I am a hopeless romantic (ditto Dani!), and I've never really given thought to how Esme feels about her child. I asked myself this: what was it like to lose her child? How did she feel? And badabam-badaboom, a fan fiction idea!!! Enjoy this diary entry written by her after she got turned into a vampire, and has lost her child. [DISCLAIMER: Not an SM work, characters aren't mine but Vincent is]
Dear Blue Diary,
Birth – the source of life, the source of love, must feel like quite an experience. I realize that now – I feel so different having been turned into a ….. Vampire as Carlisle calls it. It's like waking up from a dormant situation – a period where one has been sleeping for years and years, and now has woken up from the sleep – feeling so fast, so strong and so…superior should I call it?
Carlisle is the man I never got to meet before this life. My life had been bleak and blurry and so corset-housework-slavery filled that I had never had a real love or heartthrob. But Carlisle seemed like the ideal man – hard working, earnest, sincere, honest and of course, good looking.
But I haven't wanted to see his face since he told me about that news…the news I had never wanted to know.
Of course, I remembered a bit of my human life, I remembered that man I met at the alley – he said I was his one true love and that it was 'love at first sight'… and I fell for it and he got too hasty. Then I remember the pain, the throwing up, the sicknesses, and then how life was building inside of me….
Only yesterday, Carlisle broke it to me that as a vampire, I couldn't grow. And if I couldn't grow, then I couldn't give birth. My body couldn't adapt to the growth, the womb-lengthening required to hold the darling little baby inside of me.
I remember Vincent Jr. He was bursting to get out, and the hospital rejected me, so I gave birth in the cave I found by the sea. I found all I needed to help the little baby survive. Sure it was a painful process – but the little darling didn't cry, or annoy me one little bit – he was surprisingly smart, smiling and giggling ever so beautifully, his small tuft of blonde hair exactly like mine. He was…warm and angelic, like a peaceful godly entity I loved, a part of me.
And then he died. Some disease I suspect. Just a small virus, a cold I couldn't deal with was all it took for my little angel to die – my birth, my darling, a part of me…..
I stare at my hands now, my pale white skin chalky against my caramel hair, only to realize, that if this woman, who I've become was to give birth, my baby Vincent Jr. would be the most beautiful, beatific baby alive, and he would be mine. Babies – they were always a responsibility to me, but my dreary days in that seaweed stinking cave, where he smiled a soft, chubby smile and his blue eyes were wide and innocent, how he put up with my abysmal motherhood in a remote condition – it brought tears to my eyes. He wasn't tad bit a responsibility – he was a privilege.
But I couldn't cry. I couldn't weep. I was thankful that I was living at least. Carlisle was a nice man. Maybe in time I would love him as properly as I could. But now, my hollow space in my chest was increasing, it was filling with these emotions that had overcome me on the top of the high, sky climbing limestone cliff, the spot miles above the cave where my darling was buried – and then these emotions and clouded my eyes with tears. And then the free fall – I refused to think or feel anything while floating through the air – except that my baby would have loved to fly like this, defy human limitations. I also wondered whether in my next life, I would be able to have anther child, one which I would treat like a god….and as my body had bent around those rocks, cracked and snapped, I just felt happy that the pain was there – this is what I'd come here for….pain, punishment, chastisement….
I feel so horrible – it was my fault he died. It was my fault that a pure, innocent child died, because I couldn't take care of him – I couldn't be a proper human being and protect him with my full potential – I couldn't give up my clothing to protect him from the cold – I couldn't feed him frequently enough and all those hours I spent scavenging were useless! What a monster was I, even before this life! I roughed my self up to help Vincent, but I wasn't humane enough to give up everything I had to help him survive?! What was the point of me living? What kind of a murderer was I? Why did I deserve to live? My baby – though the son of an evil, dirty rapist – was the connection I never had experienced. The joy I felt, lying barely clothed in that cave, in my corset dress, covering him with the shawls, watching him giggle and move his fat fists through the air – his chubby cheeks pull up in a beautiful smile everytime he saw me! His small body was full of strength and happiness and joy, I felt so content and blissful seeing him survive – seeing him sleep beside me, showing me that life clearly had its ups and downs.
But my heart had thrived to survive – it had attempted to thump. And that was all Carlisle needed – he saved me by biting me. Though if I were conscious, I would have cursed him with my heart, but I found myself thanking him; thanking him for letting me lie there in pain, thrashing. I welcomed the burning, the fire and the pain and the pressure inside me. I welcomed the excruciating hurt, the fiery healing…the pain of broken bones as it is. Then, after my rebirth, the fiery aching, the hurt at the back of my throat was so punishing, I was happy for it!! It was god's wish! My punishment! And I was happy for the pain, the punishment, the reprimand! I was delighted that whenever blood scented the air, whenever a human came by, the PAIN in my throat would make me mad…and I would hold myself back, only to experience the pain! After all, everyone had a family, and everyone had a person who would mourn if they died…
Carlisle had spent yesterday holding my hands, shaking me hard, trying to convince me that it wasn't my fault at all. It wasn't my fault that dear Vincent died. He said that he would die anyway because of the birth – the person who had planted him inside me had some weird disease he called the Human Immunodeficiency Virus that would anyway have killed both of us. I refused to listen. Until the plea, the hope in his voice caught my attention, and I realized that he was staring at me reproachfully, his butterscotch eyes wide with hope, with a strange kind of love, with passion and honesty and care. His face was tensed in earnest attempt, integrity and beauty that was flawless – immune to any bad intentions. There was something about his words, his thoughts, the way he talked, the way he walked, the way he held me….it was fascinating. He told me that it was what God wanted – he wanted angel Vincent, and I couldn't fight it. He told me that it was meant to be. He told me that if I wanted, I could start over, as he would probably find another life to save through vampirization. And I could adopt the lucky soul. I could care for him or her, try to make this one survive.
I would, in time, find a way to thank Carlisle for this.
Thank him for everything.
Thank him for everything with Vincent. Thank him for this second chance. Thank him for everything he has done to gain my trust. Because I DO trust him now. I'm just mourning for Vincent. Just for him. But I know that soon enough, Carlisle will be my everything. I've already daydreamed about my new last name I want to have. Cullen. Not my maiden name, but Cullen.
My pen is running out of ink dear diary….
Carlisle told me that I would thank him when he allowed me to.
Slyly, he added that we had forever to live.