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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?

8. Chapter 8

Rating 4.5/5   Word Count 684   Review this Chapter

Last chance lost…

“Hello, Esme.”

“Hello, Carlisle.” I flush crimson at the words. I love you, Carlisle. How is one expected to say that? Can it be so simple as those words… I love you. It is a remarkably complex emotion to be expressed so easily. Perhaps, however, easy isn’t the right word. The words are, but the speaking of them is proving impossible.

He looks away from me. “I am glad to tell you that your leg is almost healed enough to send you home. You’ll be returning tomorrow.”

No. No. Don’t make me go away! I’d break my leg again if I could, if it meant I could stay here with the only person who’s ever understood me. “Oh.”

“However, I remembered our conversation. About Romeo and Juliet? Well, I discovered that the Ohio Shakespearean Company is bringing it to the stage in town. I would be honored if you would like to come see it with me.”

“I’d love to,” almost as much as I love you. I may not have to say it after all.

“The curtain will rise at seven. I’ll send a telegram to your parents to come pick you up tomorrow, as they returned home two days ago.”

They hadn’t even said good-bye. “I’m not sure they’ll approve of this outing. They like you, but…”

“My dear Esme, who says they have to know?”

I laugh at that. “What an excellent point you make.”

“They left your clothing in the custody of one of the nurses. I’ll send Ms. James in. She is the least loquacious of them all. The rest are somewhat likely to spread the story of this evening from here to New York. She can help you get changed. I doubt you’d like to spend your first day at the theater in a hospital gown.”

I blush. This paper-thin and hideous dress is the only thing he’s ever seen me in… and he’s still apparently somewhat interested, maybe. Perhaps wearing actual clothing will only increase my hopes.

“Thank you,” I say. “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure.” His eyes sparkle as he leaves the room. “My shift has just ended, so I’ll be back in about an hour to escort you to the theater.”

I am excited about the play, but far more so about his company. I’ve always wanted to see things beyond the narrow range of the world I have to live in… but I want to make him a art of the world I end up living in.

The nurse comes in, smiling widely. She drags an over-stuffed brown trunk, familiar from my father’s business trips. I feel somewhat guilty that I leave the woman to carry it alone, but I can’t walk, so it’s a moot point.

“So, Miss Platt, going out with the doctor, are we? My, but we’re a lucky girl.”

I have always been mildly irritated by people who refer to the person they talk to as “we”. Then again, Carlisle seems to like her. I don’t know how to answer the nurse, or quite what to think about her.

“Yes, let’s get you dressed.”

She is busy, caring, almost motherly, not that my mother ever had any interest in clothing besides criticizing my lack of tidiness.

The nurse selects a white dress I usually avoid wearing, as I’ve a paranoid fear of staining it. However, I’m not precisely likely to be climbing trees in my state, so I don’t worry about it. It is by far the most attractive piece of clothing in my possession. The skirt flares, covered in thin eyelet over the satin skirt and tight blouse. The back is daringly bare- I cut it off in a fit of rage at my mother. She still hasn’t noticed.

It looks almost like a wedding gown.

It is not easy to get it on with my bulky broken leg.

Though far from final fall.