Esme's POV
Esme Anne Cullen. Forever the tomboy. I had never been a great fan of doing 'girlie' things. And then, there was that awful colour that everybody thought I ought to like! Pink! Yeurgh! My room had been painted the traditional white, as was the rest of the house, but my mother had seen fit to draw pink roses in various patterns all over the walls. Every time I opened her eyes in the morning, I felt sickened. I think I hated the colour so much because of how it had been forced on me since birth.
I scowled. The sound of my parent's voices downstairs seemed louder, harsher than usual. I knew what that meant. I knew my mother, or my father - maybe even both - would be standing in the doorway in barely a few minutes, asking why I was being 'disobidient' this time. I almost laughed. It was for the same reason I hated pink! Just because I'm a girl! I certainly wasn't one to follow rules of any sort, and the more someone tried to force me to, the more I mentally dug my heels in and refused.
I lay sprawled on my bed, propping myself up on my elbows. I watched the doorway nervously, almost wishing my parents were there already. I was ready to argue. Ordinarily, I would have given up after a few choice words from my father, but I felt in no mood to be persuaded of anything that day.
A sound close to disgust leaked from my mouth when I heard the first steps on the stairs. I almost smirked. Wars had been started for less than this. Keeping a determined frown upon my young, impossibly delicate features, I waited for my parents to walk into view. A thousand words were spinning in my mind, each as un-ladylike and deserving of a punishment as the next.
In the end, only my mother made an appearance. She wore that familiar heavy look on her face. The same one she always wore when she knew her little Esme was going to be difficult. I knew only one thing filled her mind at that moment. I was dishonouring the family, behaving so childishly. Most of my friends had long decided whom their life partners would be. Why did it have to be my mother who was destined to be given such a stubborn, disobedient child?
I struggled into a sitting position as my mother reached the doorway. I did not mind so much now. My mother, at least, seemed to be somewhat understanding of me. I had suspected for a very long while that my father hated me. He had wanted a son - an heir - when my mother had fallen pregnant. Instead of the perfect son, he had gotten me. Forever following my own path, not worried in the slightest of what damage that might cause to my family's carefully built and maintained reputation.
"Esme..." Mom sighed, resting her hand against the doorframe. "We are only thinking of what's best for you. You'll have to get married some day." I frowned at my mother's words. She always managed to make me feel like everything was my fault. Why wasn't I allowed to just be how I wanted to be? Was it because I was a girl, and therefore obviously nowhere near as important as men?
"I'm never getting married," I replied stubbornly, folding my arms. "I'm going to have a house of my own, with a pet and everything and I don't need a man!" I jumped off my bed as my mother opened her mouth to say something - probably to scold me again. Without another word, I pushed past Mom and stormed downstairs. My father shouted at me to go and see him from the living room, but I ignored him. If he wanted to follow me, he was just going to have to get up, wasn't he?
I blinked rapidly when I finally pulled the front door open and rushed into the sunlight. Good weather was scarce in Columbus, but I enjoyed it while it lasted. That day, however, I was in no mood to enjoy the sunshine. I stumbled over the small rockery at the end of the garden and headed for the forest…more specifically, my Oak tree.
Why do they always have to ruin everything? Can't they see I'm happy with things the way they are? I don't even like any boys! Yeurgh, I am never getting married! They're only pushing me because of their stupid reputation!
Coming to a short stop at the edge of the forest, I sighed and looked up to the sky. It was starting to get dark now. It was well past four o'clock in the afternoon, when I had last checked the time. I didn't care. I would stay out all night if I had to. I treaded the familiar path towards my Oak tree, and managed a bright smile at the sight of it. The beautiful old tree always made me feel better about anything, it didn't matter what it was. I supposed it was the fact that it was always there, and I had a great many good memories of that tree.
I had always been a perfectionist. Usually, I would place my feet carefully on each branch, calculating exactly how far I needed to reach to climb further, but that day, I decided she knew the tree well enough, and I was in no mood for counting. After all, I had been counting most of my life. It could be anything…steps, people, animals or branches in trees. It was almost as though time was ticking away, leading up to an important moment in my life, and I wished more than anything that it would arrive already.
I climbed the tree easily, grinning about halfway up. My nimble fingers grabbed each higher branch deftly as I hoisted my small body up higher. The next branch, however, was badly miscalculated. I had forgotten that I had to hold it right near the tree trunk. Anywhere else was just not strong enough to support my weight. Still feeling angry about the argument with my parents, I grabbed at the branch absent-mindedly, and it snapped cleanly in two, leaving me clinging to the broken end. I gasped, and moved my legs frantically, trying to find a good foothold, but the movement was too much for the fragile piece of wood, and I was suddenly falling fast towards the ground.
Giving a shriek of surprise, my hands reached out to grab something. Anything. Despite my efforts, all I managed to do was to graze my palms on a couple of the lower branches. I saw a quick blur of the tree trunk, and suddenly, it was over. I heard a loud crack, at exactly the same time as I felt an excruciating pain travelled up my right leg and into the base of my spine. I cried out, half in shock, and half in agony. Through suddenly watering eyes, I cast my eyes down, and opened my mouth, stifling a moan. My leg was bent wrongly to the side, and I could see blood seeping through a fresh hole in my skirt. I touched the blood with interest, but that made the pain even more intense and the tears finally started to fall down my cheeks. I dragged my gaze away from my ruined leg, and looked around, as though expecting somebody to be there. Of course, there was nobody. I gave a terrified little whimper, and looked back at my injury.
I stayed there, sitting at the bottom of her Oak for a good half an hour before I decided I would either have to move myself, or I would never be found. My parents didn't know about this place, and none of my friends did either. Mainly because I didn't exactly have any friends.
I experienced the most painful moments of my life on my awkward journey back home. I managed to somehow get myself into a standing position without putting any weight on my leg. Once I was standing, I rested a grazed hand against the trunk of the tree and said in a small voice "I know it's not your fault. I'll still come to see you." This was relatively normal for me. Being a lonely child, I made friends with anything…including inanimate objects. I tree was my best friend, though, and I couldn't be angry with it, no matter how much pain it had caused me.
I ended up having to hop for most of the way home. Every time I moved forward, my leg gave a twinge of pain, and I felt the bone just below my kneecap almost moving around. I wondered if my leg would ever be right again..
Once I was in view of the house, I spotted my frantic-looking mother staring out of the kitchen window. With a great sigh of relief, I gained the strength to hop a few more steps, until she appeared in her mother's line of vision. The small 'o' of horror that formed on my mother's lips when she saw me told me quite plainly that the argument was forgotten for the moment. I was more relieved about that than whatever condition my poor leg was in.
"Esme! What happened?" Mom shouted, running out of the front door and down the path. Reaching me quickly, her eyes fell to the tear in my skirt, and the way my leg was angled wrongly. She raised a hand to her mouth, gently wrapping her free arm around my shoulders. "Sweetheart, how did you hurt your leg?"
Somehow, I had managed to stay brave up till that point. For some reason, the appearance of my mother seemed to suddenly make all that bravery disappear, and my bottom lip trembled. "I…I fell…" I sobbed, furiously wiping the tears away from my eyes. "I…don't know…how it…happened…I'm sorry!" I didn't dare to mention my tree. I thought my father would probably disown me if he ever found out. Climbing trees was a 'man's sport' after all. I felt relieved for my mother's warm, comforting weight next to me. I leaned my head against her shoulder and looked up into her face. "It really hurts…" I said in a small voice.
Unfortunately, my father was not so understanding. I had been relieved when my mother had assured me that the injury was not my fault, and that they would of course take me to the hospital immediately. I stayed in the kitchen, sitting on one of the chairs and watching blankly at the birds through the window while my mother went to ask my father if he could perhaps hire a carriage. His answer was short and honest. "No. It's her own fault." I heard the muffled words from my place in the kitchen, and my eyes filled up again. He didn't care about me, he never had. I sometimes wondered if my mother only cared about me because of maternal instinct. I sighed, detecting the first signs of another fight, this time between my parents. I awkwardly made my way into the living room, deciding I wanted to face my father when I spoke to him.
The look Dad gave me when I shyly hobbled through the door was not a pleasant one. He opened his mouth to speak - probably to say again that I was not going to the hospital - but I got there first. "Well, I'll just have to make my own way to the hospital then, daddy. I'm sure I can explain to the doctors why my parents didn't come with me." My brave words did the trick. My father grimaced and a resigned look crossed his face.
"Fine," he muttered, not looking at me. "But if they transfer you, I'm not taking you all over town."
The carriage my father hired was dark, damp and smelled strongly of hay. I didn't mind that at all. I actually found the scent quite comforting. Thinking about it for a second, I doubted very much that I would have felt any different about it, even without the excruciating pain of my broken leg. Mom, however, found the smell almost nauseous, and Dad suggested she stay at home. I didn't like that at all, feeling a small thrill of fear at his words. Sitting in that carriage next to the man I had always guessed hated my very existence was not one of the most comforting of things in the world. He had always wanted a son, my mother had said. An heir. And instead, he had gotten me. Little Esme Anne. Forever the tomboy, ever un-ladylike, and an embarrassment to my family's carefully created reputation.
Hours later, after what I considered the most awkward journey ever, we arrived at the small hospital. My father had subjected me to a half hour's lecture about how I would never be the daughter my mother had longed for, and why couldn't I be a nice, normal young lady, like the adorable Francesca from across the town. I had grimaced at those words. Francesca was as good as my worst enemy. If only my father knew what that girl was really like… I was willing to bet anything that he would change his mind about wanting me to be like her, then. She certainly liked boys. Not wanting to convey my true feelings on the matter, I had mumbled a non-committal answer, and nodded in the right places whenever he opened his mouth. The pain in my leg seemed to worsen at the sound of my father's voice. I knew that was silly. It would be the movement of the carriage, of course. Still, my young mind insisted that it was the middle-aged, balding man beside me that made the pain worse.
My father seemed to realize eventually that I was genuinely in no condition to listen to yet another one of his lectures, and his mumbled words trailed into silence. I thought that might have been worse! The silence was far harder to endure than my father's angry words. At least, while he had been talking, I could feign some sort of vague interest. And so, I was left to dwell on the pain of my leg, which naturally intensified the burning feeling even more. I felt a huge sense of relief when the carriage finally pulled to a stop, and despite the break, I was the first one out. The cool evening air felt wonderful against my face, compared to the stuffy heat of the carriage, and the throbbing that had started at my temples eased immediately. For a brief moment, I almost forgot why we had travelled so far.
My father picked me up, and carried me over to the door. He moved most of my weight to one hand, and rapped his knuckles smartly against the wood. I frowned. I was sure the only reason he had picked me up was to keep up appearances. He certainly did not care enough about me to do it out of kindness. After all, he had allowed me to walk to the carriage from the house, even pushed me to walk faster. The frown was still on my face when the door was pulled open. And just like that, within no more than a second, it disappeared. I almost smiled.
A/N - Sorry about the problems I had with this chapter. It'll teach me to write something at 4am in the future!