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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?


21. Chapter 21

Rating 5/5   Word Count 540   Review this Chapter

Down, down, down,

The rest of the ride is spent in silence. Perhaps it isn’t what we should do, but it seems natural. Like what we could do if we could spend forever together, as we won’t. It has become apparent I gave the answer both right and wrong.

It was correct. It hit the spot, stilling the agony in his soul.

And it damned me to an entire life spent without him.

I grit my teeth at the thought.

No. Didn’t I decide I would do this without pain and longing glances? Didn’t I determine I would be no Juliet?

Strange and incomprehensible Dukes may banish my Romeo, but there is no knife that will find its sheath in my heart. I will live without him, and I will enjoy it. I must. I don’t particularly want to, mind. I’d like to wallow in despair, to spend the rest of forever dreaming of an impossible return to his arms, but it isn’t precisely practical.

He parks the automobile at the end of my parents’ street, guiding me from the car. I ask why, and he grins. “Well, Esme, it’s rather difficult to say good-bye properly in an auto.”

“And by say good-bye properly you mean…”

His arms are around me before I can blink, his lips on mine, weaving around them, soft and fervent.

It goes on. I am thoroughly out of breath before long. I can feel his breath in my mouth, however, and that is a need considerably greater than that for oxygen. So I pull back from that desire, pulling Carlisle against me instead.

He responds in kind. Does the man not need to breathe?

I determine it is altogether possible he doesn’t. It would make sense. Perhaps he’s totally different than all I know, not merely more beautiful and good and kind, but also without the simple needs of we mere humans.

I laugh against his lips, and he finally pulls away. I suck in a deep breath, reveling in the clear scent of the air, the crispness against my tongue, as his lips move to my throat and jaw. I sigh and pull him back to meet me.

We stand there, intertwined in a perfect embrace, for who knows how long. However, it does end, and his hand meets my lips. It is a single quivering instant. I feel very small, almost weak, beneath his touch.

“Esme,” he begins, then hesitates. It is a while before he can speak. “Esme. I cannot do it. I cannot take your life… I’m sorry. I love you too much, so much. I will never see you again, I know that. And so I must say it. Good-bye, dearest. I love you.”

My shoulders are heavy with the weight of his choice. “I love you too. And I, unlike you, know we will meet again someday.”

“Think you we will see one another in heaven?”

“Wherever I see you becomes heaven,” I say, and his eyes cloud.

We begin the agonizing walk to the door. It is pain in more ways than one.

Fall, child. Fall.