My throat burns… why won't they just let me go? Why do I have to sit here, endure this, when I can go outside and feed?I know you can hear me! I NEED TO DRINK!
I look up from my copy of 'Romeo and Juliet', and growl low in my throat. Couldn't she stop that inner monologue for a minute and let me read? It's bad enough to deal with my own neglected thirst, and hers is just driving me positively mad.
"Shut up and sit back down on that chair, slowly. Don't break it."
"I WANT TO HUNT!"
"Shh…" Carlisle murmurs from the kitchen.
I lower my voice to a level humans wouldn't hear. "We will hunt. Soon, I promise. Let the trails close so that there is no human near you, okay?"
Does she know she looks exactly like a cranky baby right now? "Go talk to Carlisle."
She sprints past me, unnaturally fast. Ever since Carlisle brought her bleeding, broken body home seven months ago, she hasn't walked. She sprints.
Typical new-born. I must admit, seeing her embarrassed me as I thought about all I did when I was a new-born.
"I want to hunt," I hear her growl, a nanosecond before as I enter the kitchen to see her leaning over the counter, dangerously close to Carlisle.
Carlisle, who's engrossed in recording the contours of a slide of vampire flesh he had scraped with his nails, just nods into his simple microscope. "We will. Let the trails clear."
"I don't want to hunt FILTHY animals; I want to hunt a human!"
Carlisle looks up at that. His eyes darken a bit at Esme's closeness. Beautiful…
"OH COME ON!"
Carlisle gives a wry smile as I glare at him. Sorry, still getting used to your mind-reading. "Esme, in a rare moment of sanity you asked me to stop you from hunting humans. You told you did not want to steal someone else's son, like yours was stolen from you. Do you remember?"
"My throat's BURNING!"
With that, the new-born pushes Carlisle off the counter. He bangs into the cabinets across the kitchen, and a part of my mind starts calculating the cost of having the kitchen remodeled.
That's before I see the fire.
Carlisle must have been holding a match in his hand, because somehow his arm was aflame. The monstrous, dangerous wave of it eats his arm at unnatural speed, egged on by the treacherous venom that made us what we were.
My mind freezes for a precious half of a nanosecond, and then I am spurned to action by Carlisle's surprised yell. Grabbing the nearest pan off the counter, I fill it up with water from the tap, which feels unbearably slow, while the new-born repeatedly tries to bat at the fire with a kitchen-towel. It takes nine entire seconds to put the fire out.
Carlisle is still gazing at his arm when we are done, his thoughts erratic, terrified, and—typically—curious.
The newborn is gone.
I didn't mean to. I just…lost it for a second. I'm such a horrible creature. He gave me back the life I threw away, and I…
When I return to the dining hall, Esme is sitting in the chair, her hands neatly folded in her lap.