Esme 8: Soul Meets Body

I was cold: terribly, terribly cold. I was standing on the edge of a tall cliff, the wind tearing at my hair and dress, biting against my exposed skin. It was dark, too, and I was immensely lonely.

Suddenly, I could see a pinpoint of light on the periphery of the lake, getting bigger as it soared higher into the sky. There was a face in the light, and it was as familiar as it was magnificent. As it rose, it grew brighter, and when it was far enough in the sky, Carlisle’s full figure was visible. He raised a hand and held it out to me, his warm smile beckoning.

He was so far away! I tried to stretch, tried to call to him--he remained across the water.

There was only one way to reach him. I jumped off the brink, and I fell onto the rocks below.

I gasped awake, my eyes shooting open. I panted, and my sheets were stuck to me from sweat. My heartbeat echoed in my ears, and I tried to ease the panic that was ensnared in my heart.

These dreams, these horrible nightmares! So intensely vivid--each one so colorful. And each one with that cliff, the same damned cliff! The reasons for the jump changed each time, but it did not change my reaction to them once I was awake.

They had started late last month, where I had jumped to flee Charles; now that Carlisle was in the picture, it gave the dream a whole new mood. Where Charles had been someone to escape from, Carlisle was someone to escape to: the sunshine to my darkness, the company for my loneliness.

I rolled out of bed, frustrated as my stomach lurched. I had been queasy for the last month, and I was sick of it, no pun intended. I stood still, waiting for the feeling to pass. When it didn’t, I rushed for the bathroom, reaching it just in time.

I groaned. If only this virus would just go away!

I wiped off my lips, flushing everything away. I pulled myself up to the mirror, surveying my appearance.

I looked gaunt, the circles deep under my eyes from lack of sleep--and even when I hadn‘t dreamed, I was still so tired. There were small spots of acne all over my forehead, and it was strange, because I had never had that problem before. My hair was dull, flat--I hadn’t washed it in a while, and I didn’t care much. My face was so thin--as hungry as I felt these days, I hadn’t been able to keep much down. I looked horrible, and yet I didn’t care.

Although Laura had brought me back to reality two months ago, I had gone back to my own dream world quickly. It was a release from the pain, and I really didn’t mind as I lost touch with the real world. And I really didn’t care much for my appearance nowadays, anyway--the new dress code revealed my bruises, and it would look odd to see a floor-length dress in the middle of all the short skirts.

“Are you still sick?” Charles bellowed from the living room, irritated.

“Yes,” I called back, slugging out into the hallway, nervous I’d suddenly be sick again.

“You should go see a doctor,” he grumbled. I came into the living room and leaned against the wall, sighing.

“That’s a good idea.” I stared at him for a while, collecting myself before turning back to the bedroom. I dressed mechanically, wearing one of my older dresses and throwing my hair up, hoping it looked more clean than it was.

I sat patiently in the doctor’s office, swinging my legs back and forth as I waited. A short thought ran though my head, and I smiled--how grand would it be if Carlisle walked through those doors instead of Dr. Albano?

The door opened then, and Dr. Albano entered with a warm smile on her face. Her brown hair was wavy, and her skin was a pretty tanned color. She held out her hand, and it was warm. “Hello, Mrs. Evenson!” She glanced at her chart for a second before looking at me with big brown eyes. “It says here you’ve just been feeling badly for a while. Can you tell me anything more? When did you notice this starting?”

“Around August. The end of it, mostly. Maybe even the beginning of September.” I shrugged.

“Is there anything other than nausea? Any sores, rashes?”

“Umm, no. No, I’ve just been very tired. I’ve had some headaches, too.”

Dr. Albano gave me a light smile. “Well, I have an idea, but I can’t be sure. I’d still like to give you an examination just the same.”

I released an internal sigh when I didn’t have to raise up my skirt or my sleeves--I really wasn’t in the mood to explain my situation.  It was a simple examination--pulse, heart rate, hearing, sight. Dr. Albano went out into the hall for a minute or so, and I returned to swinging my legs and daydreaming of Carlisle.

She returned much more quickly that I’d expected; her face was glowing. I wondered mildly what had made her so happy.

“My first suspicion was correct, Mrs. Evenson.” She paused for dramatics. “You and Mr. Evenson are expecting.”

That one word, the soft, unexpected word, pierced through the protective layers of my heart like a dagger. All the defense I’d built around myself, the defense to keep Charles out, was shattered instantly by the term, and it was like I was seeing the world for the first time. My feelings seemed fresh, new--how long had I locked myself inside my mind?

A baby. My baby. My own sweet little child to hold and carry and love. Suddenly, I understood Laura’s words from that hot August morning: I loved him the second I knew he existed--loved him so unconditionally and completely. He was mine, my sweet darling. And I, like Laura, would gladly die for him. Automatically, I cradled my stomach and looked down, as if expecting to see a bump already.

But Charles. Charles as a father. Oh, God, no! The thought filled me with an indescribable terror, a terror so much worse than when I had feared simply for my own safety. No--one little punch, a short fall, and I could miscarry like Laura. And I had had so much misfortune in my life already: I would not survive a miscarriage. And even if my baby did survive those nine months--one little cry, a whimper, and Charles would forever silence him. I nearly screamed at the thought.

I had to get out.

These thoughts and feelings flickered across my face all within a second or two of each other--elation for a baby, fear of Charles, and my sudden determination to escape--and Dr. Albano was looking at me curiously. I gave her a slight smile, hopping down from the bed.

“Thank you very much, Dr. Albano. I--I’m glad to know that I don’t have the flu.” I laughed lightly, trying to show here that I was fine. She smiled back at me, and I could see the relief clearly on her face.

I left the hospital, and I wasn’t sure which feeling was stronger: my joy for my pregnancy, or my overwhelming fear of Charles.