Bittersweet Hurt By just a random writer.pdf

Bittersweet Hurt By just a random writer

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4035198/1/

Part One - The Look

Carlisle Cullen walked with a deliberate pace toward the hospital to begin his

shift. He was not scheduled for duty tonight but he needed a distraction, on this

night most of all. This was the one night of the year his human memories would

come unbidden to his mind, and make his heart ache for the life that was taken

from him. It was Christmas Eve and he was lonely.

How long had he led this life? He was beginning to lose count; the years were

starting to blur together, but every face, every city, and every continent all

seemed the same. Yet, each moment he could spend in the vicinity of humans

helped to desensitize his nose, giving him some sense of control over the

incessant thirst for blood that would always plague him. He chuckled quietly to

himself, thinking that he might yet be able to prove to the others that living

among humans was not an impossible task. It was a simple issue of mind over

matter.

The air settled into a blanket of quiet over the city, heavy with the coming

snowstorm. The only sound Carlisle could hear was the near imperceptible crunch

of snow under his feet, and a few snippets of caroling now and again.

Turning down one particular street he had not used before, a light piano melody

caught his ear - lush and sensual against the still of the night. Carlisle stopped to

pinpoint the sound and heard another faint stanza emanating from the house two

doors down, and he stepped forward in curiosity. There was a large gathering in

the home, as lights burning bright in every room - probably a Christmas feast, he

surmised.

It was a modest home, yet showed signs of wealth. The curtains were a fine

French lace and there was a hand worked iron fence enclosing the front of the

property, and the outside of the home was strung with evergreen and ribbons.

Yet the most obvious sign of wealth was the electric lights that graced the home.

The light bulb was not new to Carlisle, but having it in your home was certainly

not for the middle class. Carlisle edged closer to the window, making sure to stay

hidden in the darkness, straining his ears to hear more of the music coming from

inside.

The scene was a jovial one, full of Christmas merriment. Several handsome

young girls danced around the room with their suitors, sweeping their skirts as

they twirled and laughed and blushed. They were tightly corseted in the fashion

of the day, with hair upswept and soft curls framing their young faces. Servants

stoked the large fire in the hearth which was decorated with evergreen and

stockings. China cups of hot spiced cider and eggnog were being passed around

the room, while the children chased each other around the legs of the adults.

He took another step closer, trying to find the piano player. He finally spotted him

in the corner, but Carlisle was unable to see anything of him other than his back.

He decided he would stop here and wait - he had to hear more. The music was . .

. soothing to him in a way he had not felt in almost 300 years.

Carlisle saw a very young girl who couldn't have been more than 10 or 11 come

bounding down the large staircase, running straight for the boy at the piano. At

that moment the girl had reached her target, and the boy stopped his playing to

reach down and pick her up by the waist, throwing her high into the air as he

circled, eliciting wild peals of laughter from the girl. 'That music . . . was it from

this boy?' Carlisle wondered.

Carlisle finally caught sight of the boy's face, and his breath hitched in his chest.

'Beautiful . . . my god, he is so . . . perfect,' he thought. The boy looked to be

about 16 or 17, and he was very tall, yet lanky, as if he had just grown into his

height and had yet to fill out the rest of his frame. His facial features were

angular, yet not severe - still tempered by his youthful adolescence. But the most

noticeable feature of all was the tousled copper colored hair framing his face.

Carlisle could not tear his eyes away.

"Edward! Oh Edward, do it again!" the little girl cried out, reaching her arms up to

the boy, "Spin me 'round again, Edward!" Her eyes were bright and she was

standing on her tip toes, reaching out for the boy who had decided to tease her

by raising his own arms out of reach. "Edward, you are so mean!" she cried out in

laughter. The boy feigned hurt and shock, "I can't believe you would call me

mean, young lady!" he said in mock seriousness. The girl hesitated for a moment,

letting her arms drop to her sides as her smile faded from her face.

"Gotcha!" Edward screamed as he surprised her with a sudden grab, and

proceeded to twirl her in the air again. Their laughter carried through the crisp air

of the night as he sat her down at last. "I'm dizzy, Mary! I need a break. I'm only

human, you know!" he said. "Why don't you run and get us some cider?" he said,

sitting back down at the piano. The girl shook her head yes and barreled out of

the room to find drinks.

The boy let out a long breath from the exertion, and ran his fingers through his

hair trying to get it to stay out of his face. Carlisle could see the faint sheen of

sweat that covered his forehead just as Edward pulled out a handkerchief from

his breast pocket and began to wipe his brow. The crowd dancers had died down,

moving into the next room in preparation of the Christmas feast, leaving the

sitting room quiet and deserted.

Edward stared at the keys of the piano as he continued to wipe sweat from his

face. Carlisle could only stand frozen in place, watching this human boy, this

perfect human boy, performing the most menial of tasks, and yet it was the most

breathtaking thing Carlisle thought he had ever seen in his long years on Earth.

And at that moment, Carlisle understood precisely why he bothered to keep his

compassion for the human race. It was for this boy alone.

Then, as if God were listening to Carlisle's every secret thought, the boy stood up

and made his way to the window, staring out at the snow - giving Carlisle an

unhindered view. The boy peered out of the glass, his eyes roaming the street as

if he were searching for something. His eyes locked on the very spot Carlisle was

hiding in, as if he knew.

'It's impossible for him to see me, he cannot know I am here,' Carlisle thought to

himself, but taking a careful step back. Just in case. But there was no mistake.

The boy was staring right at him with those warm hazel eyes. Carlisle forgot to

breathe.

"Edward! Aunt Ruth says it's time to come eat!" Mary bellowed as she ran into

the room, latching onto his sleeve. Edward broke his gaze and looked down to the

girl, flashing her a lopsided grin. "I'll be right there, Mary, you go on ahead," he

said, shooing the girl back toward the dining room. Edward turned one more time

to peer out of the front window before turning back and heading out of the room.

Carlisle let out the breath he had been holding, but still couldn't get his feet to

move. 'I have to get out of here . . . this boy - he could be too much of a

temptation,' he thought. A brief image of Edward's face flashed across his mind.

'If only I were not a monster,' he thought, 'I could be near you.' A second flash

came, again of Edward, but this time he was pale, with dark circles under his

eyes - now golden in color instead of honey - a monster just like he was.

Carlisle squeezed his eyes closed. 'NO! He can never be . . . like me!' His breath

came faster and faster, and he felt the harsh edges of panic snaking up his spine.

It would be so easy, to snatch him away, and create a companion for himself, one

who was so perfect, one who would be with him forever. Hadn't he been lonely

for entirely too long?

What had he become? Had the years of solitude and struggle against his nature

finally driven him out of his mind? How he could be such a loathsome creature to

think of making that boy into his companion, to take away his humanity, his

hopes and dreams just so I won't be lonely anymore?

'This is insane!' he shouted in his mind, picking himself up and racing toward the

park. 'I have to get out of here. Edward, you have nearly undone me and you do

not even know it.'

Part Two - The Fever

The summer was sweltering, and people were dropping like flies left and right. An

influenza epidemic was sweeping the nation; highly contagious, it was killing the

young and healthy in a matter of hours.

Once the disease set in, there was very little one could do to prevent death, and

most patients died within 48 hours of the first symptoms - aches, pains, and

fatigue. Soon, most were unable to stand on their own eight to 10 hours after

being infected. The influenza generally caused pneumonia to settle in, and the

vast majority of patients died by drowning in the fluids filling their lungs. The

most ominous sign, however, was when they turned blue. When that happened,

you could guarantee the end of them, generally about 4-6 hours later.

There was a steady line of corpses streaming out of the influenza ward where

Carlisle worked the night shift, and it showed no sign of slowing down. The local

grave diggers were working around the clock to get the bodies buried before

more disease could spread. It made the loneliness Carlisle felt more acute than it

already was - to see all of this life needlessly thrown down the drain. Fathers,

mothers, daughters, and sons - all cut down equally.

It was going to be a long and miserable summer.

He walked quietly to work, concentrating on staying in the shadows as it was not

quite twilight yet. The skies had been threatening rain earlier today and it was

still relatively cloudy out, but you could never tell when there might be a break in

the clouds. The heat was stifling, and the air was thick with humidity. Carlisle

would almost swear he was on the verge of breaking a sweat - not that he could

break a sweat. Carlisle sighed. He needed a change. Perhaps he could return to

Italy to spend some time with the Volturi; it may help him to clear his mind of the

troubling thoughts that had been plaguing him, like those that rushed unbidden

into his mind every time he encountered an adolescent boy with dark hair. 'Take

him out of the side door; down to the empty house you passed this morning; it

will only take three days; no one will notice he is gone; they will assume he is

dead; it's a simple bite; the pain will fade; you can take him hunting in the

forests to the south . . .'

No. He shook his head to clear his thoughts; he can't think like that. He couldn't

allow himself to be so weak. He was a monster, and he could not let anyone else

become like him. He had every intention of upholding the promises he made to

his Father and his God so very long ago, there in the putrid grave of rotten

potatoes. 'I swear I will not become a monster! I WILL NOT become so evil! I

swear I'll do away with myself immediately, if you can only forgive my suicide!'

Yet, the biggest promise was one Carlisle could not never forget, he still fought it

every day. When the pain was too much to bear, and the tears were streaming

down his face, he pleaded for mercy. 'Please, stop this pain! I can't . . . no more!

Please! God, where are you? I swear, I swear on everything I hold holy that I will

never take a human life! Please, I swear if only you will just stop the burning!'

And miraculously, at that moment the burning did stop as if in answer to his

prayer, and Carlisle passed out. He had made the transition to a vampire, and the

life he knew before was gone. He was now left with a very big promise to keep.

Carlisle rounded the corner, headed to the hospital where he was greeted with

the scent of death. He wrinkled his nose slightly. The smell was getting worse,

and the bodies were continuing to pile up. He entered into the east ward, and let

out a sigh at the sight. Rows and rows of beds were lined up in the large hall, all

full of the dead and dying. There were so many patients that the hospital did not

have enough beds. No hospital in Chicago did at that point. The medical staff had

begun to lay patients on the floor around the beds, and in every available space -

the hallways, the exam rooms, the lobby.

Yet, worse than the smell, were the sounds. The moaning, and the wheezing. The

cries of help, the cries of pain, the coughing, and the death rattles. Yes, Carlisle

knew that was the worst part of the epidemic, the sound of putrid death.

He sighed, and began to work.

There wasn't much in a medical sense that he could so for these patients. The

best he could offer now was some sense of comfort while they suffered through

their disease. He started at the first bed on the row and sat down next to the

woman there. She was sweating profusely, and looked to be unconscious. Her

breath was low and shallow, and she was beginning to turn blue, around the

edges of her face, the tip of her nose, her fingertips. She wouldn't last until

tomorrow.

He made his way down the line, offering water or pain medicine where it was

needed. He held their hands, sponged their brows, and put cold compresses on

their forehead. He wiped the blood from their noses and mouths when the

hemorrhages started. He moved their bodies when they passed away.

At the end of the row of beds, he stopped and sat down beside his next patient.

Without looking up, he grabbed a bowl and filled it with water from the pitcher

near the bed. He rang out a rag in the cool water and went to place the compress

on the boy's head. He looked up, and froze.

It was Edward.

The Edward, the one who almost drove him insane last Christmas, almost causing

him to break every vow he had made regarding not harming humans, about

respecting human life. The one that had taken Carlisle too long to stop thinking

about.

And yet here, this perfect boy lay dying. His once brilliant hair was matted down

with sweat and grime and plastered against his face. He was sleeping fitfully,

gently tossing his head to the side, mumbling incoherent words in his sleep. Deep

circles were under his eyes, his cheeks were hollow, and the tip of his nose was

beginning to turn blue.

Carlisle's mouth hung open, shocked that his perfect boy was now withering away

- miserable, and sweating his life out on a dirty bed which countless numbers

died in before him.

He felt a wetness on his arm and looked down to see the forgotten rag hanging

limply in his hand, dripping water on the bed sheets. He brought the cloth up to

Edward's face and began to clean off the sweat. He smoothed back the matted

hair out of his face, his fingers lingering against Edward's forehead. The boy

responded to the cool touch of his fingers, giving off low whimpers at the relief.

Edward raised his hand, feebly trying to reach Carlisle's fingers on his face.

Without thinking, Carlisle grabbed his hand and interlaced their fingers, while

reaching down to re-wet the cloth with his other hand. Edward tired to raise his

head, seeking Carlisle's cold fingers.

"Shh . . . it's ok, there's more where that came from," Carlisle choked out, wiping

at Edward's face with the rag, feeling tears he thought were gone forever forming

in his eyes. He leaned closer, clearly hearing just how much fluid was building up

in Edward's lungs. Carlisle knew it wouldn't be long. Edward was drowning.

Carlisle hovered close to Edward's face, close enough to see the stubble on his

cheeks, the pink of his lips, and the pulse beating beneath the surface of his

neck. 'It would be so easy . . . he is going to die anyway . . . just one bite . . .' No

- he couldn't do this. Carlisle shook his head and went to move back from the

boy. Yet before he could get away, Edward opened his eyes and looked up at

Carlisle.

Carlisle felt his breath hitch in his chest. Those eyes . . . those beautiful hazel

eyes . . . they were looking straight at him, recognition flashing somewhere in

their depths. "You came . . . ," Edward croaked out, barely able to speak above a

whisper. "You're here again," he said, flashing Carlisle a weak smile.

'He has to be hallucinating, from the fever,' Carlisle thought. Edward made to

raise his hand and Carlisle helped him along, holding the weight of his arm up for

him. Edward reached out and ran the tips of his fingers across Carlisle's forehead,

and gave him another weak, lopsided grin. "I knew you would come for me,"

Edward said.

"Edward, my name is Dr. Cullen. You haven't met me before," he said, continuing

to hold the boy's arm up, 'His touch . . . It's been so long . . . ,' "Where are your

parents, Edward? Is anyone coming for you?" he asked quietly, reveling in the

soft stroking of Edward's fingertips.

"Dead . . . gone . . . I looked after them. I'm the last one . . ." Edward whispered,

closing his eyes briefly as he stopped to catch his breath - the exertion of

speaking a few words was almost too much for him. He opened his eyes and

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