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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?

2. Chapter 2

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To here she fell…

It is some hours later that I come to.

Possibly days, as the sky is dark and I am in an entirely unfamiliar setting. It is a hospital bed, but not the familiar office of the small-town doctor my parents patronize, Dr. Miler.

The man who gazes down at me is as far from the stodgy, middle-aged Dr. Miler as is imaginable.

I shan’t go into his appearance now. I haven’t the space to fill up. Leave it for a time with less to think about.

It is rather hard to think about anything at all while he is here.

He stares into my eyes with a detached intensity. The most apparent thing about this stranger, besides his incredible beauty- I’ve never before called a man beautiful, but there’s nothing else to term him- is the way he so clearly cares.

And then I hear his voice for the first time. I may never hear anything else so long as I live.

“Hello, Ms. Platt. I’m Dr. Cullen. Dr. Miler is ill today, and your parents brought you here. You’re going to be here for a while. If you’d prefer, call me Carlisle- I’ve a feeling we’re going to get to know each other rather well.”

It isn’t often an adult asks me to take such familiarity, or affords me the respect of my last name. Generally, I am called by my given name, even by complete strangers. It irks me, yet I find myself wishing his melodious voice would say my name.

“Then you must call me Esme,” I say in my most convincing tone, rather weakened by the sheer shock I am experiencing. It is a most curious combination of physical pain and euphoria.

He smiles. It is similar in appearance to a sunrise. His teeth are perfect, straight, even, and as white as the clouds whose beauty I’d been enjoying just before my fall… which reminds me…

“Did I break my leg… Carlisle?” Though I am honestly curious as to the answer, the majority of my mind is delighting in the sound of that name. It is odd and foreign, beautiful, and yet somehow… manly.

I stifle a blush at the thought.

He appears, or at least pretends, not to notice my shame. “It’s a fairly bad compound fracture. You’ll be here at least a week, but I assure you it’ll heal.”

He smiles again, and I wouldn’t mind if I had to stay in this hospital bed the rest of my life.

I am rather shocked at myself. Usually, as I said, I have little to do with boys, and less with men. Carlisle is decidedly in the latter category. Here I sit, or rather lie, and think borderline lascivious thoughts about an adult stranger who certainly has a professional interest in my well-being and nothing else.

Unfortunately- now what recess of my mind did that come from?

I should be ashamed of myself.

Yet I cannot muster the emotion.

Carlisle smiles at me again. “I’ll be back in just a moment, Esme.”

He walks away.

And ever stays…