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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?

23. Chapter 23

Rating 5/5   Word Count 529   Review this Chapter

No point in standing,

I thank her for her help. She, unfortunately, doesn’t leave.

“Esme, I must speak to you.”

“Mother, I truly think a broken leg is ample discipline for one count of unauthorized tree-climbing. Truly.”

She sighs and sits on the bed, without bothering to ask my permission. I wince as the mattress bounces against my leg. “That isn’t want I meant to talk about. Dear, it’s about Dr. Cullen.”

She can’t have seen it. My mother has always been so blind to everything that mattered to me before… why this, why now? Fate truly disgusts me sometimes.

“Esme, I noticed… he seems very enamored of you. Do you suppose…”

“Absolutely not. He’s very nice. I liked him a good deal.”

“Would you be opposed to marrying him?”

I can’t lie. It is a subject I feel too strongly about to convincingly deliver a falsehood. “No.”

There is an expression of satisfaction on her face, a well, that’s settled then smile. I sigh and add, “But I don’t think he’s looking for a wife.”

“All men are looking for a wife. He may just not know it yet.”

I almost laugh at the irony of that. If only she knew… if only everything between us was factored into her careful calculations, maybe she’d have a different result. “And he’s thirty.”


“I’m fourteen years younger than him.”

“I’m twelve years younger than your father. It’s not such a big deal…”

It didn’t matter to me either, in all honesty, but I couldn’t very well tell her the truth. We’re in love, and he’s keeping a mysterious secret that tears us asunder. Now I’m going to spend the rest of my life pining for an impossible romance.

“Mother, I’m tired…”

“All right, all right. Get some rest. I just wanted… something for you to think about.”

A stiff nod is all I can manage.

She looks at me for a second and rises, her skirts a rustle, her head held high. Mother walks like a queen, always has, and I envy her grace. Perhaps if I could walk like her, he wouldn’t have had to leave… No, that is silly. I know he liked me, bumbling boy-step and all. It is counter-productive to doubt myself, when I know it is merely a failure of circumstance and not one in Carlisle or myself.

I shake out of my thoughts and turn my attention to the task at hand. I need to go to sleep.

I am left to struggle into my nightgown alone. It is no easy task with the cumbersome broken leg, but I manage. Finally, I can sleep… I am alone, with nothing to do but rest. Of course, my thoughts will attempt to prevent me. I smooth down the covers, pulling the white sheet past my head, until I see nothing, not even the torment of my memories playing behind my eyes.

I stare into the darkness and wait for sleep. It is quite a wait.

Fall, into the night…