#carlisleesme
So you know how Edward has this thing where he tries to work himself up to playing the “bad guy” just to make it easier on the person he’s convinced he has to hurt? And you know how he’s terrible at it? (OK I suppose we only have two examples of this in canon but bear with me)
So… flashback to 1927 and Edward is just spending hours in front of the mirror, practicing. He’s got this down. He’s spent years among petulant human teenagers and he’s had time to prepare. Hurting Carlisle and Esme is inevitable—he knows that. It’s just another weight around his neck, another reason he has to leave. But if he can make them angry, so angry they can forget to hope… That’s all he can hope for.
He can give them that, if nothing else.
He strolls out to meet them as they return from hunting, careful to keep the scowl in place. The hands shoved in the pockets just so. The swagger loose and reckless.
Carlisle and Esme are already on edge. They’d spent the past hour sharing their worries with each other about… him, naturally. The guilt flares in both their minds right on cue as they assume he is angry because he’s overheard them. Perfect: he couldn’t have asked for a better entrance.
“Edward,” Esme says, reaching out to him. “Can we talk?”
He draws in the sharp, final breath, reviewing his lines on last time. No more talking! I’ve had your sickly sweet thoughts blaring in my brain for years and I’m sick of it! I’m sick of school and moving and pretending. And I’m sick of your saintly patience (This part was for Carlisle) and your perfection and your silent lectures! It’s a wonder anyone can breathe in this house! I’m through pretending to be something I’m not. I’m going out there and I’m going to drown myself in everything you’ve forbidden. No, don’t touch me! You’re the one who damned me to this misery in the first place. You should have let me die when you had the chance.
… But when Esme’s hand touches his face, when Carlisle’s anxious thoughts envelop him like a blanket, the breath rushes out with sobs instead of words, and the hands leave the pockets to crush his family to his breast. Carlisle and Esme smother him with assurances of love and promises that things will be better, and he only manages to squeak out garbled apologies for the crime he hasn’t committed yet. His only source of relief is that he’s too much of a coward to confess what that crime will be.
He finds the strength at the last possible moment. He realizes that Carlisle was steering the three of them back toward the house, and he can’t bear to go through this again. He whispers one last “I’m sorry” and squeezes their shoulders one last time. And then he runs like the coward he is, letting the acid of their shocked thoughts burn through him until he can’t hear them anymore.
The sudden absence of their pain produces a numbness so deadly that when his own pain arrives right on schedule, he eagerly embraces it. The extra weight of guilt for how he’d ruined his performance is no more than he deserves.
He isn’t even any good at being a villain.
twilight au where Charlie knows Edward specifically is a vampire and he spends most of the time having no idea how to break it to Carlisle and Esme
Someone write it pls
Change your username OP
Edward: Wait, so Esme kissed you and you said “thank you?”
Carlisle:Yes.
Edward:….Well that was very polite.
