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Loved and Lost

Chapter Two: Don't Fall Apart

Carlisle's POV

I strode down the roads of Rochester, the brisk air shivering as it touched my skin. The night had settled, sidewalks lit by the soft, blue light of street lamps. Humans were scarce in this area yet still, for the sake of pretences, I blew on my hands and rubbed them together, missing the feeling I'd last felt three hundred years ago, the feeling of being cold, of being hot, of being human. My fur coat brushed against my neck, a feather against a rock, and I sighed, tossing the empty coffee cup I held into the trashcan that lined the alleyway of a dark building; I was playing human, and humans couldn't stay awake for days on end, at least not without caffeine in their bloodstream. They never noticed that I never drank from the cup. I clenched my fists, muscles bulging from my forearms, and sighed, frustrated.

My wife was at home, miserable, and it was all I could do not to run back to her and take her into my arms; no, she needed to be alone, to remember, to move on so that time could heal her wounds. My throat was constricted as images flashed through my mind: the most beautiful woman with billows of caramel-coloured hair spilling down her back, crumpled into a heap at the bottom of a steep cliff, her heartbeat so faint that humans could not detect it — or maybe they just didn't care enough to listen. If my heart hadn't already been dead, it would have died that day. Instead, it yearned for her, and I swore I almost felt it beat for the first time in centuries; all it took was the most intense feeling of dread — the worst feeling — and the most passionate love at first sight stirring back up in my cold, empty chest.

It was a new moon tonight, just before twelve o'clock, and the sky was coloured a pitch black. There were no stars, either. A quiet thumping rang in my ears just then, a soft ba-dum, ba-dum, and as I drew closer to the alley, it grew louder. The heartbeat was strained, crashing against a wounded set of ribs, thrashing wildly in someone's chest… but who's was it? I dashed through the backstreet, golden eyes darting across the dark red bricking of the office buildings, scouring the ground for the source of the thumps.

There was a woman on the ground, collapsed sideways with her legs clenched tightly together. Her jaw was tight, tears streaming down her face, heart racing furiously. Golden hair jutted out from her torn bonnet, baby blue, a shade lighter than her violet eyes, wide. The dress she wore was in shreds, barely covering inches of her skin. She shook, trembled, not from the cold but in a way that seemed like resistance, like the last thing she wanted was to move a muscle.

The stench of blood hit my nostrils hard like sweet, sweet ambrosia, emanating from her bleeding wounds. Her lip was busted open, spewing out streams of blood, forbidden fruit, as well as the cuts trailing down her arms, across her exposed stomach and down her torso, far down. My heart broke as I realized what she was a victim of, why she was slowly dying in this poorly lit alleyway… who she was.

I crouched beside her, hesitating. There was one sure-fire way I could save her… but why? What drew me to this girl, Rosalie? She looked up at me through wet eyelashes, bloodshot eyes swimming with fear, hurt, desperation. "Please," she whispered, eyelids dropping. Pain laced through her voice, an arrow through my heart. She seemed an angel, so innocent, fragile. "Help…"

I'd seen people die before. I was a doctor, a vampire; heck, I'd even been human once. Still, I felt the same urge I had with Edward, the instinct that I had to do something to save her. And so I did.

Taking her delicate, broken wrist in my hands, I brought it to my lips as if to kiss it. "Be strong, Rosalie Hale," I whispered, sinking my teeth into her skin. Her screams broke the surface just as my teeth did, shrill, pained, and I flinched. Was I just making it worse? Should I just have taken her life quickly? No, I thought, pushing my venom further into her bloodstream. She was a fighter, after all; she'd survived hell already.

I bit her in three more spots along her arm, then her other wrist, and finally her neck; that was the hardest, her sweet blood spilling into my mouth, yet I forced myself away. It was like ripping my head away from a sip of water after decades roaming the desert, like smelling century old wine as a recovering alcoholic and just walking away. But I did, and I could almost feel my eyes turning red for the fourth time ever. They burned, not from the blood, but from the venom of my tears. Each time, it would be harder. Each time would be the hardest thing I'd ever had to do.

Her body thrashed in my arms, still weak and broken but now in unimaginable pain on top of everything else. For a moment I regretted my decision, but as I envisioned Rosalie with golden eyes — maybe even by Edward's side — I knew I had done the right thing; well, at least the thing that would make the most of us happy. There really was no right decision in matters of life and death; it was just the lesser of two evils. Although in this case, it was a matter of death or a simpler death, and finding the lesser of those evils was next to impossible.

I swooped her up in my arms, her hardest beatings upon my back like tickles of a feather to my impenetrable skin. Maybe she would come to regret my decision, but at least she would be sort of alive. I could live with the guilt if it came to that. Carrying her like a baby, I sped along Rochester's roads, down the winding path that lead to our looming home. It was the crack of midnight, grandfather clock's chimes ringing through the house as I hurried up the porch stairs and through the front door, feet heavy on the wooden planks.

Esme's back was to me, her body facing the window. Glass was laying on the floor, the shattered window virtually non-existent, and the air in the room was thick as motor oil. She turned to face me, sorrow-ridden eyes boring through my skull — crimson eyes. "No," I breathed, heartbroken, staring into my wife's dead eyes. I could only imagine the pain she felt as her eyes fell to the destroyed girl in my arms.

No, Esme… Don't fall apart; I need you more than ever. I need you, I love you…