sheisourheart: (Carlisle - Talking)
[personal profile] sheisourheart
"You're sure you don't mind?"

"It's good for me to go out."

When the door opens, Esme's hair is tied back with a green ribbon, that matches the dress just barely peeking out from the bottom of a long, warm looking jacket, and her hand is already holding the bottom-crook handle of an umbrella.

They don't need it, but they don't need to arrive at the exhibit in soaking wet clothing either, no matter how much of it is driving. She's looking back into the house, back to Carlisle, who can't yet be seen through the door, before she turns to step on to the covered front.

Before she turns, the flash of a smile frozen for milliseconds before there isn't even a way to control the gasp that breaks it.

Date: 2009-09-09 03:37 pm (UTC)
themidnightson: (Cold days in Hell)
From: [personal profile] themidnightson
He wasn't going to be here.

He wasn't -- he'd planned to move each time they'd said something for the last two minutes. Each time they'd looked at each other and moved toward the door. Each time he'd realized how monstrous a thing he'd done even here was.

The only reason he's even this close is how hard the rain is pouring. They wouldn't hear his steps in it. He could be closer than the mile or two distance he kept. Close enough to hear something besides their thoughts.

Edward saw her smile, and it's destruction, just as he looked away, looking away from her and the noise he can't help hearing. As though the sound shatters the crystal perfect silent milliseconds between the raindrops. And Edward picked his foot up part way, only dimly aware of her tumult as his only thought was He doesn't know yet. He doesn't know.

He could still vanish. He could still --

Date: 2009-09-09 03:41 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (lonely eye)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
Run.

Carlisle was standing behind Esme then, having just slipped on his overcoat to keep himself from the wet before looking up at the specter on the path to their front door.

Carlisle wants to run. So he does, as slow as ever he did, pulling an impenitrable velvet drape across his thoughts and spinning on his heel to retreat to the adjoining room.

It's easier to hyperventilate in private. Or convince yourself of hallucination.

Date: 2009-09-09 03:58 pm (UTC)
themidnightson: (Claire de Lune lover and piano player)
From: [personal profile] themidnightson
To be fair she had just pointed out the rain didn't bother them.

Even if his thin shirt and hair have been afflicted by the torrent. He can makes out the shapes of her fingers, the bottom of her coat -- every single inch of himself as her eyes pass over him. Like a wraith, or a child, with his shoulders caved inward and his gaze bent, no, cemented downward.

He couldn't have looked so much taller than her now.

He couldn't -- couldn't look at her, couldn't stop hearing Carlisle.

"I shouldn't be here." It had been a monumental mistake. Hadn't Carlisle just proven that? Hadn't Esme's gasp and drop and her unending shock rippling coherent thought and choice?

Date: 2009-09-09 04:00 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (difficult decisions to make)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
I shouldn't be here

Carlisle is slumped in his chair in the next room, listening in on the conversation.

From behind the drape he stops wondering when he started hallucinating.

Date: 2009-09-09 04:19 pm (UTC)
themidnightson: (Avoidy Face)
From: [personal profile] themidnightson
Edward doesn't move at being touched. At least anymore than the already noted shaking. When was the last time anyone touched him? Anyone who wasn't obliterated from this life, through his hands and thirst, in the next instant.

It takes the better part of her hand being there; seeing her hand on his arm through her eyes in his mind before he actually shifts just subtly.

"I didn't mean--I wasn't going to." Words. When was the last time he really needed words? Words were for writing. Words were for hissing threats. Words were for being poured into his mind, harder than this rain. Words were not been for communication. They did not come to him.

He can feel them.

Esme is touching him. Carlisle is listening.

And his body was racked with a hard shudder, against his will.

Date: 2009-09-09 04:43 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (the things he wishes he didn't know)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
"Bring him inside."

It's flat and barely above a whispered croak.

Date: 2009-09-09 04:49 pm (UTC)
themidnightson: (Words: By the way...)
From: [personal profile] themidnightson
Edward went rigid.

Stock still.

Date: 2009-09-09 05:02 pm (UTC)
themidnightson: (Hurting or Shame)
From: [personal profile] themidnightson
He could have managed anything. Any of the words and thoughts she was going to throw at him --
At that voice, that voice, flat and empty and bleak, beyond his first memories, beyond anything but certain memories he'd been allowed to share.

At the knowledge he shouldn't walk away from them. He should run. He should be alone and forsaken. He deserved it. It was written all across them. If he left now, they could pick this up. They could get back to whatever and whoever, and their lives.

It didn't matter where he went.
-- but he couldn't handle the last one.

The one that came with no warning, and pleaded in her voice.

Both inside of him and outside of him.

Esme pleading. It was wrong.



His face crumpled from impassive stone, eyes and jaw and fist, below her hand, clenching hard.

Date: 2009-09-09 05:14 pm (UTC)
themidnightson: (Claire de Lune lover and piano player)
From: [personal profile] themidnightson
Edward shook his head, rain still pelting them. There was a black tone. The right side of shame and impossibility. With his eyes only barely open, looking to her hand at the right and then her sodden coat, as he shook his head again and felt his mouth shake.

"I can't."

He'd done too much. He'd done too much.

It didn't matter than it was the only thing he wanted.

Date: 2009-09-09 05:31 pm (UTC)
themidnightson: ([Person] Bella - More Than My Life)
From: [personal profile] themidnightson
Awkward is not the word for it. Awkward is not -- and he doesn't deserve sympathy. Not for his choices. Not for his sins. Not for not listening when they knew. And he really doesn't deserve Esme sobbing. And he doesn't even know what to do. He's staring at the door over her shoulder now, where Carlisle is waiting.

Looming like the shadow in a story.

Like the only light he's even known...and drowned on purpose.

He doesn't even know where he finds it in him. To raise his hand and pat her shoulderblade through the jackey, to say, very still, very slowly. "It's okay." Once. Twice. Each time only not helping, only making a noise or a reaction. Until at the third time, at odds with his whole skin, it rolls off as, "It's okay, Mom."

Oh. God. Not planned. Not meant. Maybe meant. And mumbled straight into- "I'll come inside."

He should stand and face hell. He deserves it.

He wrought it with his own hands.

What more can be taken away.

Date: 2009-09-09 05:34 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (Dr. Cullen and his son Edward)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
He called her Mom.

He's coming inside.

Carlisle debates behind his mental curtain whether he should stand from his chair as Esme and Edward enter.

He doesn't.

"Esme, would you mind giving us a moment?" Carlisle asks in a whisper of a tone. It's in name only; she'll be able to hear everything throughout the house.

Then it is Edward.

And Carlisle.

In a room together for the first time in nearly six years.

Date: 2009-09-09 05:40 pm (UTC)
themidnightson: (Removed in the process)
From: [personal profile] themidnightson
That she shuts the door says something anyway, doesn't it?

He doesn't miss it. When as the door closes, he hears her. Hears very clearly If you hurt him again, so help me-- and knows that she means it. No matter what her reaction to 'that word' had been.



Edward stands there, making a rather good puddle very quickly.

He's not even looking in the direction of Carlisle.

Not even anywhere other than near his own shoes.

Date: 2009-09-09 05:42 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (Dr. Cullen)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily









"You came back."

Still keeping his thoughts buttressed away from Edward's talent. He doesn't get them yet.

Date: 2009-09-09 05:45 pm (UTC)
themidnightson: (Default)
From: [personal profile] themidnightson
He tries to make a sentence.

Any sentence. Any singular word.

His mouth opens, tongue moves.

His throat closes on him.




Carlisle is feet from him. His voice even at a whisper is so known. But even worse it's so undeserved. He shouldn't even be allowed to stand this close, to be in this house, to be near either of them.

Date: 2009-09-09 05:47 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (empty chair in a box of a room)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
"Look" at me.

Date: 2009-09-09 05:51 pm (UTC)
themidnightson: (Avoidy Face)
From: [personal profile] themidnightson
The force of it -- of Carlisle pushing his thoughts across suddenly -- causes Edward him to take a step backward. There's only the door there. There's nowhere else to back toward.




"No." It's not even a denial. It's not even to Carlisle.

It's a whisper, almost a whimper, at the rest of the world.

It's a refusal cloaked over confession, pleading with anything that's left out there in the universe to not have to have this in his memories when he's finally pushed back out the door. He doesn't want to live forever with Carlisle's face when he realizes the scope of what he's done.

Date: 2009-09-09 05:56 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (doing what needs doing)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
It certainly sounds like a denial. Refusal.

You would come here just to torment me with no, Edwar -- ?

His mind never closes around the end of the question, stepping in the blink of an eye to Edward's toes, clamping his hand around and under Edward's jaw. This sends Edward's back to the wall.

"Look. At me."

Date: 2009-09-09 06:04 pm (UTC)
themidnightson: (The Midnight Son)
From: [personal profile] themidnightson
He almost fights it. His reactions, and reflexes, are better. Better than a vampire eating animals. Monumentally. Especially today. He raises his hands only to drop them before they ever even touch Carlisle. He can't. He can't breathe to think with the weight of everything exploding through his head suddenly.

With the shock and the horror and pained-shame widening his eyes, as his head was forced back. He deserves this. It's the only thing he can think when he's forced to see what Carlisle's eyes, as well as his thoughts, have become.

Date: 2009-09-09 06:07 pm (UTC)
ofthefamily: (the things he wishes he didn't know)
From: [personal profile] ofthefamily
Red. Carlisle had been expecting nothing less.

You're wrong -- Carlisle remembers.

He has no reply or retort.

Carlisle just stares.

Date: 2009-09-09 06:16 pm (UTC)
themidnightson: (Avoidy Face)
From: [personal profile] themidnightson
Nothing. The absence that rings of their last conversation.

Nothing. The absence that rings with the words he'd used that time.




Edward closed his eyes, tilting his head up, away to one side on the door. He didn't want to see his eyes. Not through Carlisle. Not just -- His jaw tightened, teeth clenching, but he manages, small, and hoarse and almost weaker than should be possible in his physical state.

"You weren't. I was," He doesn't breathe, and still his chest rises faster. If he only gets one chance to say these things. To say them before it's all over. Since he's already pinned to a door and not fighting it, when he could. (But he knows he can't. He never could.)

It catches in his throat. "I was wrong. I thought--"

Too little, too late, and too small for how big it is.

But it's coming now. He's not even sure how he can not now.

Edited Date: 2009-09-09 06:22 pm (UTC)

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