|: Cigarettes and Candy :| Carlisle Cullen Fanfiction

You Are Enough

Declan's POV

He gestured to a oil painting that seemed almost dull compared to the rest, the river was a deep teal and the bridge and small buildings were a calming beige.

"Sixteen forties in London." He introduced, and I looked back to the wooden framed painting. "The London of my youth."

That's over three hundred and fifty years ago! I felt my heart rate speed up and my hands grow sweaty. That's more then I thought. Why am I nervous all of a sudden? He's still Carlisle.

"Sixteen forty?!" I hissed. "Fuck, you're old."

His laugh was loud and it made me jump and turn to find him with his hand over his mouth. I smiled and glanced back at the painted to keep me from laughing back.

"I'm not that old in my kinds standards." He chuckled.

"You're over three hundred and seventy years old! That's old on all standards. Fuck you were around before electricity!" I exclaimed.

His smile grew wide and he crossed his arms over his chest. "That's true."

"Do you still think that the earth is flat?" I gasped, trying to get the sentence out without laughing.

"No! Of course not, you didn't truly think that I-"

I cut him off with my loud laughter, "you did! You used too!"

"Everyone used too!" He hissed.

My laughter got louder and more obnoxious. I reached a hand out towards Carlisle and patted his chest.

"You are so cute, I wanna beat you up." I wheezed between laughs as I hunched over and placed my hands on my knees.

"Please don't." His eyes sparkled as his chuckles died down.

I straightened up, "Okay, okay. Keep going, what's next."

"My father was a clergyman, he had a harsh view of the world." He said looking at a painting of a fall scene.

I grew silent as I thought about the time period Carlisle is from. All the gruesome things I've read about and all the time that has past is making my toes feel numb.
        
        It's not funny anymore.

What kind of horrible acts has Carlisle witnessed?

"The seventeenth century was the time of the witch hunts right? I know in Salem there was the witch trials, but was London different?" I asked softly, suddenly feeling shy.

He looked down sullenly, "no, in fact it's might've been worse. My father believed in more than witches."

"I want to know." I began. "You can tell me I don't care about how dark it is. You can tell me how you lived."

I hate knowing that he had to live through such terrible and dirty things. Carlisle is such a kind hearted person but he was forced to live a life that's anything but kind.

"My whole life there was weekly executions or burnings. My father was the man everyone would go to if they believed a monster was among us. It didn't take much to convince him." He explained.

"Oh." I mumbled. "It was bad wasn't it?"

He nodded, his face saddened and he looked at me with pity.

I swallowed and looked back at his paintings. I've read about some one the torture methods and forms of execution. It was the most disgusting and heinous things, things I couldn't even believe. I was kept up at night in fear after reading about it.