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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?

26. Chapter 26

Rating 5/5   Word Count 534   Review this Chapter

Nothing to live for and nothing to love,

On the twelfth day, I get out of bed, look around, and decide it’s over. I’m done. There will be no more memories. The part of me that is madly in love with him will be locked up in a little mental safe, taken out only occasionally, when I’m ready to handle it without throwing myself in his imagined arms.

I smooth out my dress and, as per orders, remove the long bandage from my leg. The piece of white cloth, so innocuous on the outside, hides horrifying contents. The interior edge of it, which has had almost three weeks to marinate against my wound, is stained with gore. There is yellow mucus and green pus all along it. The smell makes me wince and pinch the edge of my nose.

Horrific. Terrifying. Disgusting. Horrible. Repellent. Gross.

The thesaurus trick worked. Analytic repetition of my appalled response actually decreased the response itself. I pushed the… tainted… bandage away, looking down at my leg. I was almost afraid of what I’d find.

Fortunately, it was in no way similar to what it had produced. Apparently, all the nastiness had been leeched off, pulled into the bandage, as the leg healed, the wound draining perfectly.

My leg was as straight and clean and perfect as if nothing had ever happened. Even the skin was unbroken.

One more virtue to add to his list. It was starting to stretch into infinity. Not only was he beautiful, compassionate, kind, loving, he was also possibly the best doctor ever.

Just great. No wonder I’d lost him. Of all the men in the world, you have to pick the one who’s perfect.

I stand. This is fruitless. I want to change my clothes. It’s been too long… this gown reeks.

I pick something light blue and ordinary, then lurch downstairs. It is difficult. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s been so long I can scarcely remember how to walk. Strange, isn’t it?

My parents are most surprised to see me. “Esme, you’re walking?”

“I feel much better, actually.” I am proud of my self, and feeling generous enough to grant them each a wide smile. They smile back. It is what I’ve always wanted from my life, only somehow… empty. It isn’t so wonderful now that I’ve wanted more.

Him, specifically. No other fulfillment will ever compare to what I experienced with him.

I sit with my parents. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all, dearest. Would you care for some refreshments?”

I help myself to a pastry. I try to eat it delicately, though I am ravenous. My mother had somehow gotten an idea that her invalid child should be kept on tea and toast. It is the first real food I’ve seen in ages.

I answer my parents’ conversational questions with as little effort as possible. Nothing really matters to me, I just speak. It comes neither from head or heart but from some other place inside me, somewhere empty.

I wonder if they see.