knee, crouched to the floor.

'She's gone.' I mouth, nodding slightly. I feel him slip a hard hand onto my shoulder. 'She's really gone.'

My expression is a mess when I look up to him, my mouth is full of string taffy, the sounds and the noises and the aching breath refusing to come through it. Through bleary sight, I see him shake his head.

'No.' He promises. 'No, she's with Mom and Dad.'

When I meet his expression again, he doesn't look relieved. He looks panicked, he is correcting my theories but from just his tone, I knew the corrections were not necessarily a good place to be.

'We need to go now.' He says, nodding.

She's with mom and dad… why wasn't that music to my ears? Why wasn't I rejoicing? Why wasn't I relieved?

Stumbling at first I pull myself up and then dropping the thoughts to puncture further wounds, I gasp through an aching chest and watch him hurriedly leave to grab clothes and his phone. He's tugging on the hoodie, letting it ruffle his hair and watching me through the corner of his eye.

Since dragging myself upward and to the living room, I have sworn six times, rubbed my face three times and have been so confused, so overwhelmed with exhaustive sleepless over exertion, I have failed multiple times to either grab the right car keys, or at my worst, the right thoughts.

'Ready?' He asks, closing the message from his parents and letting me usher him from the door.

No, I was not. And yet in spite of that, I still speed my way to his parent's hotel apartment, disregarding any worry I might have to my house arrest and letting it fester, unnerved in a bottomless cavern.

Edward stays mostly quiet during the car ride, huddled close to my shoulder as I take the apartment steps in threes, dragging my brittle bag of bones to the familiar room. He looks at me rather dramatically as I raise a hand to the front door.

His mouth is turned down again with his piercing, tired eyes, heavy with unbroken silences cluttered upon my chest. With a cupped hand, I wipe the front of my shirt down, hand brutal against the inner screams of my chest and try to raise my hand again.

Senior opens it before I can let the knuckles make a sound and in an image of his son, eyes cast down to me, mouth parted, he invites the both of us in with a tense hand, beckoning us both in with a watch on the hallway surrounding. Though he doesn't mention the breaking of such rules, I feel his obsessive eyes falter on me the moment I come to light. He stares at me. His tiny breaths escaping from his held lungs as he looks emotionally to me.

He looks like he is very astonished to see me alive.

The apartment is quiet a first. The hum of electrics is warm, the smell of coffee and other refreshments lazing comfortably in the air. Simply walking in it reminds me of walking in a dream. My legs do not engage properly and perturbed over Senior's fascination on me, I try and note Edward's greetings.

The younger Masen is looking at a crumbled yellowing square in his father's hand. It is being held towards me though the grip of the white knuckles on the sheet has more tension than a wound coil. It looks fragile enough to rip if I even dared to part him with it.

From the angle he's holding it at, I can't read the words clearly. Luckily the light pierces the paper and from the other side, I can just about make out the backward calligraphy.

Certificate of Birth.

My arms go stiff.

Edward Senior is still gazing at me, lips parted, shock evident in his face as he beckons me closer. He holds the aged paper towards me, visibly hurt when I move from it.

'Look at it?' He asks, gaze faltering between the item in hand and the obvious discomfort on my face.

Beside me, his son has started to become emotional. Seeing the paper for himself, hearing Es's muffled tone several rooms over has caught hold of him, and potentially seeing them too. He is still desperately snivelling when his father shoots him a cold look.

The paper is raised towards me again.

'No.' I say, watching his physical reaction to such a statement.

Senior's face is clouded with frustration. He pushes the certificate towards me again, extending an arm and praying that I might take it from him.

'Please,' he begs.

Now his son can't keep the response contained, heavy tears slip down his face while he tries with desperation to wipe them away, looking between the two of us. I should've been more careful. Edward had been too quiet in the car, the anxiety building until he had no bravery left to give. He's reading the sheet from his father's hand and quite honestly, making himself worse.

I knew what that meant.

The so-called birth certificate had been a longterm myth in my history. When I had requested it several years ago, I was refused on the basis I didn't have one. When I asked for it a few years later, I was reminded it didn't exist.

That either meant the one in his hands was a counterfeit or someone, namely the very woman I would place my life's trust in, had taken matters into her own hands.

She had made the most horrific and questionable mistake.

And that meant my very blood had done this to her.

Not just King.

But my own soiled blood.

I, most undoubtedly, had done this to her. All for scrap paper.

Masen comes towards me again, stirring when I move from him. The document moves with his curled fingertips, lifting and falling like a melody.

Unusually comfortable with me, he continues to stare wondrously, ignorant of his youngest's need for help. Twisting my hand behind me, I try to gently calm the fractured sobbing. It works, momentarily. Until Senior speaks again.

'Can't you see what it is, Carlisle?'

The secret joy is evident in his dialect. He might be shocked, shaken, bowled over by the paper. But he was also in a strange turn, elated. I supposed he wouldn't have to worry about emigration papers for much longer… Still such a saving grace was unlikely to have him so… jubilant. I was perturbed, particularly considering our meeting yesterday.

'I won't look at it.' I say, stiffly, now walking past into the light of the kitchen.

I hear Elizabeth's dulcet murmurings for myself and felt myself move towards them. I needed to see them both. I wanted to hear her warm reassurances. I wanted to see Esme. I always wanted to see Esme.

Senior hesitates. 'I really think you should-'

'I said no.' I warn him, my fingers spread to stop him coming closer.

He rocks back on his heels, looking from where Edward had come to stand between the two of us, wrestling his grip and his breath while trying to find a common ground.

Senior is unrestrainedly hurt by my stubbornness.

'But Carlisle,' With a start, he glares at his youngest, frustrated at the continuous snivelling and sniffing. 'Edward! For Heaven's Sake, if you can't control yourself then get out-'

He can't mistake the anger in my face as the words leave his lip and throwing a hand to his forehead, he reluctantly continues. 'Carlisle, look. This is everything,' the sound catches in his throat, his frown deepening as he tries to tread carefully. 'This is you in its entirety.'

I can't help it, the snort edges before I think to control it. Once more, Senior looks inexplicably pained by the response. Edward likewise.

'Please?' he repeats, inching towards me again.

The ring on his hand glints in the light of the kitchen, the shine pulling on my face. My eyes flicker to the sideboard where I can only see empty cups and glasses, no plates. I doubt they have eaten; I doubt Masen has slept much either.

'Dad..' Edward whispers, spitting through a clogged mouth. Senior looks hard at me for a moment, his claw tightening until, with a gasp of relief, the clench of the paper loosens. He dabs at his forehead again, possibly murmuring complaints behind a tongue.

'Fine.' He decides, shortly. And then, with a softer, more concessionary tone, repeats himself again, looking apologetically at the Kid. 'Fine. I will send this off with the application and I'll phone in the morning just to see if I can hurry the process along…'

'Thank you,' I murmur, again not directing the comment towards him.

Edward is needing a moment and suspecting that he may be craving a conversation with his father, an albeit, tense one, I try to listen to the women's voices when I move away. They're coming somewhat distantly from the sitting room and hesitant not to interfere, I take a step or two towards the window.

For once, she has parked her car a little haphazardly on the drive, allowing for angles otherwise unknown to the mirrors of her vehicle. The colour is hard to see, looking more like a brown shade in the dark rather than the sporting silver. I hadn't even had chance to refill the tank for her…

To be entirely honest, I hadn't done a lot of things.

I don't think of the birth certificate while watching the cloudy sky murmur past. Feeling chilled more than relief that such a document did, after all these years, exist, I choose not to imagine how the trap unfolded. How she had followed the breadcrumbs into the oven of hell.

My teeth begin to gnaw at the scabbed skin on my lower lip and ignoring the apologies from Senior's mouth, and worse Edward's mediation, I let my eyes close and my chest expand in restricted inhales.

Suspecting that my house arrest was still, very much not over, I concede to the fact that I will have to make an appointment soon. I would book one out of state. Possibly far enough that I wouldn't have to watch more instances of my haggard face on screens across the town…

I had never been to therapy before… would I be expected to show identification...?

Now that such a copy existed, was I meant to show my birth certificate? Would it stay in my possession or would I continue using my forged one?

If I was truly to believe that it actually existed, that it wasn't another falsified piece of paper… well I would finally have the confirmation of my real birthday. The specific date and not just the month.

Similarly, I would know for sure what country I originated from. This meant nothing in reality but was nevertheless interesting to know…

'I-'

My head whips round to the delicate sound and I realise I am glaring at the lights outside the apartment blocks, coffee and perfume making my eyes sting.

'I want to go home.' Esme says, bringing her twisted foot to stand with the other as she looks between the three haggard shadows.

The breath momentarily slips, unmanaged from my mouth.

She was standing straight, pulling her posture upright with clasped hands. Her long, slightly damp, hair was twisted around her neck, unmatching shoes were on her feet, pyjama pants and a winter coat wrapped tight enough to hide the threat of a shudder. Even from all these steps away, the summer fruit smell of her shampoo was teasing the space beneath us. I was moving towards her without even registering but the robotic turn of her jaw placed chains against my ankles.

Meeting the harrowed exhaustion in her eyes, I step backwards.

Home she had said. I had no idea if she meant a flight or was possibly referring to me and Edward.

There are four sets of eyes waiting for me to translate, however. It was denying evolution to stand away.

Senior's voice comes sailing under my ear, turning my attention to him and away from the bruising on the pale neck of my former lover…

If I seemed angry, I was far from it. Lost. Utterly lost.

It was oh so easy to come to conclusions when I didn't have to face her. Then I'd see her, I'd hear her, I'd smell and I'd feel her from just a step away and I would quickly come to realise that I was hollow now.

'It is late,' Senior agrees, tilting his chin upwards. 'How about we call you three, tomorrow?'

'If you think that's necessary.' I retort, unrestrainedly defensive on the suggestion. It was another check-up.

I knew Es would be fighting the instinct to tell me off for this sour comment and turning accordingly, I flinch when I realise her expressively warm eyes are holding me.

'You'll call us if you need anything, right?' Liz murmurs and suddenly remembering she is in the room; I try to smile in her acknowledgment. She smiles sadly and metaphorically reaches out towards me, slippers whispering against the carpet. I nod, briefly distracted as Es passes on my right to lead the way home, murmuring thick thank yous through a relaxed mouth.

Just looking at her, I was starting to feel my own exhaustion reach.

'Look after her.' Liz whispers once we have left the room. She comes up to me now, taking my drawn face in her palms and placing a delicate kiss to my cheek. I nod beneath her cold hands.

Senior also tries to reach out to me as I leave, he nearly catches my wrist in passing but quickly pulls back when my jacket sleeve touches.

'Thank you for your help.' I say tightly and dropping the attitude momentarily, I wrench my eyes close and nod. 'I do appreciate what you are doing for me…'

'Please just look-'

He knows he's pushed it. Clamping his eyes closed, he pulls away from me and his wife, kisses his son and tears himself from the room, pulling his tie open as he leaves. The said youngest is paling close by me and even though he descends the stairs as if he's at my coat tails, I can feel him start to pull away a little.

While we're still away from the parking lot, I raise an eyebrow at him.

'I shouldn't come back with you…' he explains, quietly, head bent so as not to meet my eyes.

'What?' I ask, pausing on the fourth metal step and moving away from a low hanging branch. Edward gently grasps my arm, turning me to face him.

'I shouldn't come home…-'

'Don't be ridiculous.' I say, emptying my tone of anything that might be misconstrued as disinterest. 'It's your home too, you shouldn't ever feel like-'

The irony doesn't escape my notice and with a flattered look, he turns his jaw away.

'I more meant tonight.' He clarifies, softly. 'I suspect there's things you may wish to discuss…. Away from me.'

'Edward I-…' I groan a little and shake my hair out of my eyes.

'I know.' He says, uncomfortable, more so when I shake my head.

'You couldn't possibly know.' I refute, gently, unsure of this ground we were to be treading upon. We had argued incessantly for the last few days to think we were reaching a calm was obscurely re terrifying. The lamplight falls on the side of his face, illuminating the sore and swollen skin at his cheek. 'You're more intuitive than I give you credit for….'

'I know.'

'And,' His jewelled eyes look alight for a moment before returning to the look of worry he often wears in an outfit. 'And braver.'

He stiffens a little, shaking his head.

'No. No far from it. I can't bear to… I'm sorry but I can't.' He starts to stammer. 'The guilt, Carlisle. How do you stand it?!'

'I don't.' I tell him honestly.

'I know it's still Esme… but just seeing her… What… what…' he starts to shake and only pauses when I put a hand on his shoulder.

'Come home when you're ready.'

He nods, thanks me, and busies himself fixing his coat. He turns back for a moment. Looking at the apartment with an awkward look on his otherwise non-awkward expression. I turn back to where I imagine Liz is staring through the curtain. Thankfully, I can't see her.

'You know Dad…' he whispers, lightly. It makes my shoulders cave. Yes, I knew. I had been the very person who would say these words to him, softening the disgruntled blows into understandings of perspective.

I nod, flicking a wrist into my fringe.

'He's just worried…'

'He's doing his best.' I agree. 'More than, even… I respect him, Edward. More than most people I know…'

'He knows.'

I nod and uncomfortable again, I touch his shoulder before walking across the lot. I half expected him to jump in the car and drive to Bella's so when he retreats back up the stairs, I try not to make a comment over my surprise.

Spotting the car, more by hearing, I am surprised to find Es is still here. Her eyelashes are held closed, her autumn eyebrows scrunched together with her head tilted back against the headrest. It exposes her long throat, breathing slowly as if ready to sleep.

Now finally at the window, I gently knock on the glass, hoping not to alarm her. Despite it, her eyes widen in panic and lips falling agape, she gasps several times before winding the window down. The doors are still locked.

'I think Edward wants to…stay,' I murmur, bent low so that she can read my lips if she doesn't want to hear. I try to sound normal, I almost feel it. Those eyes are still holding me, engaging my own eyesight in a way that sets my heart racing. 'Would you mind if-?'

I nod to the unoccupied passenger seat, relieved when she unlocks the doors with a click of her bitten thumb.

The relief doesn't end there. Slipping into the seat, chest aching as I bend my torso accordingly, I note the inside of her car smells more like her shampoo than any sign of smoke. Like an addict, I inhale deeply, watching for a response. She's too warm judging by the colour on her cheeks and once the heaters are off, she places her finger to the space under her eyes. She's careful at first, sensing the raised colour with a gentle sweep, placing her palms on her skin before the movement evolves into a yawn.

My palms are cupping the air, desperate to reach over, to pull her into my locked arms, bury my face in the side of her neck and simply hold her.

'I can drive?' I offer, leaning a little closer. It was less my value for safety rather than my worry for seeing her so tired. She doesn't respond at first and so I worry if am coming across as patronising. I often think I sound as such. 'If you want?' I add, a little pathetically.

Es thinks this over at first.

Slowly, without moving almost, her foot starts to relax and chin agreeing, she exits out of her car door before I realise she's taking me up on the offer. She stands by the bumper at first, waiting for me to come past the tight gap. I do so quickly, refraining from pausing when her shoulder grazes my jacket. Once in the driver's position, I have to readjust the seat again but I try to do it quickly, without a fuss.

I give myself one last excuse to take in the expression on her face but finding it lax with sleep, I quickly get on with the journey. She is even more silent than Edward was and it's only as I park up that I realise why that is. With her knee tucked against her chest, head bent towards the inner seatbelt strap, the sounds of her sleeping comes naturally with the car engine cut off.

A few loose strands of her hair are torn over her face and though I wish to free them, I take a few seconds to see if she'll awake. She sniffles, quite a lot considering the warmth, she doesn't move on her own accord.

Coming round to her side of the car, I hesitate with the volume of my voice at first, not wishing to disturb the first peaceful rest she looks like she has had in several days.

'My love-' with a flinch, I catch myself again and correct it. 'Esme?'

She stirs a little, her eyebrows furrowing again. I can feel my cowardice start to ache.

'I, Er…' deep breaths, Cullen. 'I don't want to disrupt… I can carry you? But I need your permission…'

After Thursday evening I was pretty sure I would struggle to go anywhere near her unless I'd had her expressed permission before hand. Though I couldn't deny my yearnings otherwise; how my breath evaporated, my tongue swelled, palms shaking with uncertainty with my eyes hooked on watching her every move.

To simply be next to her had my nerves tingle in a way they only did in specific events of our time together. Movement felt like a unpromised gift.

The silence continues for several more seconds and wondering if she is wishing for me to leave, and more worried that the Morning breeze would be chilly on her hands, I try again to be firm.

'Esme?'

'Yes,' she snaps lifelessly and while her head is still nestled, her eyes still closed, I untie the seatbelt from her coat and carefully lift her towards me.

I hesitate for a second once holding her, mostly on account of confusion. Could it be possible she was lighter? Was she comfortable? Am I hurting her?

I try and loosen my arms, soften them almost when she rolls the remains of her weight towards me, her slick forehead resting on my throat and her hand delicately touching the gap of my ribs.

So I had achieved my wish; I was holding her and yet the fear left me mute. The pain such movements caused to an already fragile torso likewise couldn't be ignored and while I wanted to savour the memory, the way she unconsciously found comfort in me, I couldn't deny how angry it made me.

After all she had been through, all that I had done, she still found warmth in me.

It is with difficulty that I manage to put her to bed, struggling with my hands to undo the multiple door locks without much noise. She doesn't awake. She snoozes, somewhat loudly compared to her usual breaths, and stays huddled in a tight shape, warm in my wavering arms.

Once tucked in her bed, she shuffles a little, turning several times, possibly on account on the heat. I initially help take off the coat and untying her shoelaces, place them under the bed. She's turned her face inward, hiding beneath her hair while it tries to cling to the moisture on her forehead. I open the window a peak, wait until I can be sure the breeze reaches her and once she relaxes her hold on me, I pull a blanket over her.

She is calm momentarily and though afraid to leave her, having her home, having words come from her lips, having eyes follow me was enough to make me shrink away.

I leave the hallway light on, wait a few seconds by her doorway in case she starts to stir and resigning us both to exhaustion, head to bed. This time, I can barely conclude the prayer at my lips when sleeps takes me for her victim.

Review? Pretty please?