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The Falling

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!

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

18. Chapter 18

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Alone, their final parting

“Esme, darling, are you all right?”

My mother stands worriedly over my bed. I know exactly what she’s thinking. Not Esme, not my key to society, not my little tool…

Maybe I underestimate the woman. Maybe she is genuinely worried for her only child. I doubt it, though. The look on her face is devoid of compassion. Then again, maybe, maybe, I am spoiled. Maybe I expect too much of any person, having known the way Carlisle takes in another’s pain and makes it his own. Maybe he’s the only one who can do that.

But maybe not.

I sigh. This is pointless. I can spend the rest of my life debating this and never find satisfaction. I, in fact, may. “I’m much better, mother.”

“Glad to be heading home, I’m sure,” Father suggests. I smile weakly… I can’t bring myself to grant verbal assent to this hideous idea. I am miserable that I must leave. I want to stay here forever, but that isn’t really an option.

“Well, there’s no reason to stay here. I’ll get her trunk.”

My father walks away, presumably to fetch said luggage. Mother stares at me.

After an awkward moment, she speaks. “Esme, dear, aren’t you going to get up?”

“I can’t.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, that’s right. Shall I call the doctor to help?”

I am sure my mother has no idea why I freeze at that idea. I’m certain she’s rather puzzled at my utter rigidity, at my stone face and deep empty breaths.

But I can’t stifle my reaction. I am deeply affected. I weigh the options. There was a sense of finality, of it being over, at the last. It is not meant to continue. We have had our final parting.

And yet. The desire to see him burns. I have one last chance, one more try, one more second to send in his presence. It isn’t right, maybe, but it doesn’t seem possible to resist the urge to see him another time.

“Yes… yes, that’s right. Call Carl… Doctor Cullen.” I bet her confusion doesn’t fade at the weakness of my voice, or the extend pause prior to my response.

My mother bustles from the room, her skirts a rustle and her movements awhirl.

I stare at the ceiling. Will it be harder, knowing? Will it hurt more having seen him the last time? Or would it have been more problematic to have to dwell without him, with the knowledge I was so near…

I am utterly uncertain. Yet the decision has been made. It is a final thing. There is no other turn, no way to escape the choice. It may not have been what was meant to happen, but it is the only thing that will have me survive the years alone. So I sit and wait, as the rest of my life will be an agony of waiting.

It will be good practice.

I snicker at that, lying helpless on the bed, waiting.

And alone they fall apart…