Please, Love Me.

It was my first night in my room. I could hear the maids snickering about how I was not called back into Carlisle's room. The maids knew that there was nothing to consummate the marriage. I had been left in there alone. I looked at the crackling fire, my anxiety spiking slightly. I sat close to the flame, abandoning the comfort of my bed.

I hated the dark.

I hated how Richter would trap me in the door after beating me bloody. It was my very own casket, he would claim. The taste of iron on my tongue, the tightness of my body inside of the iron box. I couldn't even move. I couldn't even breathe without tasting blood. I couldn't see anything. Then, before dawn would break, holy water would be shoved down my throat and I was given the blissful sensation of all my wounds suturing themselves.

I was healed. I was without flaw. I was exactly how Richter wanted me.

Staring at the fire, I felt warm. I felt comforted. I grabbed a blanket from my bed, wrapping it around myself as I curled up near the open pyre. The warmth was also a sense of comfort. I couldn't help but feel blissful in the slightest. At least here Richter couldn't grab me. At least here I didn't need to worry about Richter.

A sense of panic grabbed me when I opened my eyes to a completely dark room. The smoldering embers of the fire and a completely darkened environment, one that I was not used to. Even in my room back with Richter, I always made sure to keep light. Panic overwhelmed me. I felt like I was drowning in it.

Stumbling to the door, I desperately tried to yank it open. It was sealed. Did someone lock it? Did someone lock me inside? I needed to break down the door. I needed to be able to see. Breathing became all the more difficult. I needed to leave here. I slammed my body against the door. It rattled. Nothing.

I felt panic well up inside of me. It blinded all acumen. I was simply a slave to it. As if that was something new.

My breathing became more ragged. My mind felt as though it was crumbling in on itself. I was suffocating. I needed to scream. "H—" Could I scream? Would anyone come? Would everyone hate me if I made a fuss? Would I be beaten for disturbing their sleep? If I screamed and caused a fuss, would I be dragged into the punishment chamber?

I couldn't feel anything but tears slipping down my face. I slammed myself against the door once more. Nothing. Shoving my hands in front of my mouth to stifle my cries, I shakily drew my knees to my chest. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

I needed to breathe.

This was a stupid fear. There was no reason to get this worked up about it. Yet, I could memorize the taste of blood. The sensation of the ruby droplets dripping across my skin, dragging lines of crimson ribbons that would vanish by the morning.

Click.

"Oi. . ."

I jerked my head up to see my husband. Light pooled around him as I quickly ran towards him. Desperate to escape the eternal darkness. I stumbled falling and grasping at his leg. Was this my penance for angering him? Did he finally save me after feeling as though I had absolved myself? Then, I had to beg. I couldn't be left here alone again.

"I-I'm so sorry!" I begged, "I-I didn't mean to offend you. You were right. Please, I won't do it again. I'll take whatever punishment you see fit. Please. I accept—"

"Oi!" His words were harsh enough to silence me as his eyes were wide. They looked alarmed at my state. He crouched down, his rough touch making me almost flinch away. He moved without a modicum of grace, befitting of his large stature."You can leave," Carlisle said, turning to the maid who had been accompanying him. She quickly turned away, cheeks flushed with pink, but Carlisle swooped me up from the ground, surprising me. I was in his arms, carried like a bride should have been.

"No," Carlisle corrected, "I meant you can leave the manor and never return." His words were cold as he looked down at me and I flinched. I used my hair to hide my expression. What type of face was I making? I wasn't even sure. I couldn't even tell. How was I supposed to react? I needed to gather myself.

I was relieved. I wasn't left alone in the darkness. Did he forgive me? My head hurt.

The panic. The fresh anxiety and the misery vanished as I looked up at him through wet lashes. Richter had taught me well. He had taught me how to easily shift my discomfort, my mania, into what men loved most.

"Thank you," I whispered, "You really are kind." I smiled sweetly, my words were laced with saccharine. I closed my eyes to continue my bright expression. I needed him to believe my words more than anything. My knuckles were practically white from gripping onto the material of his shirt. I needed him to think of me as a fragile little princess that needed saving.

I needed him to love me. I was desperate.

Carlisle didn't say anything. The silence filled the air and when I finally opened my eyes again, his dark onyx oculars were a myriad of misplaced emotions. He looked shocked, abhorred, and almost sad. The disgust that crinkled on his face did not leave me. I knew it.

I swallowed.

I knew how disgusting I must seem. Even I hated myself. Despite my efforts and my whims, I had always wanted to live. I always wanted to survive. My life was never my own and there was a futile hope that one day I would be able to reclaim it. It was moronic and I knew it.

"Do you like my room better than yours?" Carlisle finally asked, he broke the silence with his blunt words. It was as if he was trying to deflect the conversation into something else. I let go of his shirt once he placed me down on his bed. His eyes never left my frame and I wonder what he saw.

I laughed, the sound like tinkling bells. I always did that whenever I didn't know what to say. It was a habit from being around Richter. Laughter was the best buffer.

He sat down in the chair, fingers plucking up a cigar and placing it between his lips. The same one that he had shoved between mine the night prior. Should I say something? "I suppose I like you," I chirped—was that too much of a lie? I didn't dislike him.

Carlisle looked at me again. He held a more stoic expression this time. I hadn't caught him off guard.

"No matter what your reputation is," he sighed trailing his words off, "I won't let you be abused in this castle, Irene."

That was the first time he said my name. It made chills run down my spine. It made my smile stiffen for a bit. I always hated the way Richter spoke my name, the velveteen possessiveness wrapped in malice. The way he caressed my cheek and uttered it with such ardor that I hated the feeling of love. I was choking on it.

Despite hating me, he was still kind. I wondered if he pitied me. I wondered what he was thinking. I couldn't tell. I knew my reputation was soured. I knew the rumors around me and Richter. The seductress had blinded Richter into loving him—if only I could do that with Carlisle.

"Thank you," I answered back, "I'm so glad that you're my husband."

I was laying it on thick but for once, I wasn't lying.