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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?


14. Chapter 14

Rating 5/5   Word Count 586   Review this Chapter

Laughing as they fall…

He drives to a small restaurant. It is clearly far from inexpensive. I sigh. He should not be spending money on me, not when this has to end tonight. If he could woo me as wife, it would be another story. But for a doomed romance, a single day’s love… it doesn’t seem at all reasonable. However, I know better than to protest. He’s asked me to keep this evening from the uncomfortable topics, and I find no harm in obliging him, not when he must be spending a month’s wages on one night.

Again, I am guided from my seat by his ice cold touch. I relish in his skin’s sensation, but the walking is painful. My leg burns and stings. I can feel the place where it should be connected. The break chafes against my muscles, aching, stinging.

The bandage is too tight, squeezing the painful area, but Carlisle insists this is what I need to heal as quickly as possible.

I never want to get better. This pain is small penance for his presence. I could have a broken leg for all eternity if he could be here.

However, I know he will leave nonetheless. So I have little choice but to let him go… when the time comes. It is not yet here. Enjoy the moment, Esme. Enjoy the moment.

And I do, splendidly so. I can have him so near, for what will certainly be the last time in my life.

We are led, by a black-suited and dour-faced man, to a table with a perfectly smoothed tablecloth. Carlisle pulls back my seat and I array my skirt neatly over the side before sitting.

I smile at him as he sits. The waiter brings two menus, with a wide spectrum of foods written in perfect script on thick white paper. Carlisle places his menu down on the table, obviously either a regular here or not intending to eat at all. I, on the other hand, survey the choices at length. I haven’t the first idea what each food is. My mother feeds me at home. I eat what’s placed in front of me or I don’t eat at all.

In fact, that’s an admirable way to sum up my entire life.

It is different to be with Carlisle. Here, I can choose everything, in any situation, from a bunch of choices I barely comprehend.

The menu, at least, I know the options and their number.

My future I cannot discern.

In a way that makes me suspect he can read minds, mirroring my musings, Carlisle inquires, “So, Esme, what do you intend to do with your life, your future?”

“I’m not certain. I know my parents would like me to marry… but I’m not particularly interested in anyone who would be an option.” I take a marked pause, surprised at my own boldness. I am making it very clear what my answer would be should Carlisle ask my hand… something my mother has made it very clear a young lady should never make clear. “I do like children, though.”

“Have you considered teaching?”

“No… but it’s a good idea… though I don’t know who’d want me in front of their impressionable youngsters.”

“I’d let you teach my children,” he teases, and I laugh.

The waiter reappears.

Never mind the fall, so long as they fall together…