"But love was always something heavy for me. Something I had to carry."

- Benjamin Alire Sáenz -

Whispers

There was a light touch on my bottom lip, making me open my eyes. I ran the tip of my tongue over the small cut; it was a bit sore, but it didn't bother me.

Carlisle touched my lip again with the tip of his finger, the look in his eyes apologetic. "I did that, didn't I?" he asked, giving me an embarrassed smile. "I'm terribly sorry, Bella. I don't usually go around biting people."

I chuckled. "It's okay. You were rather...preoccupied with something. I'm kind of flattered, actually. No one's ever bitten me during...well, you know…"

He gave soft laugh. "Well, maybe I haven't felt the need to bite anyone before." He shifted, adjusting the bedside lamp, so he could inspect my lip more closely. He placed his thumb on my chin, and I cracked my mouth open, waiting patiently as he leaned over me and examined the cut. "Does it hurt?"

I shook my head. "Not really. I'll live. I've had a lot worse, you know. For example, one time a few years ago, I tripped and hit my chin on a table." I turned my head, so he could see the pale line on the underside of my chin. Carlisle hissed in sympathy, tracing a finger gently along the scar.

"That must've hurt," he murmured. "Let me guess; at least seven stitches?"

I chuckled. "Correct."

He gave me a small smile, easing onto his side and facing me. He propped his head up with his hand, seeming lost in thought, as he stared at a spot next to my shoulder. It took a while for me to realize his eyes were studying the long scar on the inside of my right arm. He reached out with his free hand to touch it, tracing a finger along the pale, slightly uneven skin.

"I wonder how many of these you have," he murmured softly, looking like he didn't know if he should be amused or concerned.

"More than I care to count," I told him with a chuckle. "Like I've said before, I've always been very accident-prone. Maybe my mom dropped me too many times when I was a baby, and that's why I'm so uncoordinated."

He gave a soft laugh. "I think it's...endearing. As long as you don't hurt yourself too badly, that is."

I looked away from his blue eyes, not knowing what to think of his words. Needless to say, I'd never thought my clumsiness was a very attractive trait.

Carlisle was still looking at the scar on my arm, his finger continuously caressing the damaged skin. I couldn't read the look on his face, and it wasn't until he asked the next question that I found out what he was thinking about.

"Do you ever think about...him?" he asked, his eyes still on the scar. "What was his name? James?"

I quirked my eyebrows, more than caught off guard by his unexpected question. "Not really. I mean, he sometimes passes through my mind, but other than that...I have no reason to think about him, really. That's how it works, right? Out of sight, out of mind."

Momentarily, he looked like he wanted to disagree with my last sentence, but he caught himself. "Yes. I suppose," he murmured absently.

"Why do you ask?"

He shook his head, giving me a sad smile. "No reason."

I didn't buy that – there was always a reason. But I decided not to push, and instead, I asked a question of my own. "And you?" I asked quietly, propping myself on one elbow and mimicking his position. "Do you often think about...well, her?"

His blue eyes became a little guarded. "You're talking about the friend you saw me with outside the diner?" He waited until I nodded, and then, he was silent for a moment, searching for words. "I do think about her. She's...she's an essential part of my life."

I nodded quickly and avoided his eyes, staring at the sheets between us. Carlisle took my hand, making me lift my gaze again.

"I think about her, like one thinks about a close friend. For instance, I'm sure you think about Rosalie at least once a day and wonder what she's up to. How she's doing in general."

I wondered why he felt the need to clarify that, but a large part of me was glad he had. I nodded again, giving him a small, almost playful smile.

"But Rosalie's not my ex-girlfriend," I pointed out gently, drawing a small chuckle from him. "I suppose what I tried to ask was...well, do you ever...miss her? The life you had with her?"

"I do," he answered slowly, swallowing. "I...value the time I shared with her. We had a lot of good moments."

I drew in a deep breath, almost like I was about to dive into cold water. "What's her name?" I asked quietly.

Carlisle held my gaze; he almost seemed surprised I'd asked that. "Esme."

Esme. At first, I didn't know why the name seemed to ring a bell, but after a while, I remembered that one night I'd spent at Carlisle's house a few weeks ago. When I'd picked up his mail at his request, I'd dropped one of the letters. My eyes had accidentally fallen on the name of the sender. I was pretty sure the first name had been Esme, but I couldn't recall the last name. Bayer? Banner? I wasn't sure.

Not that it mattered. I suddenly found myself thinking about the initials that were carved on the inner surface of the wedding ring I'd found in Carlisle's bedside drawer.

E.A.P.

I was sure now that the letter E stood for Esme. I wondered what her middle and maiden names were.

There was a soft touch on my cheek, dragging me away from my thoughts. I gave Carlisle a glance; his blue eyes were watching me closely.

"You zoned out again," he stated, chuckling softly. "You do that a lot."

I shrugged, giving him an embarrassed smile. "I just have a lot in my mind, I guess."

"Like what?"

I shrugged again. "Just...some things."

"Tell me." The gentleness in his voice surprised me. Maybe it was that, but I suddenly found myself responding to his request.

"I…uh...I was thinking about her. Esme," I admitted, watching for his reaction. Something shifted in his eyes, but otherwise, his expression gave nothing away. "It's a beautiful name," I continued, my voice soft.

Carlisle nodded. "It is."

I drew in a slow, deep breath, knowing I was about to walk on thin ice. "You love her very much, don't you?"

His expression had been difficult to read before, but now, he made it even more impossible for me to know what was going on in his head; he looked down at the sheets between us, hiding his eyes from me. "What makes you say that?" His voice was quiet and soft, forcibly composed.

"This." I reached out with my hand and put a finger to his chin, lifting his face towards me again. He met my eyes, and as soon as he did, my gaze fell on his lips. I ran a finger along his mouth, slowly tracing the shape of his lips. "This was one of the very first things I noticed about you, you know. Your smile...it's always so sad. It's like...like even your lips are grieving all the time. All these weeks, I've wondered why. I've wondered what put that sadness there."

I paused, meeting his gaze again. His blue eyes were guarded and cautious, almost like he was worried or even afraid of what I was going to say next.

"When I saw you with her..." I continued, hesitating, "There was this moment when you looked at her, and you smiled...and it was the first time I'd seen you smile like that. Without any sadness. And that's how I knew she must be...important. To you."

There was a long moment when Carlisle didn't speak. He just kept watching me, his eyes looking into mine, and for some reason, a part of me was expecting him to get upset. I felt like I was crossing some invisible line, after all. He didn't like to talk about the past, about what had been before, and this woman clearly fell under that category.

And then, there was the obvious fact that this was none of my business.

He drew in a small breath after a moment, and to my surprise, he didn't seem upset. Only pensive.

"You're right," he murmured. "She is important to me. And like I said, she's an essential part of my life. That never changed, despite the fact that we parted ways several years ago. I appreciate her presence in my life even more so because...well, because her presence was never...self-evident.

"The truth is, I have to be grateful for being able to remain friends, even after our shared life was over. That's something I shouldn't take for granted. It could've easily been different...had it been up to me." He frowned, then, his eyes fixated on a spot in the distance. After a while, he seemed to remember where he was and flicked me a brief glance, shaking his head, as if to get rid of some troubling memory.

I bit my lip, still a little surprised he had talked so willingly about this. I hadn't expected that. "You told me she's married now, right? And that you know her husband?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Did it ever bother you that...well, that she was able to move on and remarry?"

Carlisle began to consider my question, staring at the bed sheets, but then, he looked up at me and observed me very closely, narrowing his eyes. At first, I didn't realize why.

"Remarry?" he asked. "Why would you...phrase it like that?"

Crap. I closed my eyes, realizing I'd slipped. I breathed in deeply and then exhaled slowly, opening my eyes to meet his questioning gaze.

"Okay. Here we go." I licked my lips; my mouth felt suddenly dry. "Remember all those weeks ago, when I was staying over and asked for a pen and paper, because I needed to write something down. Do you remember?"

He nodded slowly, frowning. "Vaguely."

"Well, you said I'd find a writing pad and a pen in the bedside drawer...only you weren't clear on which drawer. I tried to ask you, but you were in the shower, and..."

As I was talking, Carlisle closed his eyes in realization. I fell silent and waited. He didn't seem upset, but he wouldn't meet my eyes, either.

"Look, I swear it wasn't my intention to snoop," I continued softly, hoping he'd believe me. "I found a ring from the drawer, it looked like a wedding ring...and I obviously drew my own conclusions."

He nodded slowly. "When did this happen, again?"

"Soon after we'd begun to see each other. I think it was the morning after the first night I'd spent here, at your house."

Carlisle just watched me for a long while in complete silence. "You've known all this time that I was once married, and you never said anything?" Again, he didn't sound upset. Just slightly confused, maybe.

I shrugged. "You never brought it up, so I didn't see why I should. I had a feeling that, maybe there was a good reason why you never said anything about it. I assumed...well, for a long time, I thought she'd died or something. I thought you were a widower. I saw you come from the cemetery that one day, and I jumped to conclusions." I paused, trying to read his expression. It was hard. "And I also felt very bad about finding the ring in the first place. It was an accident, of course, but I felt guilty, like I'd intruded on your privacy or something. And that wasn't my intention, obviously."

He nodded slowly. "Were you worried that...I'd be upset?"

I shrugged. "I guess. I just...I didn't want to bring up a painful topic. Back then, I still suspected something bad had happened. That someone had died or something."

Carlisle closed his eyes; I saw that something about my words shook him, but I didn't know what. Before I could ask him what I'd said wrong, he shook his head and breathed in deeply, before opening his eyes again.

"I appreciate your discretion," he murmured, "And I believe you, when you say you found the ring by accident."

"Still...I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this sooner. Maybe I should've."

He took my hand and squeezed it. "You have no reason to apologize. I haven't been very forthcoming about things myself, after all. And like you said...since I chose not to mention anything about my ended marriage, why should you be the one to bring it up? It wasn't your responsibility. It was mine." He was silent for a beat, hesitating. "Maybe I should've told you about it right away, at the beginning, but...to be entirely honest, I didn't expect us to...well, I didn't expect that we..."

"That we'd last this long?" I finished for him.

He nodded. "Right."

I didn't know how to feel about his confession. I guess I was glad he was honest about this, but I had to admit, his words were also a little painful to hear. I held his gaze, once again hoping his eyes would reveal his thoughts to me, the thoughts he never spoke aloud.

"You're still here, though," I murmured softly after a while of silence. "We're still here."

He nodded. "Yes. We are."

There was a moment, when he just looked at me for a long time, not saying anything. Then, he reached out to take my hand, lacing our fingers together, his expression pensive.

"You asked if it ever bothered me that Esme was able to move on and remarry," he murmured softly, hesitating. "I suppose...well, it's hard to explain. Seeing her happy was always very important to me. When she met her current husband, I was just very...relieved...that she was able to move on."

"You were never jealous?" I asked quietly.

"I was," he admitted. "But not of their relationship, or their happiness. I was only jealous of Esme's ability to move past what happened to...me and her." He shook his head in a mournful manner. "Thousands of times, I wondered why I couldn't be like her. I envied her ability to...to turn a new page, so to speak. To love with an open heart, despite the pain it sometimes causes. To believe that, everything would be alright, someday. To have faith in a better tomorrow." He swallowed hard. "I never had that faith, and I resented everything because of that. But I never resented her. I was only very glad and relieved that she didn't end up like...like me."

I watched him closely, studying his face, the shadows under his eyes. "It was very hard for you, wasn't it?" I asked carefully. "That your marriage with her ended."

He avoided my eyes. "Divorces are always hard," he mused. "But often times, the things that lead to them are even harder."

"Like in your case?" I guessed.

He looked at me, then. A familiar, sad smile passed on his lips. "Yes. Like in our case." He shifted, laying his head down onto the pillow. I mimicked his action, and he draped his arm over me, pulling me closer, and for a long moment, we just lay in complete silence.

After a while, Carlisle reached out to touch my face, gently stroking my cheek with the back of his hand.

"You know, Bella," he began, his voice reflective and a little uncertain, "I understand why you hesitated in telling me you'd found the ring. But I want you to know you don't have to feel like...like you can't tell me about things. Maybe I don't have the right to say this, considering how I always clam up about everything, but if there's something you want to tell me, something you want me to know, don't be afraid to come to me if something troubles you. I want you to know there's nothing you can't tell me."

I nodded, swallowing. "Thank you. I'll remember that." His words touched me, and there was a part of me that wanted to open up to him about everything that was going on with me. I wanted him to know how I'd come to feel about him during the past weeks, wanted him to know I cared about him a lot more than I should...but I was afraid. Afraid my words and confessions would cost too much. I wasn't ready to risk it. I wasn't ready for this to end.

But will I ever be ready?

Sighing quietly, I shook the thoughts out of my mind. I noticed Carlisle was watching me closely. Maybe trying to figure out what was going on in my head, just like I was always trying to figure him out. The thought made me chuckle quietly; we really made a complicated pair.

"What?" he asked, wondering what amused me suddenly so much.

I gave him a small smile. "Nothing."

"Something you wanted to ask?"

"A lot of things, actually. But I doubt you'll answer."

His small smile was suddenly very free, very open. Almost playful. "Try me."

It took a while for me to get over my surprise. I bit my lip, thinking how ironic it was that, now that he had offered me the chance to ask something, I was too taken aback to even speak.

"Okay," I said after a while, still uncertain. "Why do you...keep your ring in the bedside drawer?"

He considered my question, frowning slightly. "I don't know. I've always kept it there. When I had to take it off my finger all those years ago...well, I guess I wanted to keep it close to me. I didn't want to forget it. I didn't want to forget…the good things." He hesitated, flicking me a glance, and then he shifted, half sitting up, as he reached over me to the drawer beside the bed. I waited as he fumbled about, and after a short moment, he pulled back and settled against the pillows again. He was holding a familiar-looking ring between his fingers, his blue eyes staring intently at the small, silvery object, like he was seeing it for the first time. After a while, he gave me an uncertain glance, and then he offered the ring to me.

As strange as it was, I was a bit flattered by his gesture. It was like he was offering me a piece of himself, willingly giving me the chance to study it more closely. Most of the time, he was so private and reserved, that a small thing such as this seemed like a big deal now.

I turned onto my back and took the ring, noticing he was watching me carefully. My eyes found the engraving on the inner surface, and I read it again, despite the fact that the letters and numbers had been carved in my mind for these past weeks. July 15, 1995. I thought idly that I'd been just short of six years old at the time. If Carlisle had known Esme for over twenty-five years, then it meant they'd possibly met before I was even born. That was a long time to know someone. It was insanely long.

Letting out a slow breath, I gave Carlisle a glance; he was still observing me.

"You know," I began, giving him a small smile, "Charlie still wears his wedding ring, even though it's been over twenty years since my mom left him. So, I can't blame you for keeping this in your bedside drawer. I think it's...natural, that you want to keep it close and see it from time to time." I gave the ring back to him. "How long has it been?" I asked. "Since your divorce?"

He shifted and reached over me again to put the ring back into the drawer. I noticed the photo album with brown leather cover was still in the drawer as well. He placed the ring on top of the album and pushed the drawer closed.

"Nearly thirteen years," he answered with a sigh, as he lay back down. "For some people, it may seem like a short time, but...I feel like it's been an entire lifetime."

"Divorce isn't a quick process. That must've had an effect on it, too."

He nodded, avoiding my eyes. "And then there was the fact that we began to drift apart long before all that. Something...something happened and, uh...we just weren't the same anymore."

I considered asking more about this – after all, he'd been far more open and forthcoming tonight than he ever had been before, more open than I ever could have expected – but the tortured look in his eyes made me stay quiet. I turned onto my side and inched closer to him, resting my head against his chest, and I both felt and heard him sigh quietly, before he wrapped his arm around me, holding me tightly.

"Thank you," I said quietly, tracing my hand over his chest in a weak attempt to relax his taut muscles. "For telling me all this, I mean. I know these things aren't something you like to talk about."

I heard him swallow, his arm tightening around me. His chest rose and fell as he drew in a deep breath and then released it slowly. "Thank you, Bella, for...understanding. I just wish..." His words trailed off into silence, and when I lifted my head from his chest to see his face, he avoided my eyes. He reached out to turn off the bedside light, sending the room into darkness.

I rested my head back on his chest. "What do you wish, Carlisle?" I asked quietly, relying on my other senses, since I could no longer see him; his breathing was a little too slow, and as he caught my other hand and held it in his own, his grip was a little too tight. And when he spoke, his voice...it was a little too calm.

"A lot of things," he whispered. I felt him shift and press a gentle kiss on the top of my head, before he pulled the covers over my shoulders, cocooning me in warmth. I closed my eyes and listened to his breathing, already knowing he'd stay wide awake after I'd drifted off. The thought made me ache, and I dragged my eyes open, suddenly determined to stay conscious if he had no intentions to sleep. He'd stayed up too many nights all alone.

But the sound of his breathing was too soothing, and as the tips of his fingers began to draw idle patterns on my shoulder, my eyes slipped closed of their own accord. Before sleep claimed me, I wondered if he did those things on purpose, if he knew about my silent intentions to stay awake and face the night together with him. If so…I wondered why he wanted me to sleep, when he'd stay awake.

I wondered why he wanted to face the night alone.

I didn't know what woke me up later that night, but as I slowly left the world of slumber and dreams behind me, I instantly knew it was still too early to get up. I glanced at the illuminated alarm clock on the bedside table; the glowing numbers showed it was just before three in the morning.

I reached out a hand and felt across the bed, not surprised when I discovered Carlisle's side was empty. The sheets were cool; he'd been gone for some time. I wondered if he was taking a walk again. It wouldn't have been the first time I awoke to an empty bed, and it also wouldn't be the first time I'd discover the house was empty as well.

It didn't really bother me, waking up alone. Insomnia wasn't something Carlisle had chosen for himself, after all, and if night walks helped him, I wasn't going to start complaining. But I was a little worried, when I thought about all the things that might happen. I knew this was a quiet and calm neighborhood, but you never knew.

I decided that, since I was awake, I might as well get up and have a drink of water. I turned on the bedside light and slipped out of the warm sheets, collecting my panties from the floor by the bed. After pulling them on, I began to look around for my sweater, but then I remembered that, thanks to my little strip-tease performance last night, it was in the living room. My overnight bag was there as well; I remembered Carlisle had placed it on one of the chairs.

I was so familiar with the house by now that I didn't need to switch on more lights; there was enough light coming from the bedroom. Only when I reached the living room door, did I turn on the standard lamp in the hallway. I was very aware of the fact that the curtains in the living room were open, and I was half-naked – it was probably a good thing it was so late. Or early, more likely. The thought of giving the neighbors a free show didn't sound appealing. I made my way across the room, picking up my sweater from the floor in front of the couch and pulling it on. I noticed Carlisle's pants were gone, but the shirt he'd worn the previous night was still on the couch, right where I'd left it a few hours earlier, as I'd undressed him; I thought that was a bit odd.

After pulling the sweater on, I was about to turn around and make my way back to the hallway, but my eyes fell on the bookshelf on the other side of the room. The framed pictures on one shelf seemed to stare at me, and I responded to their silent call, too curious. I'd been to Carlisle's house so many times, but I'd never gotten the chance to take a closer look around his living room.

I made my way across the room, my eyes idly scanning the books resting on the shelves, but there wasn't enough light to make out the titles. I wondered why Carlisle kept these here and not in his study. But then again, his study was so full of books that maybe he'd run out of space. Shrugging inwardly, I turned my attention to the shelf that had piqued my curiosity in the first place.

Instantly, I recognized two persons. There were three pictures of Edward, both as a child and later as an adult. The third was a wedding portrait; Edward was standing next to a beautiful blonde woman with hazel eyes. This had to be his wife, Irina. Next to the wedding portrait, there was a picture of a boy and a girl. The boy had shockingly green eyes and golden blond hair, and I estimated that he was about seven or eight years old in the picture. He was holding the girl's hand and smiling widely at the camera, and despite the fact that I'd only met Edward once, I could easily see it was his grin on the boy's face; it was mischievous and crooked. The girl in the photo was about three or four years old, the small smile on her face a little shy. There was a lot of Edward in her features; she had the same, unusual shade of bronze to her hair, but her eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue.

I wasn't surprised by the fact that the second person I recognized from the photos was Esme. Even though I'd only seen her once and from a distance, it was impossible to forget her. When I'd seen her two weeks ago, I remembered thinking you only saw women like her in movies. I realized my memory of her hadn't done her beauty justice. She looked very young in the photo – I estimated that she couldn't have been more than twenty. It had clearly been fall, when the photo had been taken. She was standing under a colorful maple tree, smiling widely at the camera, as a gust of wind played with her caramel curls. I wondered idly if Carlisle had been behind the camera, when the photo had been taken.

I couldn't recognize the third person looking at me from one frame. I squinted, suddenly hoping I'd turned on more lights. There was a woman in the picture; she was maybe in her forties. She had long, dark hair, nearly black, or maybe dark brown. I could easily recognize her eyes. They were Carlisle's eyes. Blue like fields full of cornflowers, blue like the ocean at its most enraged. She had to be Carlisle's mother. Ever since he'd told me about her, I'd imagined his mother had been blonde, but I guess not.

I turned away from the shelf, smiling to myself. For some reason, seeing the photos made me now feel closer to Carlisle. I wondered if he'd tell me stories about them if I asked; I had a strong feeling he had numerous tragicomic stories about Edward.

Still feeling a little thirsty, I crossed the living room and made my way to the hallway. I walked to the kitchen with soft steps, running my fingers through my hair and thinking to myself that I'd have to ask Rosalie to trim it soon.

Maybe my brain was still in sleep mode, or maybe I was lost in my thoughts, but I didn't notice the silent, dark figure sitting at the table, until I had opened one of the cupboards to take out a glass for myself. I saw something from the corner of my eye, though, and when I realized I wasn't alone, I jumped so violently I hit my head on the open cupboard door. I hissed and ground my teeth together to stop myself from cursing like a sailor, rubbing the top of my head, as if that would stop the pain. It didn't, obviously.

"Jesus," I muttered, staring at the familiar form sitting at the table. "You scared me. I thought you'd gone outside for a walk."

I heard Carlisle draw in a slow breath; it was like he had become aware of my presence at the same time as I had become aware of his. "I'm sorry. I...I didn't mean to startle you. Did you hurt yourself?"

I forgot the pain in my head instantly. His voice was...off. It was unsteady and thick, like he had a cold or something.

Or...

"What's the matter?" I asked, hoping I could see his face. "Why are you sitting here in the dark?"

He didn't answer. There was enough light coming from the lamp in the hallway that I could see him dash a hand across his face. I heard him draw in a deep breath.

"Carlisle? What's the matter?"

He breathed out slowly, clearing his throat. "Nothing. Go back to bed. I'll join you in a moment."

I crossed the kitchen to him, my thirst forgotten. I put a tentative hand on his shoulder. His bare skin was warm, but a little clammy, like he'd been sweating. Had he had a nightmare again?

Sighing quietly, I stroked his shoulder, noticing his muscles were tense, like a rubber band nearing its snapping point. I wondered what had brought this on. Was it our conversation the previous evening? Had talking about Esme and their divorce been so hard for him that it affected him so much? Was the topic so painful for him that his own mind punished him as soon as he let himself think about those things?

"Are you okay?" I asked quietly and reached out with my other hand to touch his cheek, a little frustrated that I couldn't see his expression. As soon as my hand touched his face, he turned his head away.

"I'm fine, Bella," he answered. He shifted away from me, as if to escape my touch, and my hand slipped from his shoulder as he leaned forward in his chair.

I wanted to understand him, but it hurt me a bit when he dismissed me like that. Why couldn't he see how much it worried me to see him like this? How it made me ache, knowing he couldn't get a break from the things that troubled him? That he was doomed to spend his nights like this?

"You're not fine, Carlisle," I said softly, deciding this had to end. Now. He couldn't keep going like this forever. "Don't tell me you are. I want to help you, but I don't know how–"

"You can't help me." His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it now, something I'd never heard before. "I'm fine, Bella. Just...just go back to bed. Give me a moment. That's all I'm asking."

"But Carlisle–" I reached out to touch his shoulder again.

"I said I'm fine," he cut me off. His voice was quiet, but cool. He got up, rounded the table and walked over to the window across the kitchen. "Just...just leave me be. Please."

I sighed quietly, a little taken off guard by his reaction. I knew pressuring him wasn't the solution now; I knew he had to be tired, or exhausted, more likely. But his cool voice, and the fact that he had moved away from me, like the touch of my hand had burned him...it hurt more than I'd expected. More than I wanted to admit.

I didn't know how to deal with him when he was like this, didn't know how to deal with the hurt his words caused. For a moment, I just looked at his dark figure, feeling like there was a mountain between us instead of just a kitchen table.

I turned around then and made my way out of the kitchen. My head was throbbing where I'd hit it, but I barely noticed. I switched off the lamp in the hallway as I passed it, and when I got to the bedroom, I didn't bother to take off my sweater, as I crawled into bed. Turning off the bedside light, I curled up on my side and buried myself in the covers.

I didn't even realize I was crying, until I realized there was pain; I quickly unclenched my teeth from my bottom lip, wondering if I'd opened the small scrape I'd received the previous night. Breathing slowly through my mouth, I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the hot tears spilling down my face.

I didn't move, as I heard soft, almost soundless steps approaching the bedroom a few moments later, didn't open my eyes, as I felt the bed dip behind me. Something was placed on the bedside table on the other side; maybe a glass. I kept my eyes closed, trying to control my breathing.

The bed jostled slightly, and there was a soft touch on my shoulder. And then, gentle fingers smoothed my hair, and a warm breath touched my temple.

"Bella... Bella, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I didn't..." He let out a resigned sigh. "I'm...sorry."

I drew in a slow breath and cleared my throat quietly, nodding. "It's fine."

There was a beat of silence, and then I felt him shift. At first, I didn't realize what he was doing, and when his searching fingers touched my wet cheekbones, discovering the tears, it was too late.

I heard him give a quick, regretful breath, and then the covers were tugged down, and I felt his hands on my arms and shoulders, as he pulled me up into a sitting position, clutching me against his chest almost violently.

"My God... I'm so sorry, Bella." His tortured whisper tugged at my heart. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like this. I shouldn't have spoken so harshly to you. You meant well – you always, always mean well – and look how I treat you in return. Please, forgive me. I'm just...I'm just so tired, that's all. I didn't mean to sound so..." he trailed off and heaved out a heavy sigh.

I nodded against his chest. "I know." I didn't say that just for his benefit. The truth was that, even though his earlier words had hurt me, they worried me even more. It wasn't like Carlisle to snap like that, and a part of me was afraid he was close to reaching his limit. Whatever it was that haunted him...it was eating him alive. I thought about how I'd found him a few minutes ago, remembered the hunched posture of his shoulders, his unsteady voice... Again, I wondered if our conversation about Esme and the divorce had brought this on. Maybe.

I felt him kiss my hair, as his hands kept stroking my back in a soothing motion, and then he pulled back slightly and reached out to turn on the bedside light. I brought my hands to my face to wipe away what remained of my tears, but Carlisle caught my wrists, pulling me closer again. He kissed my cheekbones and the corners of my eyes, and there was something unspeakably sweet about the gesture, about the way his lips caught my tears, and I felt that tug in my heart again.

"I didn't mean to make you feel this way, Bella," he murmured. "Upsetting you...hurting you...it's the last thing I want."

He pulled away and framed my face with his hands, and then he just looked at me for a while. There was an uneasy clench in my stomach, as I took in his appearance, noticing his red-rimmed eyes and the dark circles under them. I mimicked his posture, bringing my hands to cup his face. I caressed his cheekbones with my thumbs, still wondering what it was that had upset him. What kept him awake in the middle of the night, when the rest of the world was sleeping.

He took my hand from his face and brought it to his lips, softly kissing my knuckles. "Can you forgive me?"

"It's okay," I said quietly. "I shouldn't have pushed you. No one likes being cornered."

He shook his head. "You weren't trying to corner me. You were just worried, and my reaction was...despicable." He pressed another kiss on my knuckles, before he turned and reached out for something on the bedside table. It was a glass of water. He offered it to me, giving me yet another apologetic look.

To be honest, I'd already forgotten why I'd gone to the kitchen in the first place. I accepted the glass from him and took a few sips, thanking him quietly, as I gave it back to him. After placing the glass back on the table beside the bed, he reached out with his hand to run his fingers gently over my scalp.

Right. I'd forgotten that, too, but apparently, he hadn't. Stupid cupboard door. I winced, as he found a small bump, and his fingers stilled.

"Tender?" he asked.

I shook my head. "It's nothing."

He didn't say anything, but instead, he made me bend my head forward, so he could take a closer look. I felt him part my hair, as he inspected the bump, gently running his finger over it. "The skin is not broken, but it'll be sore for a day or two," he murmured.

"I think I'll live," I said softly, torn between amusement and something I didn't have a word for. Here he was, taking care of me, bringing me water, wiping away my tears and fretting over a little bump, when it was him who had been sitting in the dark in the middle of the night, broken and alone, just a few moments ago. It was ironic…cruel, really…that he was so adamant about taking care of me, when he didn't allow anyone to take care of him.

He smoothed back my hair, and I raised my head, giving him a searching look. Either he didn't notice, or he just ignored my gaze.

"I'm sorry I scared you earlier," he apologized softly, once again gently touching my head where I'd hit it. "I didn't mean to."

I nodded. "I know. But to be honest...this scared me more." I raised a hand to his face, tracing the shape of his eyes with my finger. I'd always thought his eyes were older than the rest of him. They were always so tired, his eyes. I wondered how many nights he had spent sitting at his kitchen table, shedding tears no one would see.

The thought made me ache, like something inside me was both burning and freezing. I swallowed, drawing in a deep breath, as I withdrew my hand and placed it on his bare chest instead.

"I want you to talk to someone," I said softly, keeping my voice gentle, so he wouldn't feel like I was pressuring him. "To Esme. To your brother. To someone. It doesn't have to be me. I don't care who it is, just as long as you talk to someone and...get help. I know you said you've tried therapy, but..." I paused, as I realized I could actually feel how his heart began to race in his chest. It was thudding against my palm, like it was trying to escape. "Wouldn't you consider…giving it another shot?"

Carlisle avoided my eyes, and I brought my other hand to cup his face, forcing him to look at me. Het met my gaze, but I felt like he was looking more through me than at me. Like his body was here, but his mind wasn't. I expected him to say no, or that he'd say nothing at all, but he surprised me.

"Why?" he asked, his voice so quiet that, at first, I wasn't sure if I'd heard correctly. "Why is this so important to you?"

There was something demanding in his eyes, some wordless, desperate question he needed answered. I held his gaze, wanting to give him an answer, but at the same time, fearing my honesty would make him flee like a scared bird.

"Because it just is," I told him, stroking his cheek with my thumb. "Because it matters to me. Because you matter. Because it's about time someone looked after you for a change."

He shook his head slowly, dropping his gaze. "I don't need looking after."

I brought my hand to his chin, lifting his face to mine again. "By all means, keep telling yourself that," I said, my voice soft but firm, "But I don't believe it. Because I can see you now, Carlisle. And you can't hide from me." I paused, staring into his eyes. "I won't let you."

He swallowed, closing his eyes and breathing in slowly. "I'll...think about it."

I thought to myself that, maybe it was all I could ask for. That maybe his half-promise was better than nothing. And not just maybe; it was better than nothing. After all, I'd expected him to decline right away.

I let out a relieved breath. "Thank you."

I dropped my hands, maybe to tell him I wouldn't be asking any more of him tonight. He saw my wordless signal, his tense frame relaxing visibly. He let out a slow breath and ran a hand over his face in a weary gesture. I lay back down on the bed, watching him, as he reached out to turn off the bedside light.

I pulled back the bed covers as he lay down next to me, and I almost expected him to distance himself from me physically. But he surprised me by pulling me as close to him as he possibly could. I rested my head against his chest and draped my arm over him, listening to his breathing and the steady beating of his heart.

I'd been serious before; I'd been honest. He could try to hide from me, but I wouldn't let him.

Not anymore.