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The Falling

Summary:
In the action itself, she is weightless and free. The flight is not to be feared, only the impact. A story on the life of Esme Cullen. Image Hosted by ImageShack.us Banner By incredible Iris!

Notes:
I may submit this to the official site. What do you think?

11. Chapter 11

Rating 5/5   Word Count 646   Review this Chapter

Fall in his arms…

“Esme.” That’s all he says. And then his lips are on mine.

I gasp against him. His hands wind around my back, pressing my chest against his. His whole body is hard and cool as stone. His lips move fervently, and I can taste his sweet breath inside my mouth.

The kiss, my first, does not end. I have no objection. I could stay here forever. Apparently, his need to breathe has become as little forceful as mine. I could care less about anything but him.

So I do not. I consume the fire of my soul in his icy lips, his smell, the taste of his mouth on mine.

It seems forever, and yet only an instant, before we break apart. I am unable to speak. The first thing he says, however, surprises me utterly.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Why?”

He looks at me, his eyes ancient and wise and agonized. “Esme, darling, dearest, believe me. I… I care for you very deeply. You are an exceptional woman. I would be honored to spend the rest of my life with you, and yet I cannot offer you marriage. I can’t explain why. It’s something… otherworldly. More than I can tell you. And as much as I want to… so you see, there’s really nothing I can give you. It is immoral of me to pursue you like this. I’m sorry.”

“Who says I care? Carlisle, it can end tomorrow or never. I don’t want you to stop…” I turn purple. So much for not having to say it. “I love you, Carlisle.”

It is far from the flawless delivery I executed earlier, but at least it is out of my soul and in his ears. Maybe he will hear.

I see no joy or new resolution. Only grief on his face. “Esme, I can’t… I can’t say I don’t love you too. But I need you to understand. Tonight, I may be able to be everything I need, but I’m leaving this town in two weeks. I cannot take you with me. I cannot stay past then. I will never see you again.”

“I understand.” And I don’t care. I didn’t expect him to marry me. My parents probably wouldn’t like it. But if I have to spend the rest of my life without him, I’d like to have this memory to bring with me.

“It’s so wrong… you’re my patient…”

He bends down and kisses me again. There is less passion in the kiss, but much more sweetness.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and the curtain rises.

This act, despite its fervor, despite the swordfights and passionate declarations of love, holds no interest. Carlisle does not pay any attention to it, nor do I. All I hear is the words echoing in my ears… “I love you.”

The only interaction with the play is a line whispered beside me. It is not directed at me, but I can’t help noticing.

“Hold thy desperate hand:

Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:

Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote

The unreasonable fury of a beast:

Unseemly woman in a seeming man!

Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both…

Oh, my desperate hand… What am I supposed to do! God, please, tell me!”

The last line is his own. I didn’t know Carlisle was a man of particular faith, but

his grievous near-silent cry makes it clear he truly cares for the matters beyond heaven and earth. I can’t answer him. I don’t know how I am connected to his pain any more than I have knowledge of the ability to still it.

All I know is that his pain pierces to my heart.

Arms of fallen angels gold…