Not sleeping became a surprising advantage over the five months Carlisle and I spent together. During the day, we would hunt if it was sunny, or spend the days in the city if it wasn't. The nights were glorious, and made my once miserable life worth living again. Some of our kind may have even called us mates.
We weren't.
If we were, I wouldn't have been able to run away.
I had been desperately trying to follow Carlisle's diet, only living off the blood of animals. I wasn't finding it easy, but it also wasn't too hard. In other words, I was coping.
Then, one day I was out walking and I came across a girl in a field. She was lying face down, curled into herself. Great, wracking sobs controlled her body, and her clothes were creased and torn.
'Are you alright?' I asked in my Irish accent. When she didn't reply, I bent down and touched her back. Almost immediately her sobs stopped, and she slowly rolled to face me. I quickly lowered my eyes (I was sure murky crimson would do more harm than good in this situation). But, no sooner had she turned that the smell hit me. The middle of her once White dress was stained a deep crimson.
'H-he m-ma-made me. P-please help!' she sobbed. I realised she was in pain, but the type of help I had in mind wasn't what she had. Or so I thought. Holding off killing her was becoming increasingly difficult, but I was determined to keep to my promise to Carlisle that I would never taste human blood again. It was when she shuddered, then coughed up a fountain of blood, that I couldn't hold it. I crouched and pounced, the last thing she said before she let go ringing in my ears as I quenched a thirst I hadn't wanted to realise was evident.
'Thank you.'
-o-
The guilt wrenched me like a vice pulling my stone heart apart. I felt awful, I had denied what I had promised a lover, and I was sure he would never forgive me. I stayed frozen still in the cottage, just staring solidly at the wall. Carlisle was out, buying books and hunting. When he arrived back late in the evening, he looked at my frozen posture and moved at inhuman speed to hold me.
'Lazette! What is wrong?' he asked. I just shook my head. An idea had just planted itself in my mind, and although I didn't like it I also did not want to disappoint Carlisle- I still felt young to his twenty-three years at the (mental) age of twenty.
'Nothing, I'm fine. Just thinking.' I said, putting on a cheerful voice as to mislead him.
'Ok, if you're sure.' He said, kissing my head. I wrapped my arms around him, knowing that my plan was the only way to escape the guilt.
We hunted again that night, and the taste of the wolf I caught was mediocre compared to the taste of the girl earlier.
Later that night, after Carlisle had gone to find yet more books, I wrote the letter.
Dearest Carlisle.
Forgive me. I love you.
L.
I didn't wish to frolic in details, I didn't wish for him to know the extent of my mistakes. I folded the piece of paper, and left the house, one great tearless sob breaking the night silence as I ran.