….hi. XD -pretends not to know that I haven't updated in forever- Sorry, guys. My characters seem to have gone on strike after everything I've put them through. Writer's block and myself are not very good friends. Neither are myself and schoolwork. =P

Esme Platt

The two months since the shooting had flown by in the blink of an eye, but it wasn't until a mere few days ago that Carlisle had finally begun to speak.

"Es...me?" His soft voice had slurred and cracked as it struggled to form only the simplest of words. According to the doctors, his state was improving at a much more rapid rate than what was normal; an obvious good sign. It appeared that none of his memory was ruptured, as he recognized just about everyone who visited him. He still had a ways to go in order to regain his full physicals abilities, though I was nearly positive that he'd recover easily from any injury that he may have possessed. Watching him struggle to move the left side of his body, though, wedged a sliver of doubt into my nearly over-confident thoughts. It seemed to take great strain on his part to merely lift his left arm or even move his fingers, which led me to the unfortunate idea that he may have lost use of that particular limb.

I'd also been notified that my father had been accused of the crime he had so ferociously committed. The trial date was not yet set, but I was hopeful nonetheless that he would be righteously convicted and sentenced to jail or parole. At the same time, if he was miraculously thrown into prison, Alice and myself would be put into some sort of foster care, which most definitely not something that I was willing to endure.

A light knock came to the door after a few seconds of thoughtless silence. I stood up to greet whoever was on the opposite side, when the heavy wooden door flew open on its own, afterward revealing my younger sister in the entrance.

"Speak of the devil," I murmured to myself, before composing my image and clearing my throat, "Hey. I thought you were supposed to be with your friend today?"

Alice bounded over to Carlisle's other bedside, setting a rectangular container on the small end table. "She found out that she had a dentist appointment, so I went back home and decided to make some cookies for your boyfriend." Oh, hell.

"That's nice of you, Alice, but the doctors don't want him to eat anything other than what they've been giving him, okay?" It was a great thing that she enjoyed baking, but considering that she's only ten, her skills were obviously not the most refined. Carlisle had recently been shot in the head; if there was one thing hat was worse for him than being injured again, it was my younger sister's cooking.

"He can't even have a little bit?" she pressed, blinking at me with those large hazel eyes of hers. I shook my head in denial, giving her a sympathetic smile.

"Fine, then. More for me." Her face broke into a mischievous grin as she leaned over to pick up the container once more. "I guess I'll head home. See you later." She gave me a short embrace and shot a warm smile at Carlisle, who had opened his eyes just in time to watch Alice bound out of the room, half-eaten cookie in hand. I stood up from my chair to gently shut the door before returning to my rightful place at Carlisle's side. His eyes had once again slid shut after being open for only a few mere moments, which was a rather normal occurrence of the past couple of months, but there was an unusual expression resting on his smooth face that was not one of peace.

His features were contorted into a grimace of pain and uncertainty; uncertainty of what, I was not sure. I lightly shook his limp shoulder in a petty attempt to wake him, to inquire of what could possibly be causing him this distress. Eventually, when my desperate attempts to wake him showed no result, I reached over to the call button on the side of the bed. The seconds dragged by like hours before a young nurse cam bustling through the door, bringing herself to a halt beside me.

"What's the matter?" she inquired, sounding much more professional than her age displayed.

"I don't actually know," I replied in a rush of words. "He just started looking pained all of a sudden." The expression on the nurse's face changed to one of confusion after she contemplated my words.

"That's odd," she said softly, "the painkillers shouldn't have worn off yet. Has anyone visited lately? Anyone that could maybe make him stressed?"

I shook my head, "Just my little sister. She was only here for a few minutes, though." Maybe it's me? No, it couldn't be me. I hadn't bothered him all that much during my visits; or had I? Interrupting my thoughts, the nurse spoke again.

"I don't think this is the reason, but could you step out for a few moments? It might be the constant company that's upsetting him." I said nothing and proceeded to follow through with her orders as the same train of thought ran through my head once more: maybe it was me. Maybe I was spending too much time around him; maybe he has finally realised that it was in fact my fault that he had been so brutally injured.

Instead of simply standing outside the door and waiting for a response from the nurse, I continued walking down the corridor and out into the rather cool spring air. IT was only for the best that I remove myself from the room for the time being; after all, the majority of the past two months or so had been spent in the almost claustrophobic room at his bedside. While I was away, Alice had been staying with the family of a friend of hers. I continued to stay at home, though I rarely used it for anything other than a sleeping place. I had even skipped school a few times immediately after the incident just to accompany Carlisle in the hospital, as his mother rarely came to visit. She showed at least once every two weeks, maybe twice is he was lucky. With the mental state that he was in, I wouldn't put it past the situation if Carlisle had begun to think that I was his mother-figure.

That was the bottom line. I was spending too much time cooped up inside that small room.

I couldn't leave him, though. I couldn't leave him like that. Knowing that it was my fault that he was hurt, I couldn't leave him. I am many things, some of them most definitely horrible, but one thing that I am not is selfish. I wasn't the type of person that took advantage of others; I wasn't the type of person that would use another to protect themselves. It may not have been the best thing for me to spend so much of my time with Carlisle, my boyfriend nonetheless, maybe it was even unhealthy, but I wouldn't just leave him on the curb, so to speak. I refused to leave him to suffer.

I didn't realise how far I had walked until I bumped face-first into someone heading in the opposite direction.

"What the hell, chick? Watch where you're walking, for god's sake – oh... hi, Esme." I looked up at the head of thick red hair that sat about five inches above my own, my cheeks flushing a bright pink.

"Sorry, Clark. I was looking at the ground."

"Don't worry about it, I was just being a jerk... how's Carlizzle, by the way? Is his mind still all whacked?"

I allowed myself to crack a smile at his comment, "He's doing a little better. Still hasn't spoke much yet, though."

Clark frowned for a moment and shrugged, "I guess you can't really blame him. He'll get better eventually. But you know what's crazy? The whole thing about him getting shot and all was actually on the news about a week ago. I didn't think it would make it that far."

I paused for a second, unaware of that particular fact. "Did they say who shot him?"

"Yeah. Some guy with the last name of Evenson, or something weird like that."

"... oh. Well, it's good that they caught him."

Clark grinned, "Yup. Now they can throw that bastard in jail. Anyway, I'm on my way to a track meet, so I'll catch you later." He lightly punched my shoulder with his fist before continuing on his way.

So they really did catch him. I knew that there were eye-witnesses of the scene that had most likely told the authorities about the situation, but I had never been notified that m father had been officially caught. In an instant, I spun around my on heel and hurried back in the direction of the hospital. He wouldn't be able to exactly understand me, but I felt the sudden urge to tell Carlisle about this wonderful news. I burst through the glass doors and into the reception area, hustling to find the quickest way back to the fourth-floor room. The stairwell was behind the door to my right, and luckily there was no one using it like they were the over-packed elevators. I sprinted up the stairs and into the room, only to find someone already in the room with the blonde boy on the bed. The middle-aged man turned around to face me just as I entered the door.

"Who are you?" he inquired.

"Esme Platt, a, um... friend of Carlisle's. And you are?" I made my way to the window, where I leaned my back against it, awaiting the man's response.

"James Cullen. Carlisle's father."