Cast Aside

Prologue

1999

Carlisle sat in the audience of the small music hall, his wife at his side, his children seated behind them. After decades of patient encouragement, Edward had finally agreed to share his insurmountable musical talent with the masses. He had been reluctant to do so, knowing that he only had one chance—a matter of about five years—to be visible to the public. After that, people would notice that he didn't age, and he would have to recede back into the shadows.

And so, Edward's premiere was carefully planned. It was perfect timing; the world was ready for his brand of music. The audience sat in rapt attention as Edward's hands flitted over the keys of his baby grand, his haunting voice filling the acoustically perfect auditorium.

Carlisle was proud of him. Edward had been mired in a state of depression for most of his second life. This was the outlet he needed so that he might finally begin to heal. Carlisle sighed in relief; maybe now, the burden he'd been shouldering for so long would be alleviated, at least to some small degree.

Edward's current song came to a close and the audience applauded with vigor. His set was nearly over, and it was clear that he had won over this particular crowd. The record producers in the audience were on the edge of their seats, ready to pounce when he left the stage. But he wasn't done just yet. There was still one song left to be sung.

Edward swallowed and closed his eyes as he waited for the applause to die down. When the hall was once again shrouded in silence, his long, slender fingers began to coax a haunting melody from his piano; the instrument an extension of his own body. Leaning forward as if to kiss the microphone, he began to sing:

No matter how strong

I'm gonna take you down

With one little stone

I'm gonna break you down

And see what you're worth

What you're really worth to me

It was a favorite pastime of Carlisle's; trying to figure out the meaning behind Edward's songs. This was not one he had heard before. He listened carefully to the words spill from the depths of Edward's soul.

Dinner at eight was okay

Before the toast full of gleams

It was great until those old magazines

Got us started up again

Actually it was probably me again

Why is it so

That I've always been the one who must go

That I've always been the one told to flee

When in fact you were the one long ago

Actually in the drifting white snow

You left me

Carlisle's breath hitched in his throat. This song. It was about him. Them. The very events that had left Edward so broken. Edward heard his maker's thoughts, and he turned his head slightly to meet Carlisle's gaze. His golden eyes contained a hardness to them that clearly said: I have not forgiven you.

So put up your fists and I'll put up mine

No running away from the scene of the crime

God's chosen a place

Somewhere near the end of the world

Somewhere near the end of our lives

Edward tore his gaze away and closed his eyes again as he went into the next stanza of his lament.

But 'til then no, Daddy, don't be surprised

If I wanna see the tears in your eyes

Then I know it had to be long ago

Actually in the drifting white snow

You loved me

Carlisle swallowed hard at the lump that had formed in his throat. So Edward did recognize that Carlisle had indeed loved him once. He hadn't meant to use Edward, but it had ended up that way. Edward may be aware of Carlisle's struggle, but that didn't mean he accepted it.

No matter how strong

I'm gonna take you down

With one little stone

I'm gonna break you down

And see what you're worth

What you're really worth to me

As the last notes rang out, the audience erupted in applause. Edward barely acknowledged it. Instead, he simply rose from his seat, gave a slight nod to his admirers, and strode offstage, his jaw drawn tight. Carlisle couldn't move; he was frozen in his seat as his family stood around him, joining in on the standing ovation, whooping and hollering with the crowd. Esme nudged his shoulder with her hip, urging him with her eyes to rise. He did, if only to avoid drawing attention to himself. Edward had done a good job of hiding his hurt over the years, but it was clear that he wasn't over it.

Not by a long shot.

A/N: The song is "Dinner at Eight" by Rufus Wainwright.

youtu DOT be SLASH z8Ph14w4vWk

This story will be a slow roll-out. Speed of updates might pick up in there is a lot of interest, so if you enjoyed this, please let me know in a review.