Gone. Everything that ever mattered to Esme Anne Platt (she refused to call herself Esme Evenson) . . . gone forever. Her own baby--her only joy in life--dead. Gone. Mothers weren't supposed to outlive their children. Especially if their children only lived for three agonizing days. Pain ripped through her chest, and Esme collapsed to the forest ground, clutching desperately at her heart. Why was she even feeling a thing? Her heart should be gone; her pain should be gone. She couldn't experience anymore pain . . . right? She'd already had a terrible life; she didn't need any more pain.
Esme sobbed, her tears pouring steadily down her cheeks and blurring her vision. Her baby didn't need any more pain, and that's what she had thought each time she was holding her hopelessly sick newborn. She could see him in her arms as vividly as if it were two days ago. Her little Christopher . . . how happy she had been when he was born! Everything she had fought for the last nine months, finally alive and in her arms. The only thing that had made her smile falter was how much her baby resembled Charles. Esme didn't let that get her down, and had looked passed her baby's looks and into his soul.
When the doctors had informed Esme that Christopher wasn't doing well, Esme tried to assure herself that just because everything else in her life had gone wrong, the doctors would fix Christopher and everything would be okay. They had to . . . because she wouldn't be able to have anything else in her life go the wrong direction. Things seemed to get on the brighter side, that fatal day. Christopher seemed to be doing better, and fighting the lung infection the doctors had diagnosed him with. But, when a nurse came in and told Esme Arthur only had minutes to live, Esme refused to believe it as they rushed her to the nursery. Her baby had been coughing and spluttering, causing Esme to scoop him gently into her arms. She prayed and prayed for her baby boy to be all right, but with one last gurgling breath, Christopher stopped moving and remained still.
Esme gasped at the pain that broke through her heart. Never, not even when Charles was hitting her, had she hurt this badly. She was absolutely positive that no one had or could hurt this much as she tried to start walking again. She didn't even notice her surroundings or care when she tripped and scraped her knees. Nothing mattered anymore. Christopher, the sole reason for her hanging onto the will to live, was gone. Her need to stay alive, gone as well.
When was the last time she had ever hurt this badly? Or cried this hard? There had been many times when Esme had cried: when her husband had found out where she had run away to, when she realized she was pregnant, when she got the letter that Charles was coming home from the war, whenever Charles had hit her (she cried when he was gone, of course), when she realized she had to marry Charles . . . and when she had broken her leg falling out of a tree. All of those times put together couldn't match how violently she was crying right now.
Oh, how she wished she were back in that old tree! She could make herself realize that she should just run away . . . far, far away to unknown lands and start a family with someone who would respect her and treat her like the greatest thing on Earth. Or, at the very least, get to relive that moment with Dr. Carlisle Cullen . . .
"Hello, Miss Platt, I'm Dr. Carlisle Cullen," the gorgeous doctor said as he walked over to the now blushing girl sitting on the examination bed. Her mother was also ogling as well at the doctor. He only smiled, an inside joke causing him to nearly laugh out loud.
"Hello, Dr. Cullen," Esme murmured shyly, ducking her head. "And, please, call me Esme." Her heart was pounding so loud she was sure the doctor could hear it as he approached closer and closer to her. She felt the need to back away, but another, stronger need to get closer to this amazing man.
"What seems to be the issue today, Esme?" Dr. Cullen asked in a smooth and wonderful voice. Esme blushed deeper at the thoughts that had sunk deep into her mind. Surely, her mother would scold her and make her wash her mouth out with soap if she ever spoke of what she had been thinking!
"I-I . . . " Esme started, but seemed to lose her voice as she stared deep in Dr. Cullen's strangely golden eyes. Dr. Cullen just blinked and smiled encouragingly at Esme, wanting to know how he could treat her.
"Esme, tell Dr. Cullen what happened," Esme's mother pushed and Esme nodded, blushing again at how stupid she probably looked.
"I trell out of a fee," Esme said and her hand flew to her mouth at her mistake. Her cheeks were hotter than they had ever been! "Excuse me, I meant, I fell out of a tree." How had her words come out so calmly that time? "And, um, broke my leg, I think." There . . . those words matched her nervousness perfectly.
"Let me take a look, please," Dr. Cullen said and moved to scoot her dress up. He hesitated slightly and looked apologetically at Esme. "May I?"
Esme nodded and the heat in her cheeks never subsided, but grew hotter. Dr. Cullen pushed Esme's dress up to her knees and looked back at Esme, who was having difficulty breathing.
"Which leg hurts?" he asked kindly and Esme struggled to find her voice.
"M-my left," she said and tried to shake all the terrible thoughts that came to her mind as Dr. Cullen lightly brushed his hand over her swollen calve. He gently put his fingers on the two tendons on either side of her leg.
"Can you please move your foot up and down?" Dr. Cullen asked and Esme grit her teeth as she moved it around. "It doesn't seem like anything's out of place, but there definitely is some bruising, as you can see. We'll take you to get some X-rays real quick and find out if you've broken it." Dr. Cullen smiled as he excused himself to get a wheelchair.
"Esme, are you okay, honey?" Esme's mother asked and Esme tried not to make eye contact. "You look awfully nervous."
"Y-yes," Esme said, her voice betraying her. Before her mother could ask what was up, Dr. Cullen was back in the room with a wheelchair.
"May I?" Dr. Cullen asked, motioning to the wheelchair. Esme nodded, her pulse pounding again as Dr. Cullen scooped her up in his arms without strain and set her down in the chair.
Get a hold of yourself, Esme thought. Stop thinking those things! They'll never happen!
Esme was wheeled out of the examination room and into the X-ray room. Her heartbeat accelerated even more than ever and she blushed deeper each time Dr. Cullen would touch her leg and gently move it into a different position for an X-ray. Even though some of the positions were painful, Esme enjoyed them more than she should. By Dr. Cullen's smile, Esme swore that he knew she was desperately in love with him already--even after only fifteen minutes of knowing him. Too soon, the X-rays were over and Esme was wheeled back into the examination where her mother was sitting patiently.
"What's the verdict?" she asked as soon as Dr. Cullen placed Esme gingerly on the bed.
"I have to look at it closer, but I'm fairly positive Esme has broken her leg," Dr. Cullen said, smiling gravely. "If you two ladies would excuse me, I shall study the X-rays a little more and be right back."
Esme and her mother sat in awkward silence. Esme was thankful for it, though, because she didn't want her mother to know that she was already in love with Dr. Cullen. Her doctor assigned to her at the hospital, of all people! Her mother would definitely not approve.
Dr. Cullen came back in, smiling as always. His smile made Esme sigh gently under her breath.
Just from a first glance, Dr. Cullen would seem like an easy-going, nice man. When you got up close, you realize how he's even more wonderful than you thought he was before, Esme mused.
"Well, Esme, you've broken your tibia," Dr. Cullen sighed, holding some supplies for her cast in his hands. "I'm going to wrap your leg up in a cast, okay?" Esme nodded, cheering on the inside.
Oh, no, Esme caught herself. This is getting unhealthy.
She couldn't think too much about how deeply she was falling in love because Dr. Cullen was gently touching her again. She silently watched him wrap up her leg.
"Will I ever see you again?" Esme heard herself blurt out before her hands flew to her mouth, punishing her for saying that. Dr. Cullen looked up and smiled.
"Probably not," he said and Esme's heart sunk. "My son and I have to move for his education."
"Oh," Esme said dejectedly.
"That doesn't mean you're leg won't get treated, though," Dr. Cullen laughed and Esme tried to forever put his laugh in her memory. It was an amazing laugh that sent all her worries away. "You'll just see a different doctor. I know a good one..." Dr. Cullen continued talking, but Esme didn't hear him. She didn't want to hear him. She'd never get to see him again in her life! She had to remember him. Every single detail. His wind-blown, wispy hair perfectly tousled around. His ever-calming demeanor. His lovely smile. His strange golden eyes. His gentle touch . . .
"Come on, Esme," Mrs. Platt ordered when Dr. Cullen had finished wrapping Esme's leg in a cast. Dr. Cullen handed Esme crutches and she took them dejectedly.
"Goodbye, Esme," he smiled and she nodded.
"Farewell, Dr. Cullen," she sighed before awkwardly stumbling out of the hospital room with her crutches and her mother's hand on her back.
Oh, how she wished she could see Dr. Cullen again! He had always been the one keeping her heart, even though he was probably far too old for her now. She had always dreamt of him before marrying Charles and even afterwards, she had caught herself thinking what it would be like if it was Carlisle's child in her stomach, she had even thought of naming her baby Carlisle! Pain crashed through her heart as she learned that she'd never see Carlisle again.
Save me, Carlisle, from this terrible madness, Esme thought desperately before throwing herself over the edge of a cliff she had just stumbled across.