la belle dame sans merci | carlisle cullen

30

Minerva made the call to the tow truck while she waited for the kettle to boil. Once it was settled that they'd get it and take it to the shop for her, she hung up with a sigh.

"That's what I get for getting an old car, I guess." She sighed, settling the phone down on the counter as she drew two mugs out of the cupboard. "What kind of tea would you like, doctor?"

"Whatever you're having would be fine." Carlisle said with a pleasant smile.

"Chamomile, it is then." She hummed dropping a tea bag into each mug, "Honey?"

"Please." Carlisle responded as the kettle began to howl behind her, she moved quickly to move the kettle off the burner. The thing about Carlisle is that he's very observant. There isn't much that slips beyond his noticing. As someone who's used to flying under the radar, it's an odd sensation to be so seen. Sure, his eyes wander around her little house from time to time but mostly they watch. It makes her the slightest bit self conscious, overly aware of her posture and how she moves. It's like he's staring right into her, dissecting her every action even when the action is as mundane as a cup of tea.

She places the cup in front of him and sits at the stool adjacent before hopping up again, "would you like an ice cube? I'm impatient."

"Sure." He chuckles softly, as she swings the freezer open and returns to the counter with the ice tray, "How do immortality and impatience mix?"

"Not well." She admits with a slight smile as she plops an ice cube in each of their cups. "You'd think I'd have that conquered by now." She shrugs before adding, "Takes too long, I guess."

"Do you want a drive into town in the morning?" He asks, fiddling with the string of the teabag, twining in around his fingers.

"You're far too kind to me." Minerva accuses softly, "but that would be great."

He gives her a pointed, if not slightly disapproving look, "I'm every bit as kind as you deserve." All she can do is roll her eyes before averting them down to the steaming cup. It's all she can do to keep sane when he says anything like that, for fear if she held his eye he might see it in her eyes. She wondered if he couldn't see it already, the idea was too daunting to entertain. "Coleridge.." he hummed looking down at the paper at the end of his string. They always had little nature quotes on them. "What's yours?" She glanced down at hers at the mention, one from Lao Tzu. "Nature does not hurry but everything is accomplished. Lao Tzu."

Carlisle laughed, "Perhaps it's a sign." He says, closing his palms around the mug on either side to sap it's warmth. "Mine says in nature there is nothing melancholy. I think that's from The Nightingale."

"I love the romantics." Minerva says with a slight sigh, "You know, Lord Byron went missing once? So Keats and Shelley were looking all over the place for him. Shelley ended up going as far as Paris and found him in a brothel, so exhausted and dehydrated he was near death. When Shelley wrote to Keats to tell him what had happened, Keats said something to the effect of  'you probably should have just left him there.'" She smiled as she told the story, eyes wandering the wall over Carlisle's shoulder as if she could see it written there. Her eyes moved back to him as he began to laugh, a sound she found she could never get enough of.

"I've never heard that but I don't doubt it for a second. Byron was a scoundrel." Carlisle shook his head slightly, "Keats was right though. He probably should have been left there." He lifted his tea to take a careful calculated sip. Minerva did the same, figuring if his was cool enough to drink, hers would be too. Instead, she found it still near scalding. It took everything in her to act casual and not like she'd just burnt the shit out of her tongue. "This one's no where near as eccentric but have you heard the backstory to Kubla Khan?"

"That's Coleridge, right? I don't think so."

"He claimed it came to him in a dream but it was more likely an opium induced episode." Carlisle begins, Minerva leans her cheek into her palm, watching him as he speaks. There's something about the way he talks with his hands. Not particularly animated but they move in rhythm with his speech, opening and closing. It's times like this she knows she's really got it bad. "As he started to write it down when a man comes and knocks on his door and insists on talking business with him for like an hour. By the time it's done, he sits back down at his typewriter and he's lost most of it. That's why the poem is so fragmented."

"I've had that happen." Minerva said kissing her teeth, "I'd have tracked the guy down and wrung his neck. There's nothing more infuriating than having something in mind one second and then it's just," she snaps her fingers, "gone the next."

"Do you write?" Carlisle asked taking another sip of his tea. Minerva didn't dare try hers again.

"I did for a time." She admitted, "a little of everything. I channeled Thoreau living so far into the country but then I grew uninspired. Everything took an undertone of melancholy. At least with painting and music I can base it on something outside of myself. Writing can only come from the heart.. for me anyway."

"Perhaps, it is worth getting into again." Carlisle offers, "Melancholy or not, it's an excellent outlet. I'd love to read something of yours sometime."

Minerva chews the inside of her cheek, slightly regretting the admission, "It's all rotten. I'll see if I can't find something worth ingesting."

"I'm certain it all is." Carlisle retorted, "Your own writing always feels like the worst thing you've ever read."

The opening to get the topic off of her own writing was too good to pass up, "Do you write?"

"Mainly prescriptions, now of days." Carlisle allowed with a slight smile, "I thought myself to be quite the poet in my youth. I thought I could start the next enlightenment."

"I'm sure you still could." Minerva said with a smile finally giving her tea another try to find it just warm enough to drink, "You enlighten me every day." His smile was like a beam of light; the perfect example. "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours."

His laugh echoed throughout her small home and she hoped it'd soak into the walls, insulate the damned place with the sound of his joy and lock out all the sorrow that came when he left. "I think I could take you up on that."