The following days pass in a kind of blur for Esme.
There are moments of clarity that defy worldly logic: the ripple of rainbow pearls she can see on the surface of the water as she steps into the bath for the first time to wash the blood from her body; the splinters of mental that she rubs into shavings between her fingers when she pulls her bedroom door right from its frame in a moment of unchecked strength; the strong scent of black ink and rich spice that she can identify from the other end of the house. A scent she has come to associate with Carlisle.
Edward's scent is sweeter somehow, and he smirks at her when she thinks it.
All these things keep Esme very occupied, filing them away into her expansive memory as she explores this old world through her new and improved senses. Yet, with all the amazing things, come those that cause her distress as she adjusts to the world of vampirism.
The first is the clear scarlet of her eyes. The look is so terribly frightening that she can barely stand to look at her own reflection, and instead, goes out of her way to avoid the mirrors in the house.
"It won't be that way forever," Edward assures her during one long night, keeping her company as they await Carlisle's return. He had returned to the hospital shortly after her change, worried his extended absence would draw attention, especially with her recent disappear.
When Carlisle returns that morning he finds Esme sitting on the porch steps, her skirt tangling around bare feet. He smiles down at her. "You're thirsty," he guesses.
She's taken to sitting here when she'd like to hunt. Edward sits just inside, playing the piano, and though it would seem that she's been very much alone, she knows he's been watching her avidly through the window, listening to her thoughts.
Carlisle knows this too and nods to his son as he drops his briefcase on the step beside her and reaches out a hand. "Would you like to hunt?" he asks with a smile that makes her feel like she might stumble down the steps, though of course that's not possible.
"Yes," she says. "Please."
The thirst is another one of those things that case her distress. Besides being uncomfortable, she knows the feeling and the urge is born of the desire to feed from humans. Though animals are enough to satiate her, the real urgency behind her thirst makes her nervous. Edward has told her stories of the scent she will find when she first encounters a human again. How she'll crave it. How she'll become like an animal. It's in their nature, he'd told her.
She clings tighter to Carlisle's hand as they run and is loathe to let it go, even as they approach the herd of deer, but she does, instinct and blood-lust taking over.
After she's fed, when the thirst returns to its spot in the back of her mind and she can think clearly, Carlisle approaches. "You're doing very well," he tells her. "Much neater than Edward was during his first feedings."
She smiles at him because it's almost impossible not to, though she runs her hands nervously down her front, smoothing out the thin blue cotton dress that clings to her skin.
"What is it?" Carlisle asks. His eyes are so vivid and golden as he looks into hers and she studies them with longing.
"How long," she asks.
"Long?"
"Yes. When will the red fade? When will I not look like such a . . ." She searches for the right word, but the only thing that comes to mind is monster and she can't use that. Not when she thinks so highly of both Carlisle and Edward.
He seems to understand her though and frowns, folding his hand against her cheek to tip her face up. "You could never be a monster," he says. "I have known monsters in this life and you, my dear, are not one of them." He lets his hand drift away and she misses it. Sometimes he's so unguarded with her. So open. Then it's as if he realizes and he distances himself again. "Besides, the red fades with every feeding. Already your eyes are lighter than when you awoke."
"Truly?"
"Yes. Soon you won't flinch when you catch sight of yourself."
Esme looks at her feet and laughs in disbelief. "Did Edward tell you that?"
"Yes, and I contemplated removing all the mirrors from the house if it would make you more comfortable. Edward talked me out of it, of course."
"I'm glad. You don't have to change things for me. I'll manage. It must be quite the upheaval to have another newborn under your charge."
Carlisle shakes his head. "You're no trouble. And I would do anything to make you happy. Just say the word."
With that the sight of her eyes and the constant presence of the thirst become a little less maddening. She comes to look forward to these morning hunting sessions with Carlisle; sometimes Edward joins them, eager to race her through the woods, and sometimes he leaves them be, to talk and laugh and she absorbs all the things Carlisle has to tell her about this new life.
Her mind is truly a remarkable thing, expansive and understanding, a perfect match for her insatiable curiosity. Though she soon learns that this new mind has hidden things from her. Buried them during her transformation and for the first time since waking she considers the loss of her human memories.
It's almost one week before the first memory of Charles surfaces. It's grainy and fuzzy, only emerging because Edward had moved too fast in his haste to show her the newest catalouge from which she could order clothes.
As his hand shot out towards her, she flinched, turning away with her eyes closed, braced for an impact that never comes. It's only a moment before she realizes and recovers, but both Carlisle and Edward take note and it seems that the temperature in the living room drops suddenly, which is ridiculous because vampires don't feel the cold.
She folds her hands gently on her lap, brow furrowed as the grainy image of Charles fades. The pale curve of his first. The broad set of his shoulders as he looms over her. The sharp crack of his skin against hers. The heat of the bruises that form beneath tight fingers.
It's almost as if she'd forgotten. In this new body she feels virtually indestructible, and until this moment she had not given Charles a thought. Her son, yes; she'd mourned him. Still mourns him. But to the man who would have been his father, she had spared no feelings, until now.
The feelings are like a physical blow and for a moment she's winded, another implausibility for a vampire.
Her fingers tighten in her lap as she forces the image away, pushing Charles far out of this life. She doesn't want him to follow her here. Not when she thinks she might be happy.
She looks up as Edward steps towards her, placing the catalouge gently by her side. He drops to the sofa cushion beside her, and she does not miss the look he exchanges with Carlisle. She knows he's seen things in her head—sees them still. It's unavoidable, really. But she looks away from them in embarrassment.
"I'm sorry, Esme," he apologizes. "I didn't . . . I mean . . . I would never," he fumbles.
She silences him with a hand over his. She squeezes gently, or at least she thinks. At the very least Edward doesn't complain about her excessive strength. "It's nothing," she says, forcing her smile and moving to pick up the catalouge.
"Excuse me," Carlisle says suddenly, turning on his heel and leaving the room.
She looks up, disappointed to find that he's left, hoping it isn't her that's driven him away.
"You couldn't," Edward says, handing her a pencil to mark her purchases. "Drive him away, I mean. He just . . . needs a moment."
Esme nods slowly, twisting the pencil in her hand, feeling how delicate and breakable it is under her marble skin. "What does he know of my past, Edward?" she asks quietly. What she really wants to know is how much Edward has told him.
The boy sighs. "More than I should have," he admits. "During your change your thoughts were wild. I spoke as I heard them and they turned suddenly to your life before. I spoke before I had realized what exactly I was divulging. I know now that it was not my place and I'm sorry."
Esme gives him a soft smile and nods. "Is he okay?" she asks.
Edward shakes his head in disbelief. "The world has been so unkind to you, Esme. You deserve so much more than what it has given you."
Her lips twist into something like a smile. "Perhaps this will be my fresh start."
Edward grins. "So it shall. I will help you. And so will Carlisle—it's all he wants for you, to help—and he will. Once he's done pulverizing the evergreens out back."