#briiighter

/what/

breathing. stops. heart. stops. EVERYTHING. stops. 

silence. dead silence. in the space where words should be. the wind whips around esme -- throws her hair in her face & obscures her vision and esme feels like she’s fucking drowning. she’s fucking. DROWNING. this is it she’s d y i n g oh my god. 

she’s staring at bree like she’s an angel. or the devil. maybe both. ( or maybe she’s just a confused, aching, little girl. )

esme’s hands are the only thing holding her together. keeping her from crumbling apart. she’s stopped functioning, her heart is g o n e, dropped somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach and OH GOD THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE WHEN YOUR HEART BREAKS OH GOD. 

pull it together, esme. let’s go. don’t think about all the time you spent in her arms, don’t think about all the times you saved her from her house, don’t think about all the late nights spent between pale thighs, don’t think about the way her lips used to claim your neck don’t don’t DON’T DON’T DON’T. 

E V E R Y T H I N G   S T O P S. and everything starts again -- like being HIT BY A TRAIN. the moment of impact leaves her breathless & clutching her stomach in pain. there’s a knife there, she’s sure. fuck fuck fuck fuck. and she’s c r y i n g. 

tears escape from the corners of her eyes without her permission, they travel down her cheeks at a slow pace. the wind that pushed her hair into her face pushes them sideways, salt water brushes over her lips and this is it she’s about to SHATTER. somewhere there’s a wolf that’s h o w l i n g, looking for it’s pack, looking for it’s heart -- or maybe that wolf is just inside of esme. oh GOD MAKE IT STOP PLEASE. 

and the words -- oh the words are pushing up her throat like b i l e, they’re saturating her tongue & tumbling out into the open and now that everything is started it simply can’t stop and oh -- 

“ fuck you. and fuck everything i ever did for you. and fuck him. FUCK HIM. and -- and -- ” a howl rips itself from her throat and esme’s hands TEAR themselves from her shirt, moving to clutch at her hand. she can’t raise those hands to bree -- she’d NEVER in a MILLION YEARS hurt her like that. “ get out of here you l y i n g --- you LIAR-- you-- ” 

and she crumbles. and she falls. and the EMPIRE that she had built up, the love she had for the world -- it tumbles with her. esme clutches onto her door, clutches onto the home she held onto for years. it’s the only thing keeping her up -- the world around her is painted in gray & gray & gray and she thinks that she’ll never see colors again. 

send “just breathe” for my character to break down in front of yours.  

one one-thousand. 

her mother was always very good at controlling herself. folded hands, praying palms, teeth biting her inner cheek. whenever her mother was upset, she thought of a clock counting up the seconds that her sadness was taking away from her life. whenever esme was upset, she felt like she was drowning in her sadness. like it was crashing upon her in uncontrollable waves. so, esme tried to adopt her mother’s method. count up, esme. count up the seconds that you could have been happy in. 

two one-thousand. 

esme was never good at controlling herself. she was ruled by her heart, by her desires and her whims. even in her second life, she only learned so much self control. carlisle called her passionate. edward said she was empathetic. emmett thought she was strong (ironic, she knew). esme thought she was a normal vampire woman, with a rather normal disposition - apart from her preferred meal -  and that was that. 

three one-thousand. 

so when she starts to feel that thumping, that panicked feeling in her chest, she takes flight. he looks EXACTLY like charles. he even has the sneer down pat. she walks, calmly, out of the store and back home - immediately heading to the forest behind the mansion (the one that bree frequents). in the woods she hears the long forgotten tug of her mother’s voice, the ghost of a memory, and thats when she loses it. 

four one-thousand. 

deep shaking breaths rattle her to the core. her rib cage is an earthquake, her heart is the epicenter. it’s the most secluded place she could think of, the meadow. even in Britain they’d managed to find a forest with a secret. esme falls to her knees, looks as though she’s praying to a god that she’s always had complications with, and presses her palms against the cool earth. 

five one-thousand. 

was this how it felt to jacob and the others when they transformed? did they feel so helpless and weak? she gasps for breath she doesnt need, hyperventilates as though she’s alive -- and for a moment, she feels that she is. for a moment she’s as fragile and broken as any human being --- and then she stops. considers the year. considers edward and what he had done for her. for the family. for every single women in the world. 

six one-thousand. 

and she stops. freezes. she pulls it all together. she pulls on the love that her family has given her over the years. and TAKES A DEEP BREATH. . . and then. 

“fuck.” the word feels odd in esme’s mouth, like it doesn’t belong. because it’s too much, too vile, too powerful for four little letters. “BREE, i didn’t know you were here. im sorry for my state.”

Send me a ♪♪ and i’ll place my ipod on shuffle to discover what our muses song would be.

Buy the Stars by Marina and the Diamonds (x)

You bought a star in the sky tonightBecause your life is dark and it needs some lightYou named it after me, but I’m not yours to keepBecause you’ll never see, that the stars are free

violence/death themed prompts.

oh. whoops. she doesnt mean to laugh, she really doesn’t. this is NO laughing matter. and yet she cant help it. the giggle bursts through her lips, regardless of what she does to stop it. 

reckless. that was one word to describe the two teenagers. young. that was another. but really, the word that esme would have used to describe them was “drunk”. drunk on freedom, love, hope, fearlessness. drunk on life after death. 

esme doesn’t know how she came to be, how she evolved so suddenly and rapidly. but she attributed most of that to bree tanner. her best friend of two years, her make-out partner of six months, and as of last week– her friend with some AMAZING benefits. of course she loved bree, but she loved everyone that she met. 

{ any stranger on the street was worthy of the love of   esme cullen. she loved too hard and too fast and   most of the time her love felt like a car wreck. she’d   cried over too many children she’d never met, living   on streets she’d never visit. she’d cried over too many   boys who loved drugs more than they loved her, too   many boys that she couldnt fix. she’d cried over too   many girls with uncertainty in their hearts but passion   on their lips, too many girls that could never love esme   in the way she loved them. but not bree. never bree.   bree never made her cry. she never would. }

they’ve both had a little bit too much to drink, they were both a little bit too tipsy to stand up straight, and so esme collapsed down on the bed, their lips still locked. teeth hit teeth and the soft flesh of lips and just like that bree emerged with a bloody, busted lip. esme pushed up, scrabbling for purchase against her silken duvet, and looked down at bree in the dim lighting cast from streetlights. 

that’s when she laughs. and, in a move that she can’t find it in herself to regret, esme leans down to kiss her again, taking the injured lip and sucking on it slightly. the blood tastes metallic in her mouth, like iron. 

{ its funny that this happens, because give or take ten   years and esme will have an entirely different outlook   on the taste of blood. meanwhile, bree only has a few   months left. irony. }