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“This is going to hurt.”
It’s Edward’s voice that breaks the quiet, a thought shared by both of them suddenly voiced aloud and made real. It hovers in the space between them as their golden eyes track the form in front of them with anxious concern.
‘I know,’ Carlisle thinks, refusing to acknowledge his statement altogether though he knows it is a truth he cannot hide from. ‘I do not want to hurt her like this.’
It’s Edward’s well thought-over response that hurts the most to hear, with his voice strained and more than reluctant.
“Carlisle, you’re going to have to.”
He doesn’t have to, but alas, he is a healer and as such, he does. He knows this is the path he’s chosen and he is probably the only one with the hands steady enough to do this.
His eyes never leave her as he sends Edward away to hunt. Not for himself but for Esme.
How they hadn’t noticed the pain that’s now unfolding itself in front of him is beyond his comprehension. He could blame Edward for not hearing it in her thoughts but as much as he would love to do that right now, he knows he is to blame just as much for the state of the woman in front of him.
He surmises it might have started with her slip up several months ago. She’d been beside herself with a deep form of sadness at a loss of life by her hands. It had been the first time such a thing had happened and she had been devastated. She’d been reluctant to hunt since, but after a week or so her thirst had gained the upper hand and she had gone with both of them to feed.
She seemed alright then, better than she had been. Edward would take her hunting if Carlisle was working and at times when he was home, she’d go with him instead.
How wrong they had been.
Seeing her now, makes the lies a reality. She’d only been telling them that she fed, only to seclude herself further. How it had gotten past them at all for over a month is something he will definitely scratch his head over later.
Right now, Esme is the priority. She should have been before now, but he can not let the guilt consume him at this moment. It would be fatal if he did.
Her blackened onyx eyes stare at a point near his feet, glazed over and unseeing. She is positioned curled up on the dark hardwood floor and it had been the painfully loud thud of her knees that had alerted them to the fact.
Her skin is even paler than usual and had it not been for the daylight streaming in from outside the swatches of purple and blue under her eyes indicating her undeniable thirst, he might have been looking at death’s guise instead. Her hair has lost it’s golden glow and she is unmoving. Unresponsive. In the hour he has now been at her side, with Edward occasionally flitting in and out until being set on an errand, she has not made a single noise. Not in the form of words and not in murmurs of discontent.
He knows it is impossible but she looks parched, exhausted and more than drained. He recognizes it though he has not felt it in several hundred years. She’s gone beyond the point of hunger, body deprived of nutrients necessary to physically continue moving. She has starved herself far enough to render herself immobile.
Edward is right, this is going to hurt. Though, as much as it hurts him, it will hurt her more. Physically it will aid her, if anything, she needs it if she is to continue their shared and equally damned existence. Mentally, it will wound her if she remembers and he knows that she will. It is the flaw of their existence. Memories are crisp and clear, no matter the state of mind.
It is the sound of Edward calling out from downstairs that he is in. The scent of blood immediately fills his nostrils as it comes drifting upward and instinctively he turns to face Esme to see if she’s giving any physical response at all.
She turns her head downward to the ground with strain and effort, eyes squeezing shut and teeth gritting. She’s fighting it off, turning as if to banish the scent away. It is him witnessing this and mentally projecting it that has Edward rushing up to them and dragging his kill behind him even though they had previously opted to drain it downstairs instead of shoving a dead animal under Esme’s nose; nevermind all the consequences of that.
It seems they don’t have a choice now. She needs to feed.
Urgency sinks its claws into Carlisle’s body as he watches her attempt to turn further away, a shadow of a flinch coming over her already frail looking form at Edward’s arrival; the body of a young stag being placed within arms reach of her with a seemingly deafening thud.
Carlisle looks right at Edward this, whose face is contorted as he stares down at Esme. “Edward,” he starts, not needing to actually ask because he knows what he means.
The young vampire shakes his head, “her thoughts are contorted? I can’t pick anything out but she is fighting it-”
The sense of urgency now is accompanied by dread as he gently reaches for her, voice accompanying his actions as to not startle her now that she can not see him.
“Esme, I’m going to have to move you, you need to sit up,” he says, sounding very much like the good doctor that he is, “I’m sorry.”
His words feel empty and fall onto deaf ears.
The lack of physical response when his hand meets her shoulder is deeply concerning but still, he is thankful for it because he does not think he has the heart to restrain her or fight her off. She deserves so much better than that, better than this.
When he manages to lift her into an upright position, careful not to crack her like brittle parchment where he holds her, he tries to have her sit against the side of the bed. Her head rolls sideways, muscles unable to hold her up.
He does not have to ask Edward because he moves behind Esme onto the bed and holds her lightly by her shoulders. Carlisle reaches behind him for the stag and pulls it toward himself. With one hand he reaches for the side of Esme’s heart-shaped face, pale and gaunt.
When she catches sight of the animal she starts protesting, though, thankfully she is too fatigued to fight them. Carlisle falters momentarily with hesitance, watching her expression twist into something painful and distressed but brings himself to hold up the animal to her face regardless.
He is thankful when she doesn’t make a move to turn away from him, the hand he still rests against her face going slack. There’s a cut in the animal’s neck and he brings it as close to her mouth as he can get it. Dead, the animal is less appetizing but he’d rather try this first before having to go down the nasogastric route.
Both Edward and himself almost breathe a sigh of relief when she finally drinks, the blood swirling around in her mouth as she swallows hastily. The need to survive is apparent and her body follows suit even if she does not wish to.
The feeding is fast and when the stag falls down in her lap and Edward lets go of her, she manages to stay upright by herself. She is far from sated but a nod from Edward to confirm silently to him that she is as alright as the circumstances allow it and that her thoughts seem more coherent is enough to send him away with the corpse of the now drained stag.
He moves beside her and she instinctively curls into his side, a combination of lingering fatigue and need to be safe guiding her toward him.
Esme is slowly coming to, and when she finally breaks into cruel, tearless sobs, all he can do is hold her through it; whispering into her hair that things will be better someday, even though he can make no promise as to when or how quickly.