Unforgivable Lacerations

Chapter Forty-One

Christmas Cove Beach is the picture above, it is an actual location like all of the places in the book. 

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As the winter's breeze twirled around us, shifting the sand subtly down the beach, like a tumbleweed rolling lonesome in a desert, I couldn't help the paranoid glances over my shoulder, repeatedly checking Christmas Cove Beach. 

With my mind rushing over the thoughts of company, even if Esme had brought me to Northport, and was currently sitting beside me on the bank, I couldn't let myself listen to the peaceful crashes of the sea, which bit into the sand with a painfully cold temperature. I was sure, one-hundred-percent, as certain as I was on knowing the Pope was Catholic, that someone was watching. They always were, weren't they? Standing in the shadows, creeping up behind me, ears erect and eyes focused. 

"Why's it so empty?" I asked, not seeing anyone yet again. With this being a known beach, I would have expected to have seen someone. A stray dog walker, a pair of sickly romantic high school sweethearts, or an energetic runner. Anyone. 

From the waves washing into the shore, and the missiles of sand storming across the beach, the only movement of life, from what I could see with my head turned away from Esme, were the streams of vapor pouring out my nose alongside their aggravating sibling- in this weather, anyway- mucus; to which I would furiously rub away until my nose was tender. 

"This beach is closed in the winter, presumably due to safety reasons; hence why you'll see no one here, and," she looked at me knowingly, "if someone does stroll past I'll hear them, Bella." She hooked her brunette hair around her ear, keeping it away from the bashful wind that was influenced by the sea. 

No one's here, Bella. No one's here.

It wasn't long before Esme began to speak, her eyes trained on the horizon that sat patiently behind the defense of enraged waves. "I was twenty-two when I married Charles," she breathed, face impassive. I hesitantly glanced her way, allowing her to speak.

"I barely knew him, but I was requested by my father to marry him. All my other friends were wed, therefore, I was immensely strained to find a husband. I wanted to please my father and due to not being opposed to Charles, I agreed to marry him." I too, looked out into the ocean now, trying to imagine a human Esme. I was, of course, aware from the very beginning that her story didn't end well, but I knew no details. 

"Directly after the wedding, quite literally the said night, Charles' intentions became clear. I was the woman, the wife, and as you're quite aware, Bella, we had no say in the household. He thought of me as a slave and a stress relief. I was naive in the..." She furrowed her eyebrows, turning her head to the side whilst trying to grasp the correct word. "Marriage department," she continued. "Nonetheless, the way he treated me the first night, I knew it wasn't right. Forceful, painful," she closed her eyes, squirming away slightly as if Esme was trying to step away from the memory, like a widow closing a photo album of their wedding.  "Thenceforth, he was abusive the majority of the time. It was when he was under the influence of alcohol that the nights became a persecution session...furthermore, I didn't have anyone I could rely on, not my parents, by any means. They merely told me to act like the expected suitable housewife." 

Instinctively, I placed my hand in her's, trying to comfort her. Old wounds heal, but the scar never fades. Breathing only through her mouth, in short puffs, like those of someone who was in pain. Eyes saddened but protective, Esme rotated her head to look at me. 

"You see, Bella, although our stories are vastly divergent, there are some similarities. I can relate to what happened earlier," Esme lifted her eyebrows, referring to the sharp pain between my legs. "Or how you are feeling guilty." It was my turn to lift my eyebrows, but this time in either alarm or denial, I wasn't sure. "I can see it in your eyes, Bella," she explained.