Chapter 14

I rode home with Esme, it was obviously an odd thing, a considerate thing. Everyone else had carpooled, I can guess that they wanted me to be, to feel, safe. A suppose being smushed between two men in their fancy cars would put me off a bit. Esme is sweet, she speaks every now and again, about her sons, the house renovations, little sights out the window. Her chatter wasn't forced either, she never spoke as if she expected me to answer her. It's not that I didn't want too, but nothing I could say in return would match.

"Jasper has had a hard life, his interest in you is so innocent and new to him..." What am I supposed to say back? 'I have no idea what that's like and truthfully I'm just looking for a slip up because you simply can't be this good-natured.' No, I couldn't say that, so I just stayed quiet. It's like she is trying to tell me that however brash Jasper seems, he's actually good-intentioned, that he doesn't know how to love properly. Of course, I could just be self-reflecting on my own issues. How should I know what she means by telling me all this stuff? Every smile still feels like a lie I can't prove. I know I'm traumatized by my many captive years, I know that some of my reactions are not portraying the situation at hand but I can't help it. I only know those things because I know those good people do exist...my father was a good man. He may have done bad things, but he was a good man. I want to think that wasn't my childhood memory wrapped by innocence. I want to believe goodness is not defined by one's actions, but how they feel while committing them. My dad sold drugs, but he wasn't proud of it. He was a veteran, a soldier who had come back from war with no job waiting for him. He wasn't worried about it at first, he didn't mind the lower-wage jobs, it was at least an honest living. But then mom got sick and that honest living wasn't enough anymore. He did things he wasn't proud of, turned teens into addicts, got them involved in nasty gangs for cash. He hated it, but he hated my mother's declining health more. He wasn't a bad man. A bad man wouldn't feel remorse, a bad man wouldn't cry at the news of a teen shot dead on the news, A bad man wouldn't anonymously share what little could be spared with the families who needed help. No, my father was not a bad man. He believed there was good in all types of people, I want to believe that too.

I smile at Esme, the first show of acknowledgment I've given since the hospital. "Your family is like nothing I've ever seen."

She momentarily looks shocked but quickly covers it with a loving smile. "Yes, we are different from most of our kind. We walk a fine line between two worlds. It's all thanks to Carlisle, he is the most compassionate soul you'll ever meet. He convinces us all the reach for the most humane parts of ourselves, even if we are always outcasts, we have decently clear closets."

skeletons in the closet, ha that's hilarious actually. I chuckle a bit before coughing. I wasn't used to the feeling of laughter.

"only a few funerals I guess." I meant this as a tasteless joke, something common amongst the slaves I knew. However, this only seemed to place a saddened look upon her face.

"Unfortunately...there have been a few..." Had I offended her? I figured talk of death was easy, I thought it would almost be common ground. I tried to think as to why my words may upset her, death was so common, grieving was never a part of my life. I watch people I knew to get swatted to death like flies. You detach, desensitize, you don't get close so that when they die, you stay composed. In this, I realized how different we were and felt a sudden sickness wash over me. Was I so used to murder that it made more sense to me than grief? Was this vampire woman more naturally humane than I was? This was a shocking discovery, one that came with guilt.

"I am so sorry Esme, that was tactless. I...am a bit to...I am not the most empathetic person. I truly admire that in you. You are more human than I have been for a very long time. I have grown used to death, it is hard for me you see, to relate to you and your family." Esme didn't look away from the road, though she changed her expression to one of ...was is lovingness? no, she was loving by nature but that didn't match her expression.

"You are very strong and a self-aware young woman, I admire your strength to notice such ingrained behaviors in your mind. It is okay now, to grieve people you may have lost."

admiration. The look was admiration, pride in me. I was shocked into silence at this, left to my own thoughts. The people I lost huh? The first people to come in mind was of course, my parents. I had no time at all to grieve them. The second was a girl named Cassedy, my first slave friend. She was someone I could confide in and be afraid with but she didn't last long. She took her last breath in my arms after refusing to comply to an order. I looked up at her expecting murdered and dropped her cooling body to the ground, completing her task without hesitation. From then on I never got close to anyone. I watched people fall and die and refused to think of them as people like me. I always just saw them for what they were- dead. I wouldn't lose my life over a dead one. But every night I would replay the days' murders. Every night, I'd shed exactly one tear for every victim, I could never afford any more than that little gesture though, anything else would set in the panic. The people I lost...I don't even have names to grieve for, just a numbered tear and a familiar face.