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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?

54. Chapter 54

Rating 5/5   Word Count 614   Review this Chapter

Falling as fast as you do,

The doorbell rings, and my dreams are shattered with it, with this intrusion of the real world.

I am not married to Carlisle, I am not happy, I am not in love with my husband.

I am married to Charles Evenson, an abusive monster who I loathe in so many ways, and he is currently away at war, while I sit at home, daydreaming and ill-wishing him.

I run to the door. Maybe it’s good news. Maybe Charles is dead. I certainly hope so.

Is that amoral? Probably. Probably it will damn me to hell for eternity, but the religion of our time really compels me little. I feel no call to find the faith of the people who surround me. I am so little like them anyway that it would be merely another deception, and I get tired of them sometimes.

I open it, and I close my eyes. No.

Dear God, no.

Don’t do this to me.

Anything, anything, anything but this. I’ll believe in you. I’ll go to church, I will revoke my ill-wishing and my tomboyish ways and my lustful thoughts and every sin I’ve ever committed in every religion there ever was.

Just not this.

He steps through the doorway. He is not the man he was, tall, strong, terrifying. He looks gaunt from war. Then again, they always say war changes a man. I remember someone telling me that after his return I might have to be very gentle with him, as veterans are apt to turn toward violence to solve their problems.

I almost laughed aloud then. It no longer seems funny.

Because I am scared enough of him anyway, and I can’t bear any more fear, any more pain than what I already anticipate.

Before, his appearance was deceptive. He seemed like a nice middle-class boy whom my parents liked, nothing more. He looked so normal. I remember noting nothing about him, nothing at all… that has changed dramatically.

Now he looks positively terrifying. His eyes pop out of his skull, like all the flesh has sunken back into the skull. His hair is buzz-cut, so I can see the red and blue veins on his head. He is unshaven, his clothes streaked with filth, his limbs almost painfully skinny. I can count his ribs through his threadbare shirt.

Maybe he’s changed. Maybe this brush with mortality has reversed him. Maybe he is what he used to appear, just to confuse me a little. Maybe he has seen so much violence that he would now never hurt a fly.

I don’t think that is particularly likely. Not with the look in his eyes- like he is just waiting for someone to hurt.

“Hello, Charles,” I manage to stutter. He grins, like a ghoul, his smile too wide and his teeth brown and unkempt.

“Hello, my dear. Have you missed me?”

“Yes, I have. I was just going mad with worry, ask the neighbors.”

He steps closer to me, catching my arms against my body with irresistible force, grabbing my wrists hard enough that he will probably leave bruises. He leans forward, his lips at my ear. I feel the hot breath in my ear as he hisses, “Lie to me again, Esme, and I’ll kill you.”

I could protest I wasn’t lying. But I am too afraid. I merely drop my eyes to the floor, and I can sense his smile as he throws me to the ground.

To pull you into this hideous fall,