1921

What a ridiculous notion this was.

My legs were taut, my torso unmoving, my arms rigid. Of course, I could not feel any sort of fatigued or relaxed sensation that proved that my eyelids had been closed for the past eight hours – or that’s how long it seemed to me, anyway. The imprint I had made in the damp mattress that had not been used for years was chilling, I supposed, though I could not feel the coldness myself. However, I did deduce it was quite the opposite temperature to one that should suggest somebody with a heartbeat had been resting here. I was not tired, merely extremely bored – and yet, because of this, I had deluded myself into lying here alone, stupidly hoping I would fall asleep.

I snorted, a gesture of self-ridicule and moroseness, and opened my eyes.

The typically unused bedroom was dark, and the grandfather clock in the corner read twenty-six minutes past five. I wasn’t as accurate as I’d thought; I had been here for only six and a half hours, rather than eight. The clock was handsome, a dark oak cabinet framing an ancient face and the deep chamber in which the pendulum swung. I had never understood why Carlisle hadn’t moved the clock to a more viewable position in the house, for it was barely seen in this back room. I also was intrigued as to why he kept the ostentatious old bed I was lying on, for his explanation of keeping the façade of being human was weak – hardly anybody came to the house. Not in the past three years or so, anyway. Carlisle could not afford to let humans in the house, for I found it extremely hard to resist temptation and I did not want to disappoint him.

I sighed, jealous of the thunk of the clock’s pendulum as it continued to tick and noting the lack of a vital sign I used to have. I remember the first few weeks of not being able to hear a resounding pump inside of myself, and being so desperately taken aback when I pressed a curious hand to Carlisle’s hard chest to find nothing there, either. That, for me, was proof, I supposed, and I didn’t take to it well. I must have been difficult to deal with, yet Carlisle never showed any sign of strain – always patience. I knew he was feeling guilty and so put up with whatever I threw at him, and so in return, I learnt to do the same. Not that he was ever careless enough to do anything to harm or distress me…

I broke my mould of stillness and rose from the bed. I knew Carlisle would be home in an hour or so from his night shift, ending my uneventful period of solitude, and this comforted me slightly. But things had been busy at the small hospital over the previous couple of days and I knew it was uncomfortable for him to be at home, pretending to rest, when people were dying and he had the power to stop them from doing so. His compassion for others was the first basis of my attachment to him, but I felt uncomfortable without his presence, as I always did. Being alone was not one of my favourite pastimes – and as I’d realised when he created me, neither was Carlisle’s.

My feet, quiet on any floor but this, made the old floorboards creak as I jumped from the bed. I didn’t want to continue lying there, unproductive and lonely. Leaving the room I occasionally used to collect my thoughts in I stepped out into the hallway, cutting through the dark silence, past the room Carlisle used as a study, and down the stairs. Within seconds I was stood in front of the beautiful old piano, left here for some reason by the previous owners of the house. I smiled, feeling a little less lonesome with the presence of my second, more tuneful comfort. I caringly ran a finger over the maple, collecting a fine film of dust that had settled from the last time I had cleaned it. I sighed, and took my seat at the keys.

My fingers hovered hesitantly over the ivory, before my left index took the daring lead and the rest followed dutifully. I began to play my only familiar tune, one that Carlisle could probably learn from me by ear, because it was the thing I played sometimes for hours on end – but he never protested. Details were fuzzy about some aspects of my life before I met him, and this was the only clear tune I could remember my mother teaching me before she died.

I almost didn’t want to finish the song, having nothing else to play from memory, but I supposed that if I tried something new it would take a lot more concentration and would distract my mind from the dark, empty house. Piano seemed to be the only thing that occupied me when I wasn’t thirsty – otherwise I would selfishly go hunting without Carlisle, even when unnecessary. Continuously being full eased the thirst a little when I was near humans, though Carlisle said the constant burning was normal and should get easier over time. He was living proof of that – if you could call him living.

I sighed a little at my humourless joke, before giving the melody a slight allegro twist. I played around with the chord patterns, trying to find something that fit, before I sensed a familiar mind drawing close to the house. I smiled to myself, lonely no more for tonight, but then swiftly narrowed my eyes, trying to concentrate on Carlisle as he opened the front door. Unless I’d been playing this song for a lot longer than I noticed, he was home early.

I played the keys a little more softly as he walked through the entrance hall, suddenly sensing the strong, unclear flurry of despair and sorrowful thoughts that was occupying his mind. What was going on? I tried to focus in on his mind, but it wasn’t as easy when it was so busy. My finger slipped due to lack of concentration and hit E instead of the intended F.

“Carlisle?”

My voice rang out through the house, although there was no need to shout. He couldn’t dwell on one worry long enough for me to make out what he was thinking, and this worried me. Carlisle was usually calm and rational – now, he seemed to be neither, and I suddenly felt anxious for him. If I had a pulse, it would surely have risen in panic, for this level of agitation was unnatural for him. His shadow passed the partly open door, and I saw a flash of a bruised, open eye watching me play before it disappeared and Carlisle flew up the staircase. I stopped playing at once, slammed the case down over the keys and followed.

“Carlisle?” I repeated, hovering at the door of the bedroom I had been lying in previously that night. Worryingly, he did not respond, but all of a sudden I was conquered by a smell so overpowering that I nearly screamed in protest. I dropped to my knees, senses and worries of Carlisle smothered completely by a burning fire in the back of my throat: I recognised this smell, this feeling, this itch. I felt my nostrils flare as I coughed, trying not to breathe in as I clutched my spinning head. Why on earth had he brought a human home, and a bleeding one at that?

But the scent and the scratch to get to it were stronger, more powerful than normal, for this human was injured. I tried to tell myself that I should stay well clear from the room, but curiosity and thirst got the better of me and I staggered to my feet. Wrenching open the bedroom door, I snapped the handle off in my hand as I pressed myself to the wall, every fibre of my concentration occupied on not leaping forward and pushing Carlisle out of the way to get to the bed. For beyond his frantically bobbing blonde head was the human girl I had caught scent of, lying fragile and limp on the mattress, in stark contrast to the way I was positioned before. Her skirt was smeared with blood which had clearly bled there from a gash on her calf, which I could just see from where the material had hitched up. Carlisle twisted round, saw my eyes fixated on the wound, and smoothed the skirt over it.

“Edward, leave,” He instructed, his voice shaky.

“The blood’s dried, I can handle –”

“No, Edward. Leave,” he almost shouted, his eyes alive with panic. He thought I was going to kill her – at that moment, I thought I was going to kill her. The human blood may have dried, but there was more of it than Carlisle had ever let me encounter before. My mouth was dry, it was suffocating me… oh how I longed to take her in my arms and quench the ravenous monster in my gut…

I reached out desperately and tried my hardest not to propel myself onto the bed, but in a split second Carlisle’s firm hands were on my shoulders, pushing me to the peeling wallpaper.

“Who is she?” I moaned, burying my head into his shoulder to try and smother the young woman’s scent with his – though this did little to ease the pain. Her soft smell was all over his unnaturally white coat.

“Her name is Esme Platt,” he whispered into my hair, displaying a useless concealment of calmness. “She – they thought she was dead, but I heard her feeble heartbeat in the morgue as they brought her in…”

“But…” I looked up into his face, curious. She was just an ordinary woman?

“I treated her ten years ago, for a broken leg. I remember her face so clearly, as it used to be…” Carlisle muttered, his eyes glazing over as the image of her younger, happier, and obviously stunning face crept into his mind and mine. “I never forgot her. I know she was a patient and she was young and it was so wrong, but she was the most beautiful, sweet, appealing –”

Esme Platt suddenly took a shuddering breath, and in a split second Carlisle was back at her side. I held my breath and lurched over to where he stood, clutching to his shoulder in the desperate hope I might be able to control myself. Her caramel curls were damp and matted, her face bruised and her clothes ripped and sopping wet – but despite this, she was undeniably beautiful. I kept my shaking hands firmly on Carlisle’s arm, knowing that however tightly I held on to him, it was much less painful for him than if I were to lay hands on her.

His other arm reached out, gently sweeping a lock of hair from her eye. His icy fingertip brushed her forehead and she gasped again, her eyes half-opening in shock. Her gaze lingered on Carlisle before she turned to me, her eyes widening a little at the sight of my pale, frantic face. She sensed the danger I was putting her in and shivered automatically, closing her eyes again. Carlisle sighed, moving his hand to hers. I took one look at his face and even without my abilities, I knew what direction his thoughts were taking. The look in his eyes was… something I’d never seen before. The way he was looking at her… the adoration was clear. As was the longing.

“Why have you brought her here?” I gasped furiously, yet I knew the answer before the question had left my lips. He turned his head and I stared into his fierce, golden eyes, seeing a faint image in them – his radiant head ducking over her limp body, lips at her neck…

I shook my head. It was almost painful to see him look at her like that. The thought of love, in this state… I’d never thought it possible. All my desires seemed to be around blood, even after these years. And now Carlisle wanted this woman, like I was not enough company for him! It hurt him to change me – would this time be different? I couldn’t see how.

“No,” I gasped. “She must be saved – there must be a way…”

“Listen to her heart, Edward,” He murmured, still trying to conceal his rising panic and turning to me. “It’s so faint - it could stop at any moment.”

“Then do something! Your life is dedicated to making sure others survive. What about her family, her life?”

He shook his head. “I asked the doctor who brought her into the morgue - it was ‘death by suicide’. She hurled herself off a cliff and was found on the beach, still barely alive. They thought her dead by the time she was brought into hospital… and she will be, if I don’t act. She can’t want to go back to her old life if she tried to end it, Edward…”

He spoke the last part as if he was trying to convince himself of it, not me. If she truly was unhappy, Carlisle could care for her for eternity, and I knew this. I hoped to stay with him as long as I could myself, for he was more than company for me – he gave me a goal in this existence of mine. I existed now to keep him company, and to try and better myself by keeping to his way of life. Maybe I’d never be anything as great as he, the best doctor in the state with the most impossible self-control, but I could try. I couldn’t imagine this life without Carlisle – but I couldn’t imagine it with Esme Platt in it, either. Could there really be three of us? Could I bear watching him love her, whilst not having anyone of my own?

I shot a glance up at Carlisle, my hands trembling violently on his arm. He was starting to severely panic now – he had mere minutes before the woman’s life slipped from beneath his healing fingers. His brow was creased in concentration, so perfectly it was as if some holy force had designed every faint line. Slowly, his thumb moved over the woman’s limp hand, and I closed my eyes, sighing. Those eyes with which he gazed upon the girl had always been so understanding; I could forever seek reassurance in the first orbs I had seen since entering this life. Never bad to me, never distressing, never selfish...

I peeled my fingers back from his elbow, one by one, and he looked back at me warily. Taking a step back from the bed, reassuring him that I was not going to kill the girl, I took a final look at her damp, rounded face. Carlisle’s butterscotch gaze never left mine as I backed towards the door, still trembling from the burn in my throat and the emotion that was attempting to smother it. He nodded once before turning on his heel, and as I let the door click closed I heard a soft mumble from his icy throat.

I rigidly headed back down the stairs, and sacrificed all my views of the future for their happiness as a last, soft gasp escaped Esme Platt’s lips.