la belle dame sans merci | carlisle cullen

72

The moon was a soft and gentle thing. Forgiving, constantly changing and leading any who followed her to shift through phases with her. The sun, however, was a bastard. A cruel, cruel bastard that positioned its rise in the sky to deliberately deliver a ray of light across a severely hungover Minerva Amata's eyes. She groaned as she pressed her face into her pillow, a dismissive wave of her arm drawing the useless sheer curtains closed.

For a few hours, she didn't have a thought in her head besides 'ow.' Every now and then, a flicker of something from the night before would enter her mind but the pain in her head and the waves in her stomach would chase it away. She'd spent a lot of time with Carlisle, she knew that much for certain. More than she'd intended.

Once she'd managed to drag herself out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom for a revival shower and the scorching water worked its magic to relieve the tension in her head, it also removed the block on recollection. "Gods." Minerva muttered, letting her head thump against the shower wall. She might had well have cornered him in a broom closet for how obvious she was. It was meant to be a toe in the water not a dive!

And then there was the very near slaughter of Gus, dear lord. What an impression to leave! If she could find somewhere deep, deep, deep inside to stop making of a fool of herself, this ordeal wouldn't grow more complicated with every passing day. Maybe it would, it was too hard to say at this point. She was probably just out of touch. This was what having friends was like. Complicated. Especially when that friend just had to go and be as complicated as she was. He was supposed to be the simple one! Bastard.

Once she'd towelled off and wrapped herself in her robe, Minerva paced out into her house. Starting the kettle for a cup of instant coffee, she found her clutch tossed to the side of the kitchen island. She slung it over her shoulder as she slid open the glass door, a little fuzzball zipping past her ankles the minute it opened.

"Hello to you too." She murmured as she stepped out into the cool morning air. Taking a seat at the small table, she cracked open the little bag and fished for a cigarette. Slotting it between her lips, she waved her hand absentmindedly and it sparked to life. With a puff and pinched eyebrows, she reached into the bag for her phone. "Christ."

A flurry of texts were waiting for her attention. At the top of the list was Carlisle Cullen. Funny how he always found his way there.

Still up for today?

"Fuuuuck." She rubbed the heel of her hand across her forehead, "Genius. Absolute genius." She chastised in a mumble. At the time, it had seemed genius. Now, she remembered the thought process exactly. Once again, Minerva Under the Influence (MUI, if you will,) was the bane of her sober existence. The idea had been that if she made the plan, then and there, of when she'd see him next, she couldn't overthink it and suffer another day without seeing him. She could have suffered at least two! It didn't have to be right away! "Great, that's really great." She breathed out, typing out a reply.

Apparently. See you at 5, doc.

The rest of the texts seemed hardly important after that one. A lot of oh, you know Gus. And a singular don't you dare worry about that, enjoy your honeymoon to Dana. It was all her playing the part. Gus was nothing in the grand scheme of her life. A speck. Less than a speck. He could die and she would say "Bummer" and get on with her life. That part of her life, that was all the performance, utterly insignificant.

This situation with Carlisle. That was her real life. There wasn't a mask left to hide behind. They were monsters. That's all there was to it. Either this went well and golly gee, she had a friend, or it didn't and she cursed him to hell and back. Not actually. Cursing was terrible resource management.