I have so much love faith and gratitude for all your commitment and dedication.

This one- it's a long one! And it's early.

Please do leave your thoughts! I Love and Adore you always! 3

Our road is quiet when I get home. It had never been noisy but lately it seems almost more silent than usual. The house is asleep as expected, doors locked up and when I enter, I'm surprised to find the room a little less neat than always. Comfortable almost.

I don't sleep right away.

Instead I submit the last of my corrections to a probate lawyer from New York. The cost of his advice is enough that I should be wincing in displeasure but it is an expense that I didn't want Masen to catch wind of.

It's embarrassing in that they have to hold a video conference to witness me sign the damn thing, but once it's done, and the papers parked in my desk drawer, I can move on. My surrender...

My ears prickle to the low breaths against my bedroom wall. Cautiously, I raise pointed finger to a hidden deformity in the plaster, judging the pale walls to my paler hand. I take a moment, lie my index finger flat to the cool surface, then spread my palm upon it. I intend to look at the crevices of skin, knuckles, trimmed nails but my tired gaze sees through the partition., counting the breaths as if using it to guide my own.

I take another selfish minute and with a resolute sigh, shuffle back to my desk and pen the opening lines:

Dear Aro…

For the first time in six weeks, I manage to catch more than four consecutive hours. It means I wake up disorientated with the sun streaming through the windows, pouring onto scrubs I have yet to change out of.

I don't know where King is. Masen has emailed me to tell me not to go looking for trouble. It doesn't stop me. I don't go looking but when it's busy enough, I channel hop through the television news channels to see if I catch anything.

No one has the latest.

And I wouldn't lower myself to ask my father.

I shower for longer than necessary, too. Fight with my hair, scrubs the suds into the back of my neck. miserably catch sight of myself and flinch, dare I face the restraints of my decision

Es comes down not long after that.

I know she hasn't been sleeping all day. I know because I could hear her padding around on cautious feet. I always imagined her painting when I could hear her wisp among the floorboards. Whenever I found myself struck with stress, it was safer to imagine her painting. Just like that streak of blue at her neck, I would consider the slow breaths as she led the paintbrush back in a long stroke and then propelled it forward again.

She doesn't do that when in my presence. Mostly she naps. Sometimes she reads but I never catch what and I don't ask either.

Edward spends a long time in bed too but by mid-afternoon, he pulls himself from his bedroom and makes his greetings. He's been playing at the piano a bit more, practicing for his new job. Not really when I am about so I suspect it is more for Esme's pleasure but now, he pulls out the cushioned seat, positions himself comfortably and let's his hands exercise the music.

Judging from the pieces, he is in a rather jittery mood again.

And then it's not long till he plays a piece I had long since forgotten. A piece Esme had come to know him from. A piece from one of his grade examinations.

He casts a playful green jewel over his shoulder, waiting for my reaction and when it doesn't come, asks;

'Remember this one?'

Esme looks up from her book too, a novel, and flittering her hair behind her ear to listen, lets her lip pull into a warm smile.

'Long time no hear,' she teases. Edward nods.

'I'd long since repressed this one.'

His hands flourish artistically over a particularly difficult key change though this time there is no hesitation to them. In honesty, I might have buried it. Not for its qualities but in that it was a fierce reminder to my ignorant days of naivety.

Now I was a self-aware mess and to put my ear to the sound only reinforced the depth of the losses I would never have thought to conceive.

'Are you hoping to play it tonight?'

She has spotted I'm looking at her because when her eyes clock knowingly to my side, I crumble and throw my gaze to my paperwork. Paperwork I didn't really know why I was bothering with. Habit I suppose.

Once I… Once I had washed up from shore, I would obviously need to travel quickly. If I could make it in time, I could make head to the southern borders, travel into Mexico…

The temptation to plan it was reeling from my skin but I knew a tight strategy would only restrict me. I'd need to go by instinct. I'd have to figure out where I could end up before I reached out to them.

That could be months…

I shake my head again, try to bring my attention round to their jostling sparring.

'-aiming to get fired.'

'I'm not,' he responds defiantly. 'If they happen to fire me however… that will be no fault of my own.'

'It will be if your bad temper does it.' She corrects, eyebrow raised. He snorts, resigns himself to agree.

He plays for an hour more before changing in his suit. He makes a point of twirling for her again, a move that I think has become common between them because with a roll of her eyes, she fixes the back of his collar.

'If you want this job to be your reference, you've really got to keep that cheek in check.' She warns him. He'd just been insulting their pretentious menu this time was moving on to the décor before she stopped him.

'Haven't told me off so far.'

'Haven't caught you so far,' I murmur. Fidgeting with the frames again. I feel Esme look at me once more. Her entire posture reading into me as if spinning me to focus. I drop my eyes back to my work again. Fight the desire to apologise in advance.

She is leaning as heavily as her flesh on my bare skin, as permanent…

Theoretically, of course.

Edward continues to play for her. Things she would remember, things she wouldn't. A few ballet tunes that have and would long be Esme's favourite for years to come. It's silent once he leaves and not for the better reasons.

Everything palpitates between us now, possibly made worse on me counting the few minutes of peace I had with her.

I still didn't know for sure when I would act… When it was dark, of course. Once my father had made good on his promise. Once King was out of sight. When I was sure everyone else would be safe.

Then and only then….

Speaking of I check my phone for Edward's confirmation text. He seems to be in a good mood this evening. He's sent a causal photo of his whereabouts instead.

Maybe we would at least part on good terms.

I spend most of my evening both under watch and committing it. Every time she shifts, my eyes go to her. If I clear my throat, her eyes come to me.

We sit. In battle almost.

Saying nothing.

Until, rather unexpectedly, Edward returns much earlier than he ought to.

I'd been deep into the text book with my thoughts centred on King when the door is thrown open with such force, Esme in her blankets and her book, jumps inward. Immediately my concerns are present.

'Can you imagine?' he shrieks, voice tainted to screeches, hair disarrayed and seething. He's positively babbling 'Can you imagine-?!'

He seems to be shrieking and yet… saying nothing.

I wait patiently for him to elaborate eager to not expose my shiftiness, every second growing colder. I can't read Esme's expression. Shocked perhaps but unthreatened. I take a reluctant breath in, prepare for the hurtling accusations while removing the glasses from my eyes.

Perhaps his father had not been as tight lipped as I would've wished.

'Spit it out, Edward?'

'Spit it out?!' he demands, fiercely. 'Spit it out, you say? Oh I'll spit it out for you!'

The Kid himself is rabid by this point, knotted in his suit, raging with a pointed finger. I accept his frustrations without restraint, waiting for the dismal furies to fly from his tongue.

Except he seems to be looking specifically at me and Esme… well Esme looks to be smiling… Perhaps a joke was being had between them…

'How about this?!' he suggests madly 'How about I spunk it out?!'

Spunk?

My features turn blank as I briefly translate the term. Funny, his expression almost made it look like he was talking about-… as if he was talking about…

I quickly look to Esme in concern. Her eyes clock upwards and with a careful, cautious hand, she slips the book from her hand and unfolds the cross of her leg. He was being rude. No not just rude. Callous. In front of her, too.

'I beg your pardon?' I ask, darkly.

Edward doesn't falter. He narrows his focus, his eyebrows pointed with an Edward-sized adolescent pout pausing the storm of words within him.

'Pardon?!' he asks incredulously. 'You think you deserve my pardon?!'

He is taking the term too literally, and not, as he should be, apologising.

'I wouldn't pardon you if you left me your millions.' Before I can open my lips in defence, he speedily continues. 'I wouldn't pardon you, Sir, if a pardon was a piss on your hat!'

He jumps as he says it, jaw straightened as words of panic tumble into spiked weapons. Faintly, I hear Esme exhale before I return my frown to the Kid suspiciously.

'Are you-?' I pause, try to slowly understand his point of reference. His rather colourful declarations. 'Are you mocking me?' I ask weakly.

His pink lip folds, his chest expanding as he flourishes a hand to me.

'Mocking you? Mocking you, am I mate?'

Mate?

Nevertheless, he continues.

'Oh Cheerio guv'nah. Am I mocking you, Sire?'

Inhaling, I cautiously wait for the performance to subside.

'Eyy, Seniora-' he quibs, holding up a hands an flickering it in punctuality to every syllable. Senoria? Is he talking to Es? 'Am I-a a-mocking you?'

On catching Esme's pressed giggles, he spins at speed, points to her ferociously.

'And don't you dare laugh, you!'

Thankfully, luckily, it makes her laugh harder. Thick rumblings delicately breaking into the scene.

'You-'

'Es-me,' She introduces, playfully, separate the line into two parts for him. My eyes flit between them, heavily on Masen, heavily on his exampling rage.

'You hussy.'

And suddenly, I am no longer cautious. I am outraged. I move quickly from my seating, on my feet likewise with hands outstretched.

'Edward How dare-'

'What are you on about, Masen?' She chuckles, shrugging in play.

I find my teeth clamping together. As ever, she was being too forgiving. She wasn't taking the comment as harshly as it had been said. I tighten the winding of my hand, breathe deeply.

'Did you know I got fired today?'

My patience slips even further. All this drama, all this rage for a job he'd been wishing to quit not even hours before?!

'It's not hard to guess…' she says, quietly, raising both eyebrows to him.

He moves towards the piano, paces around the armchair before crunching down on a seat. I flick my eyes to her again. She leans forward from her space, grants her attention in spite of his abuses.

'Well, thank you Mrs four-point-oh-GPA. Yes! I got fired today. I got fired.' He turns his expression hard. 'I got fired from the only job I was good at! The only job I could make a career out of!'

'A job you hated?' I find myself reminding him. Gentle giggles have started up again and though I should be relieved she is taking the tone so lightly; I am still irritated by his attack.

'I got fired. From the most- you hear me?!- most prestigious class act of a restaurant I have ever worked at!'

The sigh leaves my lips cautiously. Pride. His pride was wounded and realising my own energy had risen to meet his, I settle on the edge of my chair again and try my best to be sympathetic.

'Wanna know why?!'

And yet, Edward seemed to make all his dialogue sound so pointed. In fact, he is glaring between us rather pointedly too.

'Sure,' she says, nodding.

'What happened?' I ask and given the fidget of my hands, I fold them across my chest instead.

'I got fired because some dirty ass kids decided to have sexual re-la-tions on my coattails!' At the accusation, his voice rises to an almost Contralto level and I find he is glaring, not between us anymore, but solely at me.

Whatever his friends had partaken in, why he felt the need to hold me accountable was just another dime in a broken arcade machine.

'What?' We ask together but while her attempt is humoured, perhaps sceptical, mine comes out bemused.

He snorts ironically.

'Look, I'm really fucking proud you're being safe-'

Safe? Did he think-? Surely he didn't that that we-

'Congratulations!' He shouts.

'Edward!' I bemoan.

To even, to even suggest, to even infer- She would be humiliated. She would be mortally hurt by the-Very slightly, with her eyes wide and her mouth held in a still curve, she shakes her head to me.

…

Did that mean it was…

Was it…

Hers?

'Did you know it goes mouldy?'

Now this surely had to be a joke. My mouth opens in confusion. She has already beaten me to it. Asked him to clarify.

'Jizz!' he expounds violently. Another one of my eyes slips again to Esme and clearing my throat, I try to stop the colour from taking my cheeks.

'Spunk,' he repeats before bursting into an exhaustive list for her. ' that clear for you EzMay? The seed? Dirty Toothpaste. Spoog. Nature's dickmil-'

'You mean semen?' I correct impatiently.

She giggles even more now and while I want to laugh, enjoy the delight of her sense of humour. He had just been deliberately rude both to and in front of her. Further, he is still looking accusingly towards her again. I take another deep breath, tilt my chin down.

'Sperm nor semen goes mouldy, Edward.'

'Wanna bet?'

He's fidgeting now, daring me as though I had mistaken this piece of relevant information.

'Edward I do not need nor want to bet.' I refute tiredly. 'I have been studying-'

He cuts me off with a wave of his arm, flicking his wrist out to show a heavy tissue in his palm, near on throwing it my way. I jump back, accidently at first, my horror growing at the thought that he could bear to- It's… oh God it's… Wait, it's not just a condom…

It's…

I suppose it's…

But that would make it almost two-odd months old. If it was … ours…

I suppose that would account for the slight green tinge, too. I try to keep my face straight, my expression neutral. Barely a moment ago, I'd been so angered. So infuriated and now….

'Oh,' I murmur.

The reminder… what it had once led to…

Oops.

His eyes narrow.

''Oh' is damn right, Cullen. Doctor Cullen!' Edward throws out is arm again, shaking his display as he reacts, his face growing red and sweaty. 'You split your load on my suit.'

And a very expensive suit it is.

Raising a defensive hand, I stumble a little, try gently to appeal to this favoured sense of rationality Esme once commended of him.

'Edward- you need to understand-'

'Understand?!' He demands looking outraged at us.

'It's not what you think-' Esme murmurs and now she has pulled herself from her position on the sofa, pushed her hands together, caught a spot in the ceiling and watching it with wide moss eyes. I can't take my eyes from her as she does it. The slight curve of a smile in her bowing pout.

The Kid is looking outraged.

'There aren't enough contamination filters in the world for this!' He yells, jostling it again towards us. I pull my weight back.

'Look it's-' he lunges so that it swings towards me like a pendulum. 'Stop shaking it, will you?!'

'This is your spunk?!' he shrieks in disgust. 'I am touching your spunk! I got fired for wearing your spunk so you can deal with it in your face!'

'Edward it's not-' He jumps towards me; I move back into the chair. 'Edward,' I warn carefully… He has that glint in his eye, the growl as he moves towards me. 'Edward Antony Masen, don't you dare!'

I come backwards again, away from the table though I can't seem to hurry fast enough. He has caught the scent of revenge in his nose and I am not much liking where I foresee it ending.

'Edward,' Es insists gently. 'Really-'

'Edward, really,' I swear, now having to drag my stomach in as he curls a hand on hauling furniture from his path, his left hand still outstretched toward me. 'It's not- hey!'

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

I am still retreating, thinking consciously on the back door when a sound interrupts me. In fact, not just the sound but the shaking of her frame too. The depth of her laughter. With my attention caught, he moves towards me again.

'Edward,' she laughs. 'It's not spunk-'

Just as she distracts him, I throw myself towards the kitchen but he's already predicted my thoughts and come chasing after me. In a breath, I have to lead him out to the backyard, his weapon swinging toward me. As I run back through the living room, up and down the stairs, trying to section the Kid and his snorting away, I realise that actually, Es isn't just laughing, she is crippled by her sense of humour. The back of her hand is pressed to her mouth to try and stop further escaped sounds.

'I see he's not chasing after you,' I tease breathily but before I get her response on the matter, Edward has caught up with me. The air, trapped in expanded lungs, is thrown hastily between us. I remove the smile with an exasperated grunt of air. 'Oh fuck off, will you!'

He stutters before me, I stutter backward and now, flying through the door, skittish in his shoes, he leaps towards me. Flying backwards, I knock over a side table, come slipping to a lowered stance as we circle each other, warily.

Rightly, he looks as though he is fighting not to leap at me.

Likely infuriating that not only would I… on his coat tails but that I would do that… at a time like this… To her.

'It's not semen!' I punctuate though that hardly stops him. Paralleled we pace each other, cautious of the distance. Until I come tumbling to the floor of course. Edward leaping to my vulnerability and towering over me. Esme is still laughing. 'It's icing sugar!'

He moves his hand so that the item swings again, his eyes narrowing on it in disgust.

'What kind of bullshit lie-'

'Edward its-'

The door, a door that I don't think the youngest had even thought to close, comes peering open again. The Boy has me trapped. One arm pinning me to the carpet below while the other swings the latex millimetres from my nose. The smell alone… the image…

And then a rushed exhale of confusion.

Bella, her brown eyes wide and her mouth agape, is staring not at her beloved, but at the thing in his pinched hold.

'Bella!' he gasps.

'Urh-'

Emmett comes following in then. He keeps his features straight at first then clocks up to Esme's complexion, Edward's disgust, Bella's horror, my concern and with an Emmett sized chuckle in his wide spread grin, calls out joyfully.

'You wouldn't believe what kinda hot sex party they've gone going on here!'

And narrowly missing the beat of the tissue to the right of my shoulder, I quickly shove the muted kid off and cover my face with a groan.

I'm breathing hard now, no longer fighting a smile with the button down allowing little air to reach me. Eyes and more eyes fall upon the two of us on the floor angled as though recovering from a wrestle. Es moves quickly to our sides and with a tissue in her hand, sweeps up the offending item before trashing it from the kitchen.

She is still humoured, the joke on her lips, but Edward riddled with humiliation seethes from the spot close to me, his eyes shifting to her as if pointing an example.

'It wasn't what you think it was-'

'I can't wait to hear this,' Emmett says, eyes alight in mischief.

'It's not,' I repeat to Edward only. He snorts, angrily. 'It was a-'

'Science experiment gone wrong?' Emmett suggests. I turn to him, glare, watch him seal his lips with a pretend key and throw it over his shoulder. Jasper is heading in now, Alice, too. And Rose. All wiping their feet, carrying different dishes and searching around the room with confusion etched in their expression.

'What's this about a sex party?' Alice asks, her eyebrows knitting together.

'It wasn't like that,' Es promises. She's drying her hands in a towel now. Coming up to help Edward off the floor except when he stands, he does so with a waver to his leg. As though preparing to leap towards me again.

I pull myself up off the floor, dust my legs from any fibres or rogue twigs.

'I'll buy you a new suit-'

It doesn't soften his qualms.

'Of course you'll buy me a new suit- are you even questioning that?! That's the least of what you'll be doing-'

'What happened?!' Rose asks, her foot almost stamping. Edward waves her off, glares between me and Es again before resting his fury on my face.

It seems my exhaustion was already returning, and sighing, I accept our fate.

I try alone to convince him, when the others are busied in the kitchen, discussing in flavours of varying temperatures such designs for their weekend but Edward barely offers me a cold shoulder.

'Kid I swear to you; it wasn't that-'

'After all this time,' he seethes. 'Carlisle, as far as I was aware, you weren't even talking to her. And now you're boning again?!'

I wince at his choice of terminology, my jaw straightening difficultly.

'It's not like that-'

'Is that all you're doing? Using her for sex-'

'How can you say that?!' I snarl. 'How could you think I could do that-'

'I don't,' he mutters. 'And yet in the next moment you go and drop used-fucking condoms- '

'I get human biology isn't your forte but I'm astounded to believe you could really consider semen to be a 'healthy' green- '

'Oh, I don't think you're healthy,' he corrects daringly. 'I think you're a psychotic, selfish, inconsiderate bastard to-'

'To what?' I push.

'To do this to her- to make her believe that- '

'Are you boys eating or what?'

We both leap, guiltily.

Alice is nodding to the kitchen, pointing to where Esme is dishing plates up by the island. She's still coloured by her laughter. Still warm, her hair long down her side though she doesn't raise her eyes to look at me and I avoid being caught in them.

I watch her plate exactly eight dishes. Trusting I would come and collect mine eventually.

'Well?' Alice asks impatiently. I offer a weak smile, watch as Edward retreats onto the tiles with a roll of his eyes and annoyed with my own display, retreat into the silence of my room much to Alice's misery.

They might not like it but I doubt I could even look at Edward after his accusations… After his awful, damn right insulting beliefs. That he would even I could do that to her. That I was emotionally strong enough to bear laying with her.

In a growl, I pick up some book from my desk, throw it towards the wooden drawers opposite.

I suppose we really wouldn't part on good terms after all.

Waiting for the inevitability of night to pass me, I leave the radio on low and try to see if anyone has any reports on King. No one would and in submission, I send Masen the signed eviction forms.

He thanks me for them. Tightly. Tells me that he wishes I'd re-consider but when I don't reply, he doesn't push it and promises to see me Sunday. Ignoring him, I sit by lamplight and with my eyes on notes, consider my newest plan.

I hear them jostle around a few times. They seem to be in an okay mood. Nothing neither excessive since their group-ban on alcohol but nothing overly loud either. They miss Es retreating awkwardly to the bathroom mid-conversation and though I press myself against the door, will myself to check on her, I suspect the act of doing so will only bother her more.

She was preferring to accept it as a token side-effect of her supposed IBS.

More like BS.

I was out for the count and if Edward even considered opening his mouth about it, her expression would fall to such humiliation that mentioning it alone felt impertinent.

I rub the headache from my eyes again, try to take in the words from my props.

A little before nine, knuckles wrap against the door. I chuck a few things in drawers, widen out my textbook before I grant her entry.

It knocks me for silence at first.

To see her so close to me. Smaller than she had ever been since she first walked in here. More cautious, too. I find myself tucking my shirt into my pants, brushing it clean as she puts her eyes to me.

'You missed everyone at dinner,' she chides me cautiously.

I am looking at her hands, her fidgeting hands, the knee pressing into her other leg, eyes wide, outfit straight. Long T-shirt ironed, cardigan neat, jeans pressed to perfection.

'Yes,' I agree. And then at her questioning eyebrow, I hurriedly represent myself to her grace. 'Yes, I suppose I did… I'm sorry.'

She nods, put her lips together before inclining her head as though we are sharing a secret. It's another intimate move, an Esme move, and in pain, I shift uncomfortably from it.

'Emmett knows it wasn't really… that…'

I suspect she is lightly referring to the tension between McCarthy and myself. We had always got on well… until that house party. And then the water-creek and then campfire. And then the bonfire. We had been worse though things were certainly not comfortable between us.

They were hardly comfortable between any of us.

Even Esme I could hardly… I breathe in. Even Esme. As if that were not loud enough.

'No,' I agree, my smile embarrassed. 'I imagine he has been looking at his own long enough to know the consistency…'

And at it's very least, after several months of the prank perched on a stool and left, presumably, for dead, I would like to hope that the common sense that failed Edward would not surpass Emmett.

'Exactly.'

'The neighbours on the other hand…' I murmur, nodding between the walls. What neighbours, I thought to ask myself. We didn't catch much of our adjoining neighbours and hadn't heard- wouldn't hear anything from the Waldermans.

After five years, they had apparently chosen the support of a corrupt city councillor…. They had chosen him.

Did Mark really think me stupid?

'I doubt they give a shit.' She reassures confidently. 'Or that they even heard?'

… Edward was yelling pretty loudly, nevertheless I nod, turn my attention back to the texts spread awkwardly infront of me. Even catching the words is hurting my eyes.

'A long time ago now,' she says to herself.

Automatically, I agree with her. And then I think about the sentence.

'Huh?'

'What?'

'What was a long time ago?' I ask struggling oh-so-dearly to even hold… her.

'Wha?'

'You said a long time ago,' I clarify thickly. I put my eyes between us now, draw a line before fixing them to the socks. Sneaker socks barely making it to her ankle. 'You mean…?'

'Can I come in?' She asks instead, looking round the room, not as though she had almost hand built it, but as though it is a jail cell and she is my offering lawyer coming to assist.

I hadn't even realised she was on the outer lip of the door till now. Yet still, she asked…

I would've been less pained if she'd destroyed the place.

'It's unlike you to request permission?'

She puts her lips to the side, seems surprised herself. 'You're telling me…'

'No.' No I didn't want to grant her permission. Because I wanted her to take it. To immerse herself as easily as she did before. Slip in as though she has always been here and not a single day had passed since I declared my love for her. 'No, you don't need permission.'

She enters with a careful swing in her hip, tilting her jaw over her shoulder, rosy lips parted in caution.

'Can I sit down?'

'Of course.' I repeat, toughly. 'You don't need to ask me this-'

She points to the corner of the bed, not any of the bedding or surround pieces, solely the corner.

'Can I sit here?'

I am a disintegrating forest unable to stand in the wildfire of her violent queries.

'Stop asking me!' I tell her, bitterly. It's accidental. Just drops from my mouth in panic…

I sigh, irritated with myself, my own impatience as I roll my eyes. Typical how desperately I wanted them all to hate me in our final night with each other.

She presses her mouth together, hesitates before cautiously lowering herself to the edge, curling her legs around to the side, with her focus on her hands. I try to look at her a few times. I get as far as lifting my chin, my eyes. But every time she captures me, I have to look around the room instead.

'I see you didn't eat your dinner…'

I raise an eyebrow to the wall. Maybe smirk at the delayed hypocrisy. We'd switched roles it would seem. I didn't feel hungry and while I appreciated the social necessity of dinner, it only drew more attention than I wanted.

'No,' I admit. 'Yourself?'

'Two servings,' she sings, tilting her jaw.

While good, I do wonder if this is before or after her incident in the bathroom. Though I don't dare ask.

'That's really good,' I commend.

'Yes.'

'Yes,' I say.

Her eyes have gone to the room around her again. The walls, the shelves, clothing. She seems entirely lost in the space, recognising little and seeing so small amongst it all. So small in spite of her immensity.

She inhales noisily, pulls me towards her with her eyes.

'Will you sit with me?'

I wait in case she will take back the request and then carefully, fearful of my footsteps, I come to her side of the bed and take a seat about eleven inches from her thigh. Her focus is on her hands again, breathing in cycles while I take in her perfume.

Less cinnamon today.

It was back to the berry scent. The burn of memory tickling my nose, seeping into the ends of my hair, funnelling my mind with aches and pains that I had long forced into the depth of my stomach… Even closing my eyes, I could feel it. Taste it.

'I had my last appointment with Doctor Browning today,' she whispers, softly.

Throwing my eyes open, I startle.

'Doctor Browning?' I repeat.

Doctor… The… the psychologist? She'd actually… Doctor Browning from the hospital?

'She reckons that-'

'You've been seeing Doctor Browning?' I demand, hurriedly. The breath is hot in me now. The realisation. She'd. She'd been… All this time I was visualising her asleep on the sofa and she'd been-

'Yeah?'

'I didn't even-' My hand comes to my hair, pull it upwards from its roots. 'I didn't even ask.'

Worse, I didn't think. I didn't even-… she'd been in tears last month. Thick heavy tears she claimed was the television. All this time… All this time she'd been suffering from therapy?

And my father… my father could have… could've been-

I hadn't warned her.

'You did recommend it though,' she reminds me, coming round to see my expression.

Two months ago.

I'd recommended it two months ago. Already she had… I mean… Esme didn't just… she didn't.. I..

'Yes, but-' I take a deep breath. 'I didn't actually-. I didn't even ask.'

She'd burdened this for how long? I had left her to shoulder this alone for how long? Last appointment? That would surely be an eight-week programme at least. Eight weeks… had it really been eight weeks?

It felt like a lifetime.

It felt like yesterday.

My knee has started to jitter now. The knee closest to her shaking, vibrating.

'You've been busy,' she reassures, cautiously.

'I'm being an asshole.' I growl. She hesitates and then very slowly nods.

'Well, yes. But a busy one…'

My throat is too thick. The emotion so brittle within me that I have to rub the knuckles on my hand as distraction. I give myself several silent minutes before lubricating my vocal chords tensely.

'How has it been going?'

The voice is not my own. Hollow. Weak. My hands fidget again. Almost stretch out to her in desperation before realisation strikes me and I pull my posture further.

'Yeah,' she mutters. 'It's been grand. We sit around a circle and point things on a doll. I'm sharing experiences with everyone.'

I don't mean to wince as violently as I do but the image is haunting to me. Not just haunting, nauseating. She looks to me and rolls her eyes a little.

'I'm kidding, Carlisle. It's been…' She stretches the sentence, considers her answer. 'Well, I'm not going to say good.'

'You can say good,' I validate hurriedly.

She could say whatever she wanted. Use her terms. Her voice. She frowns and hearing my own words back to me, I shake my head.

'Alright, maybe not good.'

I'm an idiot. Quite literally the stupidest son-of-a-bitch I know. Opening my stupid fucking mouth- She delicately presses her arm into me, her fabric pressing on the crumbled sleeve of my shirt. For a fraction of a second, she is the warmest sight of hope I have ever witnessed. She is strong and brilliant and just everything, everything I could hope to be.

And then she's back to her original seating and I have pulled myself further away.

'I'm pretty sure one of the attendees bought Pot Brownies the other day.' She waggles her eyebrows playfully. 'Made quite the difference.'

I aim to laugh but instead come to exhale then roll my eyes at my own inability. Since Emmett's confessions, I'd been on an even higher alert to marijuana in the vicinity. So to this, I wonder if he has outed suppliers or if I am unnecessarily worrying.

'I'm-.' I take another cautious breath. 'Pleased for you, Esme.'

She doesn't say anything, just looks at her hands. My own eyes slip cautiously to her neck. The cardigan, back to her hands again.

'I know I've been a shit fri-' I stop myself, wonder if she would even consider me that. 'Well, just a shit recently. But I'm pleased you are looking after… yourself.'

It might have started well, but I cracked on that final hurdle. Irritated with myself, I shake my head again.

'Carlisle-'

She had every right to be pissed at me.

'I-I didn't mean you can't look after yourself,' I explain clumsily. My own words were signing me to the grave and even more wound up with their consistent failures, I grind my teeth together.

'Obviously,' she agrees, humoured.

I use my hands this time, try to get them to trap my meaning. 'I just meant-'

'Yep,' she soothes, nodding.

My sore eyes flicker shut, the heels of both hands resting on the lines of my forehead. There's a few more silent minutes between us. Heavy, patient. She leans towards me again, as if to nudge me for a second time but her contact doesn't come and I don't meet it.

'I can't quite believe Edward thought semen went mouldy,' she criticises, her playful eyebrows meeting together.

Throwing my weight to the bedsheet behind, I extend my posture, chuckle a groan. On the contrary, it sounded like one obvious thing to naturally escape his knowledge.

'Oh I think I can,' I murmur, feeling the shift of her weight change slightly. I imagine she must be looking at me because it takes a long time for her to say something.

'Probably wasn't great for us to forget where we left certain pranks…' she whispers. 'And I guess timing was a bit delayed too…'

'I concur.'

'Lifetime away,' she murmurs.

Hm, lifetime. Well, I suppose for another man, it could be.

'Another pun?' I ask, weakly, peering from the fold of my hands to see where she has curled her upper torso around to face me. Her hand is extended to hold her balance. Another ballet move though one I had not seen in quite some time.

'On what?' she questions, frowning.

The embarrassment races the regret to settle on my features.

'Lifetime?' I repeat pathetically. 'Life being…' sperm being. I sigh. 'Nevermind.'

'No,' she clarifies, shaking her head.

I shift my weight back up now, rearrange the shirt back over myself, rub a tough hand through the thicker parts of my hair, have it fan into my eyes. What was I even saying? Why was I talking to her about this? Why was my focus on-

'Esme, why are we talking about semen?'

Her expression turns pained in an instant. She looks to me from the side, pouts.

'Why is this the only conversation we've had in weeks?'

I wince, not just at the volume but the meaning.

'Because I'm a shit?' I suspect, weakly.

She shakes her head in disbelief, her hands curling and uncurling in her lap before eventually, she bursts up from the bed.

'Yes,' She agrees emphatically. 'Yes you're a shit. Yes, you've been absent-'

I wince here, too.

'Yes you nearly got yourself arrested, demanded we move across country, lost absolutely every sense of sanity left in your brain- only to go into hiding moments later.'

The recounting of events sparks pain through every open corridor of my heart and shielding my gaze from catching her, I put both hands to the back of my neck, clasp it as though practicing how best to strangle myself.

She sighs, groans, drags the length of her thick hair from where it has fallen into her view, looks to me in waiting.

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

I feel myself retreat even further from the offering. As if she was trusting me to fix this… As if I had the opportunity to fix the loss between us. As if I- As if I could?

'Huh?'

She looks towards me, eyes coming round to me to spot my face but I look anywhere else. Have to look anywhere else because the point of her eyes, her lips, her cheeks…. To consider she was wanting me to reknit torn fabrics.

'I think I have had healing time,' She whispers, looking beneath her lashes at me. 'My own healing time. And- And I would like to say I've given you yours, too?'

More than.

She'd given me more than enough chances to rectify it. All of it. And in those ten weeks since then, the only solution I had, the only chance of protection I could give her would undoubtedly make her hate me all the more.

But hate would keep her safe.

'Yes,' I agree.

'Just being with you feels like walking on glass sometimes!' She complains, wavering her hands up in frustration before rinsing them at her chest, wringing them. 'You don't even look at me without recoiling-'

'That's not true, Esme.' Even if I resent her words, I can't seem to refute them at the volume I aim too. The words are pathetic between us.

Though the accusation bullets into my soul.

'Everyone looks at me like I'm a victim and I can't stand it! And yet you-'

I've pulled my hands back to myself, tried to grant myself the decency of privacy should the emotion plague me as violently as my chest threatens.

'You don't even look, Carlisle. You just shudder.'

'That's not fair,' I whimper, robotically.

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

The visuals are hurtling too violently to withhold myself and at that image, that threat, I find the heat out my mouth as though I had vomited in screams.

'No! It happened because of me!'

She gasps, loudly. The breath circling in her chest like a waiting panic attack.

'I can't believe you would be so self-infatuated-'

I find myself on my feet now, matching her stance even if I tower above her if only in height. I pull my own hand back, try to keep my tone in check. I do everything I can in the midst of my devastation not to be a threat to her.

'I lied, Esme!' I remind her darkly. 'I lied to you-' Continue to lie, even 'And because I lied, I did this.'

If only I had been honest from the start, from five years ago. If I had warned her of the associated dangers, warned her about the moment I thought I would fall for her. Warned her not to live with me because all I could ever bring her, all I would ever bring her is pain and trauma and failure.

The tears are hot under my eyes and distorting the distance between us. I feel them roll down my cheeks as I look at her. Really look at her.

She is standing as she has always stood, with her knee bent in, with her chin tilted, wide eyes lingering on me as she listens.

My heart feels so swollen it is taking the breath from me.

Coughing the sentence, swallowing it with the spit, I put my hand to my mouth and try again.

'Whenever I look at you- when I look at you,' I correct. 'I see what I've done to you.'

Her expression crumbles, her eyes to her hands as I push off more streams of water from my face.

'You haven't done anything-'

'I made you come with me!' I yell, whirling from myself and my bloodied hands.

I pitted her as my prize of escape. I flaunted her in his house, nominated her as my proof of liberty, treated her as a commodity to present and to sentimentalise over. To adore and to parade and to steal away, abduct to distances far from the earth she helped to blossom and I did so-. I did so while feeding myself on the ecstasy of loving her.

'I condemned you to this… all because I was too selfish-'

She scoffs, shakes her head. 'Really-'

'You were my responsibility!' I move even further from her now, acknowledging the silent pull on my heart, my knees to fall beneath her and beg, plead for absolution. 'Edward told me not to do it, and I made you attend!'

I seem to be referring pointedly to the fundraiser though I am not thinking solely on that. I'm thinking on a billion things. All of them culminating to her on the side of the freeway on a Spring evening. Left for dead.

'I knew what they were capable of,' I remind her sinisterly. 'And I let you down…'

She dismisses me again, rolls her eyes, throws the comment away and the confessions of my soul as though she wishes not to hear them.

'I knew what they were capable of!' I yell, fiercely, expecting her to throw herself from me.

She doesn't. She stays standing. Patient. She isn't getting it. I am hurting her. I am hurting her in the most brutal way I can. I am bullying her with the honesty of my regret and still she chooses not to flee.

The tears are flooding me now, the anger and clenching the crown of my hair with both hands, I needily hide my expression in both arms, crave breath through punctured lungs.

The slam of the bedroom door doesn't come no matter how desperately I wish for it. I can't do this. Not here. Not with her. I couldn't. Oh God, don't make me hurt her.

Please don't make me hurt her.

'You sound like Edward,' she whispers from my shoulder.

'I'm sorry, it's all my fault,' I blubber thickly. It jumbles into more horrific breaths. 'Oh Esme. I'm so-' I cut myself off with another gasp of stuttered tears.

She comes towards me now, taking each step carefully as I gather my breath.

'I've… I've been reading,' I blunder. 'Everything about trauma just said to…' With an inhale, I rub my face, try to settle myself again, calm my chest before I hiccup myself to death. 'To let you speak… I haven't shut up for three months.'

'You haven't said a word,' she amends softly. I try to look through her. I try not to be winded by the promise of forgiveness etched onto her endearing expression. Nor her safety. 'I'm not your responsibility, Carlisle…'

'Yes you are,' I groan petulantly. 'You and Edward, Alice. Elizabeth, Senior. All the while my blood does this.' I shake my head, the headache too. 'I lied to all of you.'

I said I could protect them.

'Fine, whatever,' She placates, wavering her artist hand in front of me. 'You lied. But so what?'

She raises her hand again and very gently, pushes it to the left side of my breast, tight against the corresponding thump beneath it. I stutter at first and then cautiously slink into it. Her touch is like a defibrillator on the last pulses of movement.

'You didn't lie here,' she promises.

The exhaustion to be from her is too much and weak with the wounds of battle on me, I surrender. Carefully, I drop my slick forehead to hers, let our hair imbed as our tangled breaths intertwine.

Memory snags me away.

'Not your best line,' I whisper, a light smile touching my cheek.

She smiles, drops it and widens her eyes on me, cautious.

'Carlisle, I should tell you something…'

The weight of our time has stolen me now. I would succumb to this. In truth to Edward's concerns I would let myself love her. I could do it. Maybe I could… maybe I would protect them. Maybe we could be okay in Washington, maybe.

Maybe my father would resolve it.

'Hm?' I answer, sleepily.

'About the photos?'

And from just the tone alone, years of ignorance comes tumbling from me and I move hard out of her hold.

What a bitter reminder to the dangers.

'Carlisle, I know… I knew… I-'

I'm starting to panic. Hyperventilate even. A panic attack, I think.

'There were photos with some-'

'I know!' I shush her, fighting closed eyes as I inhale darkly, I inhale deeper, feel the blade on my skin, inhale, stop. Gasp. Inhale. Stop crying. Stop crying.

'Carlisle…'

'I know!' I seethe at her. My eyes burst open now, seizing her in a way my hands couldn't. 'When I say I know, it's because I was there and not because I need you to make me relive it!'

In seconds, her open stance shrinks and I see exactly the welt of pain I have caused from the whip of my fury.

I'd done it. Finally, she believed in my ability to harm.

'Esme- I,' I plead immediately.

But she's already thrown herself from my vicinity.

I had resigned myself for the oncoming days of our time together to be thankful for the moments we have had. Those soft moments. Those peaks and valleys of time I never ought to have had.

Likewise, as quickly as she leaves the room, I leave and trusting Edward is in the house, I find the nearest off-license and purchase an expensive brand of cigarettes.

The one or two that I smoke taste entirely of guilt and while I cough and splutter my way through them, I find I prefer choking to considering my next move. I had no possible understanding to what my next move could be. The only thing I was aware of how the motion of events was quickening from me at speed.

I had needed to hurt her.

And yet…. Oh God and yet to hurt her… was incomparable. Unliveable. How was I meant to atone for the sins I would be enacting all the while I left her to writhe in pain.

I wait an hour or two by the house before coming inside. I wash initially, brush any essence of smoke from my front, find something easy to present friendship with.

Tainted I chose a dish of hers that I hadn't seen her make in a while, let it take my attention before I take it to the door.

The announcing knock is loud but short. She doesn't respond to it for a number of seconds.

'It's open,' and sighing, she pulls the door inward and stares at me.

I hold the bowl out towards her even more guilty when my essence has caught her nose and she frowns.

'Hypocrite,' I agree. 'I know.'

'You smell awful…' she murmurs, turning her nose up again as I swipe down my shirt.

'But the food is good.' I try to offer it again, draw back my hands from view… She drops her eyes to the floor, looks at me with less hate I truly deserve.

'Did you want to…' She clears her throat, nods into the room. 'Are you coming in?'

I think that must be an invite and gingerly, I follow her feet inside. I didn't remember how much I hated this room till now. Everything it represented, that unnecessary distance, the opposition of my own layout, the bright, breezy colours, the various signs of life usually cluttered into view now pushed into the recesses of hidden shelves.

I don't see any paints. No paintbrushes. Not her drafting board or pencils. Just more books with the spines facing away from me.

'If you're going to watch me eat, you might as well sit,' She instructs, nodding towards the chair.

I look down to her rug, back to where she's folding herself on her mattress. Her new mattress. Sitting on it with her eyes to me. Her hair has changed now, it's mostly up in a lax ponytail, the clothes now lounge wear but still thick enough to deny the heat of the day.

So I choose the floor, push myself to a shelf and pull my knees up. She frowns, but puts her look to dinner. I consciously choose to wait until she has a mouthful till I say something.

'Esme,' I lean back, deliberately, but let my eyes look to her, her jaw, the softest part of her for now. The only part I can bear to visualise. I see her attempt a groan. 'The way I handled… How I spoke to you earlier.'

I pull my eyes away, shuffle the back of my hair before staring intently at a kneecap.

'I was deplorable. Unforgivable, even-'

''s fine,' she dismisses impatiently.

I narrow my eyes.

'Don't do that,' I tell her, difficulty. 'We were having a conversation and I behaved inexcusably. On all accounts.'

What was worse than paining her was paining her without consequence. She rolls her eyes, almost shifting her posture from me when I try again.

'Esme I'm so sorry for what I have done to you-' She opens her mouth to interrupt meaning I have to hurry along quickly. 'Regardless of what happened then, how I am treating you now as well….'

I pull my eyes away, sink them onto the lamplight outside.

Oh, My Love….

'You won't ever be hurt by me again.' I swear, accepting our last path together as is. She would be angry but it wouldn't hurt her. Not after this. Not after how I was treating her now.

'You can't make dramatic statements like that,' she murmurs reproachfully.

It pulls my attention round, drops the window from my eyes and puts her in it.

'You're going to end up hurting me. I'm going to end up hurting you. It's just what happens. People hurt people.'

The resilience in her opinion pains more than I'd care to admit.

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

'Oh don't be so naïve!' She groans, likewise leaning her weight into her cushions, hand displayed like pictures. 'Look at Edward, we got him fired, it hurt him. You didn't eat dinner with Emmett, you hurt him.' I wince a little. 'Alice and I don't talk as much, I'm hurting her. You hurt people every day, you've just got to which hurt you can live with-'

'But I don't-'

'Carlisle,' she interrupts, tiredly. 'You wouldn't not amputate a leg to save somebody's life because you know it would hurt them. You administer pain every day, it is a lifestyle.' She shrugs, maybe waits for my chuckle.

I inhale into both lungs.

'And Doctor Browning?' I murmur.

She sighs, softens the pull of her height by flickering her ponytail behind her.

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

'It's helped?' I ask, needing the reassurance, needing the promise and the safety lest I combust.

'It's no walk in Central but to some degree…' I feel her seek out my gaze, pull it up in her demanding way. 'Yes.' She decides.

The sigh is thick now, a cloud of smoke billowing out as I thank her with a nod. She shifts a little more. Waits patiently to see what I do before pulling her focus up again.

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

Why is she being so sweet to me?

I look about myself, to my feet, the carpet, the rug, slowly let myself look at her. She is waiting patiently for my response, indicating the space to her. Then she drums her fingers on the bedding as though it ought to make a sound.

'I mean, considering you paid for it, you might as well sit on the bed?' Still, I hesitate, consider the matters at risk if I do. The matters at risk if I don't… She rolls her eyes. 'Chill out, I'm not going to attack you.'

She could've struck me with iron and I'd be less pained.

'Too soon.' I complain and then with an eye on her dish, I nod to it. 'I see you haven't eaten much…'

'For valid reasons,' she defends. She is smiling again, eyes flickering around. 'Unfortunately you have lost the ability to cook.'

I don't laugh but I do let a smile slip out, a roll of my eyes.

'No really, Carlisle, it's disgusting.'

'You love garlic?' I correct, hoping this is not another food aversion to add to the list. She shrugs.

'So?'

'You have eaten garlic raw. On several occasions.' I remind her, warmed by the image. 'You're like one of those people that eats couch cushions or dry wall but with garlic bulbs.'

Her jaw drops comically open.

'I call this slander!' she refutes, nose pointing to the air. 'Garlic, I might like but whatever that mess is there…' And with an eye to the dish, she pokes the tip of her tongue out at me.

I have an urge to leap forward, take a hold of her jaw and put my tongue to hers, taste her, humour her…

I shake the image abhorrently away.

'It's the same dish you would make for us every Thursday!' I find myself defending, embarrassed on account of my supposed failure.

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

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

She pulls her features into a delicate pout, pushing her lips into a semi-circle, her hands fiddling before folding them, defiantly, across her chest. 'But you added coriander and I hate coriander.'

For a moment, I am struck, in awe of her assumption and at such a time as well.

'What?' she asks, curiously. I stutter.

'You're unbelievable,' I murmur, no ounce of regret in my bones.

'What now?' she complains, presuming, for some strange reason, that I had intended this as a curse against her very nature. Far from it, I had meant it as a commendation.

'How did you know about the coriander?' I ask, sceptically. I had been thoughtless when I touched it of course. Thinking less by habit and more by taste. I'd nearly been led astray.

'What do you mean?'

She's reeling a little further from me now. Tugging long strands around her small ears before hastily ruffling them back again. Her voice is softer when she tries again, her slight shoulders shuddering in her jumper. 'I can smell it… it's making my stomach curl…'

I pull my hands further from her. She smiles guiltily, swaying as if to remind me. As if I didn't know. Her sense of smell hadn't waivered. Despite Edward's criticisms, I had stumbled upon the benefits of her new superhero skill.

At a time when I wouldn't get to appreciate it.

'I've always hated coriander.'

I know, I mean to say. But the fondness, the suddenness of this new quality simply makes me smile. She had that. The capability to make the worst of days seem like the better kind.

In the most unusual way.

'That's…'

That's Esme. Predictably unpredictable. I shake my head, thinking.

'What?' she asks, now apparently frustrated with my hidden expression.

'I didn't put it in,' I explain. We only owned a small tub at that. I never knew why she insisted in having it in stock when she detested the taste so blindingly. One of the few things she had an unwavering opinion on. 'I was about to when I remembered… so I just left it on the side.'

Despite the pull to the right, I move my eyes instead to the far left corner of the room. Fall upon bookshelves that she'd hand-built, painted, crafted.

'Urgh, as if, Cullen.'

I didn't deserve the affection though somehow hearing the sound on her tongue was as though making the name good. Making it what it didn't serve to be.

'Really!' I promise, signing an 'x' that I doubt she sees. 'There is no coriander in there.'

She shoots a look from her side, considering the words before refusing them. I suppose that was deserved. She did have little reason to trust me.

'It must be on your hands then,' she considers. Again, in spite of myself, my misery, her warmth teases another smile from my lips and tiredly, I flick the ends of a long fringe out of my eyes.

'I've smoked since then…' I remind her, quietly.

She wasn't one for double standards so I imagine with this reply I am likely to hit a nerve. I shouldn't be smoking anyway. It was a peculiar habit I never much like the taste of, did little to settle qualms and had no benefit to me, or her.

Rather, her hands come to fidget amongst themselves and instead of frowning at me, or perhaps shooting darts with the impenetrable hit of her glare, I find she's actually pouting slightly, apparently dreaming up images I should neither have encouraged nor will be privy too.

'Roll ups or cigarettes?' she pleads, her perfume almost sweeping under my neck. I shift further from her.

'It's none of your business,' I murmur curtly. I shrug to lessen the blow, lean on that knee again as her sighing breath plays out like a swan song. 'If I choose cancer, so be it. But if you-'

'That just makes you a hypocrite.'

I'd been worst things of course. And would still be…

'No, it makes me a homeowner.' She's rolling her eyes, pausing the temptation to smile and though it's there, though I could so easily crook my lips in apology in a way I couldn't do with anyone else, my next thought tears the suggestion away. 'You'll see… when you get your place…'

Too cowardly to face the hit of her realisation, I lift my eyes to her ceiling and pray for the strength to remain in these last moments with her. The words do not come. Her anger doesn't come, her temper doesn't flare, her voice doesn't crack, she doesn't brush me or smile…

She does not notice what I have said….

And I don't wish to enlighten her.

I'd failed to consider how I was intercepting her and guiltily, I rock myself forward even though I ached to stay. She could even… even seem as though she were inviting the space of me.

As though the gap left from the tangles of her limps was the exact planned space for me to weave into.

'Sorry,' I murmur weakly. 'I should be leaving-'

'Stay,' she cuts in.

Esme isn't asking.

I could feel my knees start to crumble. The return to… the longing that I craved, the immediacy of her needs… not the question, nor the pleading. The order.

And I ought to disobey.

I ought to deny her.

For my own sanity.

I make the foolish mistake in looking to her.

Her dark pink lips are parted in a sentence her tongue is not weaving. The guard of her posture has broken from the wind of her visual gasp. Like an old fashioned children's toy where the string had been pulled but not released. Her shoulders are struck up in inhales as she prepared for my desertion.

In steps I could fall over the way I would move to comfort her.

I would drape the back of fingers along the edge of her jaw, thumbs pressed into the burn of her cheeks when I tilt her chin up and place a necessary kiss to her neck. I would rest my forehead by the waves of her hair, fill my lungs with her scent and snake my arms around her. Bound ourselves together.

She is still staring at me. Except her woodlands eyes are black. Her hair is crinkling from the humidity of her skin. I touch my own skin, rub my hair from my collar.

'Es… I-' I claw the skin now. Plead with myself to be stronger.

If I stay, how would I ever leave her?

If I didn't stay, how would I know she would be okay?

I could… I could grant myself one last night.

Isn't that what I wanted? Just one night…

'Please, Carlisle?'

I swallow, deeply. Breathe…

'Talk to me?'

It takes a moment to consolidate if I have the strength first. More than a moment. I can't understand if it is a strength or a weakness but she looks at me… with her trust in me.

'Okay,' I concede quietly, forcing my lips to turn a smile no matter how sad. 'But I'm turning the light off.'

She looks relieved when she shakes her head, her posture softening into the pillows, the plump cushioning of her new bed. I lift the cover to encase her with, her body shifting awkwardly within the sheets. She's stiff at first, pulls the pillow round to an angle and props her cheeks upon it as if unaware just how quickly her fatigue would draw the path to sleep.

I consider climbing in beside her.

It is safer here. I am safer here with her breaths at my neck, her warmth at my hair… I am safer here.

Safer without the confession.

But I stay away.

Considering the hesitations, the exhaustion that is nursing me to silence, I find that in time to my stuttered breaths is a resistance I had not expected to find. Just being by her side was evolving my straw of misery into a thread of resolute precision. Where my anxiety had once flecked like tawny shells of wheat and hay, now they were spun into unavoidable conclusion.

Grief dissolved me, of course.

As minutes tick into hours and I find myself resilient to my plans. I would make him believe he had caught me. I would be the fish at the end of his baited wire.

I would let the pair of them believe they had won.

I would make out to bargain with him. In his vanity of course, he would fall for it. He couldn't not fall for it. He would agree to terms with me. He would believe himself high on the lights of power…

And once I had him assured, my death certificate would silence him.

Cliff diving, indeed.

The fidget behind my head makes me jump. The weight of my chin is heavier now but given the conviction of my plans, I couldn't tell if I had fallen asleep or if I'd lost myself to a windmill of thoughts.

There is a new kindling of rage in my chest. Of hope, almost. Perhaps the nectar of a promised revenge was doing me more good than I'd expected. Perhaps her trust had restored mountains.

I ought to leave now.

While the fire was hot, while I felt capable of acting, I would go now.

And yet, God had clearly not finished his punishment.

My limbs have left me stiff and stumbling forward a little, I roll myself up to my knees, stretch and prepare myself for the cameo. That last image. The image of her wanting me to stay. She is less expressionless as she often tended to be in her sleep, not so restless either and yet the capture of her hair, tendrils of maple-autumn hues dampened by the dark of the room.

There is a heartbeat at my fingertips when I move them from her forehead, tuck them delicately around the smooth shell of her ear, careful not to disrupt the stud. The room is pitch black. She is unusually quiet, a shadow encased in furniture and still, she was more bright than the hidden sun.

My greedy touch had only meant to brush the colour on her cheek but captured, in pleas of forgiveness, I find notes of literature on my tongue.

'Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace; That press the soul or wring the mind with anguish; Beyond comparison the worst are those That to our Folly, or our Guilt we owe.'

Shifting my eyes closed, I relent. Leaning into the space her posture grants, I place my lips to the highest point in her cheek and bow my forehead to her. Her skin is warm, her cheek smooth, a fidget of an expression crossing her mind briefly before sleep embraces her again. It felt as though I were a schoolboy, placing a cheeky kiss to my heart's owner and not that I was preparing myself to be without the promise of a Lover's trust ever again.

As though my lips could not bear the connotations, I would not allow myself the truest sorrow of a goodbye.

Resting my forehead to hers briefly, I murmur another line in Latin this time and come to rip myself from the vines of my entanglement. Pulling back, my fingers lingering to her waves, I curve my knuckles on the other hand to smooth them.

When the light happens upon them. The light from a street lamp, an orange glow tainting a wet smear across my knuckles.

Shifting further, I peer towards where I was leaning in confusion… and stumble back.

Blood. Thick splodges of blood likely no bigger than coins have seeped into the blanket by her legs.

Again.

In my self-centricity, I had of course ignored the real victim of King's crimes. In my reverent way, I'd been so swept up in my hatred, I failed to encompass the brutality my faith wished to challenge me against.

I find prying my lips open to be harder than the task of leaving her.

Because I couldn't.

I couldn't go yet.

What I had been reminded of kept me tied to her side. Someone, perhaps not God, perhaps something else, was doing everything in their power to stop me from leaving.

'Esme?'

The need for tears has been taken by the sweating fear collected to the line of my fringe. Every breath felt like a cull.

'My Love?' I beg, wishing not to startle her awake, wishing not to have to awaken her at all. Wishing to bear the pain for her.

She stirs delicately, shifting towards me in a disillusioned dream, unaware of the horrors I was awakening her too. I bow my head in an attempt to hold the sob.

'Esme- I'm sorry,' and suddenly the words are flooding like a confession. 'I'm so sorry But,'

Confused, her drowsy eyes fight to take in the scene before her. She's frowning at my lips, reading the words, leaning into me as I try to pull her up with difficulty. She is right, she is malleable and yet I couldn't even seem to shift my shoulder up. Harrowed, I could only force words out and hope she took them for English.

'You're bleeding,'

Her hand comes to press her up and finding the spot damp, she moves the texture of skin into view. Widens her eyes and ashamed, moves her hand away.

'Wha-?'

'Okay,' I whisper. 'You're okay, I've got you.'

The sleep wraps around her limbs, making her helpless to my grasp. My shoulder provides better leverage now, her arm snaking around my neck, her hand poised away. I pull her out the sheets awkwardly, her forehead coming to rest on my neck with her breaths fast, almost stretched.

Understandably, she doesn't want me in the bathroom though the speedy slam of the door covers up neither the wretch of her stomach nor the stream of the shower head.

Sometime later I hear her patter back into the room. The heavy clothing has returned; The winter jumpers, the thick joggers. Winter socks. Her dark hair is waving about her expression. It's ghostly white but not in fear or not straight fear at least. She's embarrassed. She's not angry, she's not afraid. She's humiliated.

'I'm sorry-'

The stint of her words makes me wince but she spots it early on and rearranges her mouth difficultly.

'-for making you do this.'

Sound doesn't come. My hair falls about when I shake my head. My hands pulled too tight, my fingers too wrapped in sheets.

'It happens sometimes,' she whispers.

The noise is here now. Booming.

'Esme-'

She sighs, sleepily, raises a hand to my arm before pulling it back.

'It hasn't happened for a while,'

I mustn't silence her… but trying to bear the words. Trying to hear them knowing my intentions… It made my motions all the more necessary.

The cruelty of necessity.

'You don't want to hear this,' she realises. The line comes so quietly it's as if she is hushing it to herself. Both my hands seize her feverishly, grasping her arms in vices as though shielding her from danger.

'Don't say that,' I hiss. 'Don't ever say that-'

'I don't blame you, Carlisle-'

'I know you don't.' It's comes out a little angrily, perhaps resentfully and then miserably, the wave of her soap beating me with the memories. 'I know you don't….'

'Sweet, I-'

'My Love?' I interrupt. She drops her chin to her chest, sighs. 'Come get some rest?'

She twizzles the edge of her fingertips up my arm, just briefly then drops her hand to her thigh and shuffles into the clean sheets.

'Don't you ever tire of putting me to bed?' she teases, exhaustively. I shake my head in the dark, brushing a now washed hand down her cheek.

Dependable, indeed…

I do not sleep that night. I stay as she requests like a demon by the edge of the bed, taunting myself on the speed of the event. For the first time in a few weeks, we are on good enough terms that I can make her breakfast. With sugar. With cream in the coffee. The eggs scrambled.

And because I love him and because he hates me, I make a point in trying to make Edward breakfast too. Naturally he doesn't awake to it.

I knock on the door I have only just returned from, washed, dressed in scrubs by way of pointed apology. She is already awake, I can hear the shuffling but when she bids me entry, I find she mustn't have moved far. Though she's fidgeting like she is eager too.

Moving a book from the corner of her desk, I place the food and the coffee to her side. Her expression is sleepy but blissed as though waking up to a good day.

'Good Morning,' the guilt forces my words into joviality. Her smile takes up her cheek.

'Work?' she asks miserably. I allow a guilty nod. She shuffles, moves over to allow me a space to sit very close to her stomach.

And after last night, I will do anything to atone.

My posture is too awkward. My expression too clumsy as she comes to shift herself up, her sweet berry scent securing me, I find myself coming closer to her. I fall easily to the mattress and hate it even more.

At least on the other one we had made love.

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be,' she smiles, eyes the coffee with an almost flirtatious eye and thanks me when I pass it over.

'Mm,' I really don't wish to lie to her more than necessary. Yes I would be going to work. No I didn't need to. Yes my supervisors were going to be pissed.

But I needed to speak with my father. And if I could do it in a way that would promote business and keep him far from home as possible, I'd do so. I shiver.

'Oh Cullen, you can't really be cold in this heat?'

June. Happy June at last. She would be thrilled for the flowers.

'A little,' I murmur, watching the overcast day slip between greys and bursts of light. She takes a noisy sip of her drink and comfortable, unusually comfortable, she combs her hair from her view and smiles.

'So, Edward's twenty-first?'

I was verging on blacking out, the guilt was making me that faint.

'Mm?' I ask, lifting an eyebrow.

'Well, how all-out did you want to go? I know you would usually plan a trip?'

'I'm not entirely sure Edward would like that,' I sigh, swallowing. 'What with Bella… and …'

And me.

'You wouldn't take Bella.' She reminds me trustingly.

She moves a hand as if to touch me but pulls it back in the last moment, settles for having her knee almost pressing into my buttock. Perhaps that was the reason for her light humour this Morning and in spite of myself, and my constant dizzing self- hate, her joy was making it almost impossible to remain neutral with her.

'It's been tense. But… but maybe you guys need that time?'

I swallow again though this time my eyes close. She was completely aware of our hostility with each other then.

'I wouldn't know where he'd want to go…'

'That hasn't stopped you before?'

'Es-,' I wince and I hope she doesn't hate me for it. 'Hon… I-… Maybe when things… Maybe once we've moved?'

'His birthday is two weeks away, Carlisle, don't bail on tradition now.'

'I won't…'

She smiles reassuringly.

'Anyway, excusing your trip I had a few ideas of what we could get for him? Did you wanna join up or get our own thing?'

'Joining up means confessing that his celebrations have been far from mind…'

'Confessing means admitting you're not as creative as your flatmate.' Her dark lips have been pulled into a pleasant smile and as if this were long ago, I chuckle and nod in agreement.

'Tell me your ideas then and I will make my ruling…' I offer her.

She laughs, swots me lightly with the back of her hand and proceeds to tell me her plans. She has an abundance of them of course. All as thoughtful as the last. She suggests maybe a summer BBQ, after his parent's event of course and listening to the plans and her discussions with Alice has me all but weak.

It felt as though she is trying to reduce me to sobs.

When I can't take no more. When her good mood and her incessant shuffling and her cheeky, playful testing request for a second coffee has me on the verge of confessions, I tell her I have to leave soon. She pouts, ignoring the fact we have effectively laid in bed together, sat in bed together for the last hour as though no time has passed.

Almost forgetting the time that had passed between us.

She giggled quite a lot already but moves as if to follow me out.

'Stay in bed?' I excuse, trying to pull the blanket to her. She raises an eyebrow at me and checks the time. 'Y-you've been so exhausted lately… get some rest?'

She leans her spine back into her bed frame, her face screwing up slightly.

'Yoghurt? I could get you yoghurt?'

'Don't have heartburn,' she answers, fidgeting her legs.

'You don't?'

She shakes her head. 'No. My back hurts a little but-'

'I can get medicine?'

'Go to work,' she laughs. 'Stop worrying about my old age spine-'

'Esme, really-'

Give me once last chance to be seen off in a good light, I plead with her. Just one because the months could be far between and there is a risk that she will be so furious, she will wish to never hear from me again.

She huffs, rolls her eyes in an excessive way and half shoves me off the bed.

'Carlisle Cullen, if you don't fuck off and get to work, I am going to wet myself. And not in the hot way.'

Oh. Oh she'd been euphemism. She laughs with a groan and shoves me backward till the light of her humour is playing in her cheeks. She'd been fidgeting a lot. I didn't even think…

'I'll see you when you get back,' she says hurrying now to the bathroom.

'Es?'

'Mm?'

'I love you.'

With another eye roll she grabs a circle of toilet paper from the shelf and with a snort, throws it at me till I do as requested and fuck off.

I don't wait to know if she says it back.

This time, I don't touch the radio. I tell my father I'm leaving by way of voicemail and commit the easy drive to the hospital.

Cars blocking the entrance. There are so many cars that the ambulances will have trouble. One of the nurses spots my car about 30feet from the entrance and hurrying, knocks on my window.

'Didn't think you were working today, Doctor C?'

I'm still trying to gage what the issue is by looking over the steering wheel. If I couldn't get in, I didn't have a clue where my father would be.

'No, I just -.' I didn't need to make any more lies. 'Has there been an incident?'

The nurse grimaces.

'I'll say. You're probably better off parking down Winnard's.'

'Thanks.' Putting the car into reverse, I make a three-point turn.

The floods of people rival that of a soccer stadium. The numbers crush their way past cars, yelling, calling for answers. I find Charlie on the outside of a line looking tired and angered but he seems to be the only guy reinforcing measures. He wasn't even saying anything, just had a pout on his expression.

'Officer Swan?' I greet, hoping we had at least remained civil given our last discussion. When he sees me, he pales.

'Doctor Cullen?'

'What's going on?' I ask. 'What's happened?'

He looks a lot like Bella now. His eyes blow up dramatically and his tough octaves turn to hisses.

'Carlisle, get out of here- go-'

And like vultures, they see me. Notepads raised, pens like swords drawn for my attack. They garble so fiercely; Charlie has to shoulder a few of them behind a line. The stadium of people.

'Doctor Cullen-can we get a comment?'

'When did you find out Doctor Cullen?'

'Do you believe it's a revenge plot?'

'When were you last seen with the victim?!'

Charlie seizes my arm, apparently spotting my alarm with concern. My mind immediately goes to Edward. If he'd done something stupid, if he'd… oh God I'd never forgive myself.

'It's King,' he hisses, spotting my horror. 'He's been attacked.'

My weaker leg starts to cramp.

'I don't know why,' he hisses into his coat shoulder, supposing my queries without pause. He glances upside at the threatening drizzle and curts his head. 'All I know is that they're trying transfer him. They can't do it till he's stable and these fusses of journalists-'

He spits as though he has just sworn and tugs his head back out. More people are demanding me by name in more requests, more commands. This time, I bury my feet in the concrete.

'Get out of here Carlisle-'

'What happened?!' I demand again and now the sweat is starting to appear on my brow. 'Tell me what-'

He interrupts me with a real curse this time.

'For the love of Christ-'

I wheel my eyes backward and see the expensive car force its way through people, parting them like the Red Sea.

He'd brand me dare I say it but I can't help thinking that Afton and my father look like a rather questionable couple coming across the lot. Particularly the younger huddles to him for his protection.

'Go,' Swan encourages. 'I can't handle a scene here not with this.'

He gestures to the squawking birds and though I am pale and sweating and horrified, though the guilt makes me as heavy as a lead statue, I settle for a breath.

'It's fine, Sir-'

'Son!' My father yells and several cameras shoot into my eye-line. Flinching from Charlie's judgment, I cut him off from where he's standing.

'Not here,' Charlie growls at me. 'For the Lord's sake, Carlisle-'

'I promise-,' he shakes his head with as much venom as I suppose he would have if he were to witness Bella climb on a motorcycle.

'Son,' my father demands.

'Yes!' I answer him.

He rolls his eyes, folds his arms across his chest and looks down to his bodyguard. I can feel Charlie's eyes on me as I slink to meet him, more cameras following.

'I'm sorry-'

'Be careful,' he mutters and I can't help but feel like the rope of his gaze squeeze around my middle as though fearing my father's attack.

I suppose I'd been doing a lot of that recently. I think of Esme now, curling her tongue as she chaotically reminds me that the Masen's had 'damn well recused me.'

And here I was, doing the ultimate disservice in evicting their son from my home. The home that, without them, I would not have.

The guilt bubbles away till it is feeding into the hate. Clasping the decrepit man with my eyes, I follow him as we find the side of a building to discuss under. Not far away to risk either lives, far enough away to not be followed by ears

'What the fuck have you done-?'

'Language, Son.' He mocks me easily. 'You know enough of them, after all.'

I know enough to know that there is no language on earth that can save me now.

'What the fuck have-'

'Did you speak with Aro?' He interrupts, coolly.

I glare at Afton who is too nervous to meet my eye.

'No. But-' I come to pull a letter from my inner pocket but Eustace trips me up.

'Are you insane?' He seethes, slapping my hand back to my chest. 'Are you trying to incriminate us, you Foolish Child?! Not here. Tell me what you've said.'

'I could lie to you,' I remind him darkly. He turns his eyes coldly to me.

'I doubt you would be so stupid- what have you said?'

'I've done as asked and given my blessing.'

He scoffs as though instructing Afton to lay a tough fist into my flesh. Neither of us move.

'It took you the night to write three lines?'

'Maybe I'd be quicker had I not been forced to learn an unnatural hand.'

I am referring of course to the old age practices of condemning movement Every time my left hand tried to wield the pencil. At least I had grown out of the hand tremor. That wouldn't have done well for my career otherwise.

'Pettiness does not suit you. What else did you say?'

'As you asked,' I growl. I turn an eye over my shoulder and meet a few of the eager journalists riding the fence like horse and jockey.

'Very well. You'll note your problem has been cured.'

'Problem?!' I demand and then my feet start to part, my throat now uncomfortably tight.

'The man is no more.'

'King-?!' I mouth, in horror. 'You've killed-'

'Will you watch your voice!' he snaps. He rolls his eyes to Afton again and watches him shift just as uncomfortably. 'Of course he's not dead. You think I want your blood on my hands?!'

'It's not my blood you have on your hands-,' not yet anyway. 'It's hers.'

He's smart in that this time, he fears my loyalty enough not to dare criticise my resolution to Esme in front of me. He breathes toughly.

'I have done as they did long ago. He humiliated my son so I-'

'Don't you dare insinuate it was a favour to me.'

'It was a deal,' he corrects, darkly. 'And if you're not even willing to take that, it was a gift-'

'What did you-'

'I emasculated him.'

Three words. Three of them. They bring salvation.

'E-xcuse me?!'

'Don't cry over it, Boy. I took his worth as recompense for his betrayal-'

'You-'

I have to remind myself that I hate the man in front. I despise him. Nothing about him is to be trusted. But at the bottom of my envious heart is gratitude. Real, thick gratitude. I swallow toughly.

'Now, did you do as I asked?'

'When you say emasculate?' I interrupt him, trying to keep my features tight. He all but throws me into the wall.

'Did you wish me to film it? Did you want a play by play? He can't have another woman- does that satisfy your understanding?'

'You…' I shudder hard. 'You mean to say that you-'

'Perhaps if I'd had the same thing done to you, we wouldn't be in this mess after all-' It's a ridiculous taunt, but it still forces an angry blush to rise on my cheeks. 'Now, Charmain. What have you said of Charmain?!'

'I've said enough,' I repeat difficultly. My father spits by my foot, catching the edge of my shoe with it. 'I have given my blessing and promised to vouch for her.'

'By way of letter?' he snaps.

'Yes.'

'It's not enough, Carlisle. He won't take your lines. You will meet with him-'

My eyes widen and I take a rather deliberate step back.

'No? No, you said-'

'I said it wasn't enough. Face it, Child. Hardly have an alibi, do you?'

'Alibi?' I stutter and for the second time in twenty minutes, my left leg cramps so hard he must believe I am trying to beg for a change of mind. 'You've condemned me,' I realise tightly.

'You condemned yourself the moment you laid with that-'

'Smettere!' Afton hisses and with wide eyes on the gaggle of faces, he grasps my hand before it can become an image of violence between the two of them. My father snorts.

'Return with me. Lord knows it'll be safer for you-'

'You think I would ever trust you? Leave them to defend themselves?!'

He rolls a foot on the gravel and looks hard at me.

'I have no interest in your playthings,' he moves quickly away from another lunge. 'The real question will be whether or not they have the same faith in you.'

'What are you insinuating?'

Eustace snorts again, tries to move the conversation back to his beloved but there are so more people calling for comment now and one of them just so happens to be Maddison. He doesn't get chance to see who I'm stood with.

Instead he has presumed I have been tackled by a reporter, and on his honour, has come to my immediate rescue. My father sleeks off before he is recognised.

'Cullen-,' when he reaches me, I realise we are mere mirror images of each other. Like me, the horror bleeds into his features and he blocks the hospital from view with his large shoulders. 'Those shitting reporters-'

'It's fine, Sir,' I mumble difficultly. He puts a tight hand on my arm, pushes me further from the entrance.

'Now isn't a good time, Son.'

'I need-'

He shakes his head quickly, completely unaware that I know who is currently housed in those walls. If I am playing dumb, I can't begin to question what the current status is though his heavy breath gives some slight indication.

At the very least, he seems concerned for me.

'Go home. I've taken you off today.'

He's forgetting that I wasn't even due to be working.

'Why? Surely there's something…' I didn't want to be here, granted. But I needed to be here. I needed to see the act done in my name… I needed to know.

'No, Cullen-.'

I swallow hard and try to consider how tense I must have looked these last few days. I had to give him a show. I had to make it real.

'I can't go home,' that at least isn't a lie. 'Sir, I can't-'

'This place is swarmed.' He reminds me, voice cutting deep as he slips his focus to them with fear on every inch of his features. I can smell his aftershave souring slightly. 'You will be hassled in an instant-'

I needed something good. If I was about to be incriminated. If I was about to have a lasting line of my name ruined, I needed to have something, anything to lighten the darkness. I couldn't have Eustace be right. I couldn't have them think I'd done something. Not Es but just as importantly, Edward.

He would shatter.

'Anything,' I whimper now. 'Give me anything-'

And he does.

It's the first time I've returned to surgery in months but surprisingly, Alistair is not in the mood to humiliate. There are too many things to do, too many stresses to consider and though we both know that just a few floors up, I could cut a wire and watch the life drain out of Satan himself, we work together in silence.

At a little after three, he reads his pager, lets out a tense breath and raises an eyebrow at me.

'Looks like you're out of the woods, Cullen.'

'What was that?' I ask, looking up from the scribbling of my notes to see the disorganised man, the mess of his face curl into an attempted smile.

'Your infatuation has left the building.'

We say no more on the incident.

In all honesty, I am fighting. Fighting with the return to home. Everything was as it should be. I am ready to do it. To have done with it all. Following the end of my shift, I would drive to the cliff edges down at Seal rock. I'd hike. I'd leave my father with a hurried, dramatic call and I'd jump.

They'd find the car in two days.

Time enough for Edward and Esme to be packing. Maybe they wouldn't have to hear about it. They wouldn't want to hear. They'd be too angry.

Once untraceable, I'd phone them.

I'd phone Edward.

He'd need the reassurance a little more. I'd have to work harder to gain his forgiveness. Because for Esme, it wouldn't exist. She would curse every inch of my soul. She'd curse it and hate it and not come a foot near me.

And she'd be even safer because of it.

I had barely three hours to go till I readied myself to do it.

But those three ours are stolen away by a head on collision. A father, a young father had been driving south when he'd had a heart attack at the wheel, killing him instantly. The suddenness of the attack left them square in the middle of a cross roads where a one car caught the back of the vehicle and hurled them into another, passenger side in.

The baby, barely a month old, was surviving by way of luck.

The mother…

Alistair does not have chance to threaten me with memories. The surgeons called in are so in need of help that I have to assist in the swab and general clear up while Alistair pulls shards of glass from her chest.

She is a young mother. Blonde. Blue eyes. And before she went under, she screamed for her baby.

The minutes feel like days when I watch the monitor, repeat assessments to the team of bumbling, bickering voices, one working on her leg, another two on her chest. The incident is so bad we nearly lose her twice.

But somehow, around an hour after I had planned to jump, we manage to pull the girl from the brink of death.

Alistair sits with me after the surgery. I have been shaking for some time now.

'The adrenaline,' he mutters but really I think it's the irony. Hours after I was due to do it, we instead save another soul. It is like a refund. 'You did well in there…'

'Thanks.'

I keep it short in case he is mocking me. Instead he furrows his eyebrows.

'You thinking on the guy we lost?'

'Yes,' I lie.

I'm thinking on a lot of things. I'm thinking of my mother. Of what she might have said in the same situation, whether she would've wanted to die. Most importantly I'm thinking of Edward.

It seemed hardly fair. Esme had got a goodbye. Maybe not to her understanding but I had still said thrown the words at her. She would at least know when my shoes were found sometime after the car, that I had done the act while loving her.

I hadn't seen Edward.

'No matter how many you save, Cullen. It's never enough.'

I consider that the better versions of Alistair's advice that evening.

Returning home is more daunting than I can prepare for. Too many times this month had I met with unexpected greetings. For now, I thought of a child.

I hadn't even had chance to approach. By accident, we meet each other at the door. We both come forward like a mirror. Then he steps back and I step forward and he juts to the side.

'Edward-'

'Staying at Bella's-'

'Wait!' I call frantically. I had made this diversion specifically to see him. His untidy hair and grumbling expression and deep, heavy frown.

He rolls his eyes. I have to fight the instinct to twist my hands in the way Esme would.

'Yes?' he answers, looking a little at his shoes, a little at my collar.

I didn't want him to leave the house.

I didn't want them to find out alone. And I expect Mr Masen would come here. If he came here to find that only Esme was home-.

'Bella has work, no?'

'So?' he asks.

'And Charlie?'

He wrinkles his mouth. Charlie was not expecting Edward. Of course not. He drops his chin a little.

'I already said I was going now,'

'But-'

He is predicting that I will ask him to stay. Truthfully I doubt I have the authority nor the ability to convince him. It comes entirely from him.

'Fine,' he says sourly. 'I'll cancel.'

'You don't- '

'Anything else you wish for me to quit? I think Es may need the toilet in around ten, should I accompany her there too?'

'Not if you wish to keep those limbs of yours,' she answers smartly.

I flinch. I hadn't realised she was on the stairs. Nevertheless she grins at the two of us as if thrilled to find us in the same room.

Edward does not share this feeling.

'Kid,' I try awkwardly, all too aware of Esme slipping down the stairs behind me. Her perfume is warm, her eyes wide as she fights not to pay attention.

The kid glares at me as if I am holding on tightly to his reins.

'I saw there's a Bach concert in Portland in a couple of weeks.'

'Hmm.'

He is pretending to not give a shit.

'Maybe Bella…?'

'It's not really her thing.' He says, dropping himself to the arm chair loudly.

Trundling around the room in an effort to seem casual, I hesitate on the lower step this time, accepting his irritation as is. Yet when I put my foot on the step, he lifts his green eyes from his cell phone and pouts somewhat.

'Thanks though.'

'No worries.'

Considering I'd been oh-so eager to catch a glimpse of his youth, boyish expression. His judging brow and unimpressed smile, I do not speak to him for the rest of the night.

The closest I get is sometime before midnight. They are communicating silently in the living room, a game poise between them. The aim is to slip out casually but when a slight chin comes up, I find the guilt makes the tears slip.

'Of on a run?'

I flinch, lower my head into a nod.

She looks up from her lap, wide brown eyes with her lip coming up in a natural smile and then stopping and quickly returning itself.

'Stay warm.'

I do not get further than the block.

Running the course is another variation of patrol. I rush it a few times of course. Pretending like I'm familiar with the pounding ache of legs to lungs. Now, I am far from it. The only pain I seemed to suffer is self-induced and my bruising was dampening by the hour.

Circling the make shift track, I keep running until I reckon they are asleep.

They're not.

Edward is cursing about the television but on my return, hushes his mouth closed. Esme, sleepy, eyes heavy, posture heavy, arms wound around herself and shuddering, stops the moment I reach the door way.

'Back so soon?' she mocks, made victim by the wind now whistling through the house.

On the observation, I leave to run again. Make out that I'd forgotten something.

By eleven that night, both are about to make their way to bed. I receive a half smile from Edward who forgets quite quickly that we are apparently warring once more.

My hand almost reached out to touch his shoulder, looking how It might be in comparison to my oath hand, wondering if I would still see Elizabeth's face but masculinised before my eyes.

I shudder again and come to wait my last hours in the house alone, under thought.

But Esme has retreated from the bathroom, head bent low, hand pressed firmly to her mouth in steady breaths.

She leaps when she sees me and, without shrieking, retreats quickly.

'Evening,' she says, quietly.

Her chest is palpitating, her eyes scanning frantically down until slowly, slowly, the exhaustion wins.

'Are you-?'

Is she?

I take in her posture, her wringing hands, her damp forehead.

'What can I do?' Normally I would plead with her but tonight, I need one last chance to be the good choice.

'Nuffin'

'Please,' I urge and for some odd reason, her head tilts as she listens, rustling her hair behind her ear cautiously. 'Let me help.'

'There's some pepto-'

'I've got it.'

She has to invite me into the room again but while she seems a little reserved this time, a little unsure, as my foot crosses the lip and I bid her a 'goodnight', her demands cut through me.

'Carlisle!'

It's like she's shrieking.

'Hm?'

'S-stay?' she whimpers.

I do not have the energy to displease her.

She does not say another word; she does not need to. Because we sit together in one room under one roof and let the silence consume us.

At two thirty-five on the morning of Sunday fifth of June 2016, I decide to go through with it.

I had barely uttered a word or two with Edward. The last sentence I had managed what I hoped would feel like a trusting, 'I'll see you soon.' Naturally, it didn't fit the context of the usual bedtime rituals and though he has corrected with a simple 'goodnight', features up in confusion, he otherwise stalked off to bed.

And Esme. Oh Esme.

Knowing that I would not climb into bed with her, she poorly tries to suggest we settle the two of us, on the sofa. We do not speak. I like to think we do not need to. Though when her eyes fall heavy and her arms wind about herself, I manage to convince her that the bed ought to win.

And on her instruction, I follow her in.

I sit as I did before against the bed with my hands to my lips.

She had even invited me in the sheets.

Betrayal would not dare give me the right.

So I leave her with my prayers, with my heart and drive down to the cliffs by the back edge of the coastline. It's wet this Morning. Windy. Breezy. With the waves almost trying to frighten me off as they tower and loom and fight noisily with each other.

Following my call, my father arrives not long after me.

'I got the impression we would not speak again until Europe,' he mutters, triumphantly. He slams the door shut, unrecognisable in the dark as if he is just eyes between it all.

When he is two steps away, I start my ascent towards the top end of the cliff.

'Where do you wish to go?' he asks sceptically, already sensing my sombre mood. I jut my head upwards, my eyes tired, my hands tired, my feet tired.

'Somewhere we cannot be heard.'

'Chance would be fine, Son. You are always under watch with me.'

He smiles as if he had made a pleasant joke and with feet just a tad slower than mine, he follows behind me towards the climb upwards. He has to stop a few times, rest his aging bones and despite my years of focus, I fail to consider this.

I wait until we are hanging over the edge toward the northern coastline till I stop. I could go further. Though I wouldn't need to.

He slows. It looks as though it has taken twenty-five years for the elderly man to start to wither before me.

We have waited long enough.

'Never lose your dramatics, do you Carlisle?'

The comments are cutting but the suggestion is as light as his eyes. He is referring to the man I'd prefer to consider a father. Masen was dramatic. A necessary counterpart to his profession. Edward, too was dramatic.

It is pleasant to fit in with that.

To have been…

'What did you want to discuss-?'

'King,' I swallow. 'Where Is King?'

He snorts.

'Father, tell me where King is.'

I'm surprised that my voice comes out so basely and that I had braved myself to call him father. His own wrinkles flicker and he answers as if not expecting the word to come out.

'H-he's gone.'

I stare hard at him, the rising wind of a June breeze pushing to roll me forward. Instead, I imbed myself to the weather's cushioning. My spine wavers into it just slightly.

Sighing, my father elaborates.

'They say New York.'

'Why?' My teeth are gritted together now.

'To assemble a legal army.'

I frown, he smiles.

'Against you,' he elaborates. 'He's planning to screw you over, Carlisle. Rob you of every cent you own.'

'And you?'

He snorts. 'What would he want with me?'

'After what you did?'

My father narrow shoulder shudder in boredom though he winds his arms around his blazer coat.

'Perhaps. Though he'd be foolish to think he could get near me.' He laughs loudly and then sees my expression and settles to a grin. 'You'll have no choice but to come to Italy now-,'

The snivel takes a hold of my nose.

'I won't leave them,' I lie difficultly. Much like a child as I shuffle my feet.

'Masen won't want you near them in enough time….'

Filling my lungs with the moist sea air, I let the stupid man goad me.

'After what we did, Carlisle-' he teases, delightfully.

'What you did,' I hiss.

'What we did.' He amends with a wet grin. 'For the sake of a Whore's honour-'

'Don't-!' I snarl, my fists smacking heavily against my thigh. Must retreat. I have to retreat.

'Masen will protect his Son. His real son.' The words shouldn't sting me but they do. 'He'll happily condemn you, Carlisle. And then you'll have no choice but to follow…'

'I thought you didn't want me anymore? I thought I was tainted now.'

His nods his chin, body moving from the battering wind. His feet still had a harder plant to the ground than me. They still drove him to the earth. Contrarily I was just a leaf the decisions of the cool.

'You are,' he says decidedly. 'But that doesn't mean to say I can't find use in you. Use that is, to your advantage…'

My hand comes to shove an escaped tear from my cheek. The pressure being the likely cause, the pressure of air pressed to my body, my open eyes as though watching me twirl uncomfortably in a barrel of spikes.

'Swear to me on His honour that you will never approach them. You will never harm them.'

My father raises a sprinkled eyebrow.

'You trust me at my Word?'

'It's all I have,' I mutter.

He is right. He is not an active liar. The reason I could and tended to lie so profusely was and will always be Masen's fault. My father found it to no dilemma to wound me with the pain of truth.

He touches the chain of the cross around his neck and nods.

'There now, I will not waste my energy of your pets.'

'You will stay true to your word?' I ask shakily, backing away from him. My shoe rolls over a patch of dirt but the man doesn't look up at me. The eyes are elsewhere.

'Yes, my Son. I already said as so.'

He sounds strangely comforting. I didn't understand why. Why he felt he had ight to do this. Male me feel better. Comfort me to entice me across the waters. My voice is tight, my heart thrumming as if desperate to pull me towards land rather than toward the water.

'You swear it?'

'I will not humiliate myself to you. Remember that I am doing you a favour, Son. I am housing the fugitive.'

The tears, my own this time, are colder than expected but I let them run knowing he will not see.

My chest is tight now, my shoulder jammed, my mouth dry.

'You promise?' I beg, coming another step back. My voice is hoarse so I doubt the man hears me. He frowns unusually again. Almost in soft confusion. He looks to me as if to pull me back.

'Yes, Carlisle.'

Good.

His lips part, his hand reaching an inch above his middle before, realising, in fury, what I am about to do.

'Son, no!'

It's too late. My choice is already made. The necessary thing is that he is here. And when they find no body, when I am far from the reach of his clutches in some southern border, when the lot of them presume me dead, his talons will retract and we will be free.

Letting the biting air take my lungs, I inflate myself with the wind and let my weight lean backwards into the water below.

Un Degna Causa.

* Robert Burns on Remorse.