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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?

41. Chapter 41

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Walking willingly toward a doom you don’t know exists,

I would say something about Charles, but frankly I didn’t notice him. I should be concerned about this. I should give a damn that the thought of my husband elicits no reaction whatsoever.

But I’m not.


I can’t summon the necessary emotion. I can pretend I feel it, but I cannot actually do it.

Father takes my arm. He should, if this were a story instead of a pitiful life, look at me and smile, say something about how he loves me, how he’ll miss me.

He doesn’t.

Another indifference. Don’t care. He has never been a real person in my life, an existence stuffed with uncaring stock characters who fulfill their unidimensional requirements without ever making a difference to me at all.

I walk down the aisle with stiff small steps. There is a priest in a dark robe with a book open.

Carlisle believed in every word of that book. I do not. I don’t trust the existence of any God, but Carlisle does.

I remember his faith. I remember his passion for it.

And I care.

I walk down the white path through the dark church and don’t care what waits at the end. It is just another kind of monotony. More nothingness, big deal, what does it matter anyway?

What does anything matter to me anyway?

I reach the alter. My father drops my arm. I walk away from him. Charles turns to me. He looks at me. It lasts only a second.

This is how the events present themselves, a disjointed jumble of happenings, no smooth consistency, no evenness, not a series with any purpose, just lurching scenes one then the next with no connection.

I feel nothing. There is no emotion to this. It is another act, no more or less loathsome than all the others that have come before.

I don’t care. This simple thought sets me free. I don’t care, I don’t have to care, they can’t make me care. They can make me marry a man I don’t love. They can make me what they want me to become. They can make me give up my dreams. They can make me give up dreaming. They can make me live without my beautiful dreams of my beautiful Carlisle. But they can’t make me care.

It is an immense and sudden relief. I know now why I feel such fear when I consider Charles. I fear I may, as they all say I will, come to love him. Maybe he can make me care…

But I also know it is false. I will only love one person, and it is not this indifferent mousy brown haired boy with the smug smile and false vanity. He holds no portion of my heart.

“I do,” I swear. It is a perfidious lie. It is also the truth. I am bound in this covenant, but I am giving them nothing. They take it all from me, and yet I am somehow still myself.

I absolutely must believe this, or I shall perish.

And now, do you see how you’ve fallen?