Chapter 1: Did I Do Something Wrong?
Chapter Text
Splashing, the sound of water sloshing in puddles caused from yesterday’s rainfall, as they were ran through by the worn down sneakers of two teenage boys that were at present racing toward the only convenience store the reservation had to offer: Lonesome Creek.
“I’ll race you,” Quil had offered with a teasing smile, and Embry had stupidly agreed, never quite able to refuse him.
Which was now how he found himself, trailing just behind, a little out of breath and sucking in the warm air of the coast. It wasn’t that Quil had simply been faster, of course not. He had just gotten a head start, beginning the race before he had even yelled so much as a “go!” Typical Quil.
“You can slow down, you know!” Embry had called ahead, as he watched Quil relent, come to a half jog that then turned into a walk. He came to his friend’s side, now, moving his head and watching as a smile stretched his slightly chapped lips. Their relative plumpness, shade like the delicate bell shaped flowers that bloomed on wild mint around river banks, the defined bow of his upper lip like a valley. Stop staring. Embry tore his eyes away, focusing ahead once more.
“It’s not my fault you’re slow,” Quil laughed, the sound like a gush of wind on a blistering summer day. At least, Embry thought so. Truth be told, he thought Quil might have the nicest sounding laugh he had ever heard… or voice, or face, or— “but I couldn’t just let you win, you know that,” he interrupted Embry’s thoughts then, turning his head to flash a smile. Just as quickly as Quil had glanced his way, he turned back again, the rundown white frame of Lonesome Creek appearing now in the distance as they continued their leisurely pace down the road. The sky was darkening grey, clouds beginning to swallow the sun, air a mild temperature and still sticky from the prior downpour.
Quil had laughed again, mostly to himself, and Embry’s heart swooped. He thought absentmindedly whether he was sweating out of nervousness, or if the sticky feeling enveloping his body really was just from the shower that came down upon La Push yesterday evening.
As they reached the door, Quil pulled the handle, a bell chiming above their heads signaling their entry. An Open sign flickered with life in the window, reflecting vibrant blue and red on the glass.
“After you,” he gave a mock bow, one hand offered palm up.
“Such a gentleman.”
Embry couldn’t help the the snort he let out, as he dipped into the store. He was positive his cheeks were set aflame, and told himself not to think anything of the gesture. Leave it to Quil to make a show of this; it wasn’t like they were here to get their hands on whatever alcohol they could hide in their jackets, or anything. It wasn’t like the pair made a habit of this, it was more a… spur of the moment decision, mostly Quil’s suggestion. Embry told himself it wasn’t weird that they were wearing heavy jackets, despite the warmth, and if the woman at the counter thought it odd, she didn’t give a sign. The elderly clerk at the front register only gave the boys a curt nod, before resuming the reading of her magazine laying open on the counter top. Embry took note of her greying hair in braids, her dark eyes that looked them over before losing interest, seeing they were just kids.
The canopy LED lights gave slight flickers now and again, as the boys made their way to the cooler section at the back of the store. People from the reservation flittered about the aisles, searching for groceries or looking through the limited clothing the store held, like t-shirts offered in various colors. Embry sauntered over to the back aisle where chips and candies were stocked on the shelves, brown eyes flicking around the store, taking note of other shopper’s locations. He turned his head back to Quil, who was waiting by one of the cooler doors where different alcoholic brands were stashed in slots. He gave a little nod, and at that, Quil turned and opened the cooler soundlessly. Embry watched him out of the corner of his eye, before turning his attention back to the front register. The older woman hadn’t so much as looked up from her magazine.
He could hear glass bottles clinking, and his eyes traveled back to Quil who was stuffing numerous Colt 45 malt liquors in his puffy rain jacket. Embry made a face of disgust, and a noise almost like a whine left his throat and died in his mouth. Cant he pick something better? Quil, who was zipping his jacket now, shrugged as if to say deal with it. As Quil made his way over to Embry, he was surprised to hear that the glass didn’t clink together in its less than ideal packaging; but what were they to do? Being only 16 did not give them many options.
“All the other kids do it,” Quil had told him, until eventually, Embry caved. It’ll be fun, he said.
“Sorry, Bry,” Quil offered a little smile as he said a shortened version of his name, the corner of his mouth pulled upward, dark brown eyes swimming with mischief and something Embry couldn’t decipher. His hair was curly and frizzed from the weather under the beanie he had pulled over most of it, ringlets laid atop his forehead, and when his eyebrows raised in a wider full-toothed grin, they disappeared under the dark locks that rest there. “They don’t have much to choose from. Let’s get outta here.”
The pair made their way back toward the front of the store, attempting to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible, weaving past some customers stopped in front of the canned goods section. Embry had his hand on the door handle, the bell chiming to announce their exit, when the clerk spoke.
“Quil,” she called, and the shorter teen visibly cringed as he turned to look at her.
“Yeah?” He hoped his voice didn’t sound as nervous to her as it had coming out of his throat.
Embry stood rigid beside him now, tucking his long black hair behind his ears in a nervous habit he had had since he was a little boy. Quil didn’t have to look to take notice of it, now, with all the years spent at his side. The cool air pumping through the store felt suffocating as they stood by the door half ajar, scared they had been caught despite Embry acting as look out. Oh no, she knows, she knows, she-
“I haven’t seen you in forever,” Theresa’s voice was worn soft with age, “you’ve grown so much, I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Quil let out a strained laugh, nothing like the airy and relaxed kind he reserved for Embry, and reached up to rub the back of his neck in an uneasy fidget. He went to open his mouth in reply, but Theresa had cut him off, by then.
“Tell Joy to give a call, sometime? Your grandfather, too,” she asked, offering a smile, before turning back to her reading.
Embry visibly let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, as he pushed the door open fully now, Quil following behind him as if pulled by invisible string.
“Will do, Mrs. Roberts,” he called as they made their leave. If she heard Quil’s words, she made no reply, not even so much as a glance up as they practically burst out of the store, jogging away in a fit of laughter.
The sky had grown darker still with the sun dipping low, and a slight breeze accompanied it that hadn’t been there on their way to Lonesome Creek. It fluttered Embry’s long, inky hair about, ‘round the curve of his jaw and over the high plains of his cheeks, the straight line of his nose. His brown almond shaped eyes looked down at Quil from a couple inches of difference in height like he was peering right into his soul, and then just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone again. Replaced now was a mischievous grin of his own, and Quil couldn’t help but glance down at his teeth and the slight dimple of his chin, and if he thought Embry was beautiful, he made no mention of it anywhere but in his own mind. A place no one would ever hear, see, know.
“Seriously, Bry, I’m no good at it.”
“I can help you with it tomorrow,” Embry brought the bottle back to his lips and took a swig. The malt liquor was bitter and burning down his throat, and he wasn’t sure whether it was the worst thing he had ever tasted or not. Still, a warmth was spreading in his stomach and up to his face, flushing his copper-like skin.
“Good, ‘cause I’d be failing math without you,” Quil laughed, rich and deep from within his chest as he stared out at the waves that lapped at the shore of the beach they sat at. “You’re way smarter than I am at that stuff.”
They had already downed two of the bottles Quil had stuffed into his puffy jacket, now tossed aside along with the article of clothing on the granules of sand. It was the end of a Friday, and they planned to spend the whole weekend together, had been planning it since Monday. Embry told himself the alcohol was the only reason his cheeks were burning hot. After all, he had never drank before—neither of them had, ‘till now. He was starting to think this had been a bad idea…
“You’re smart,” he countered, “just shit at geometry.” Embry stole a glance at Quil who was already looking at him, and at that, they both began laughing. “Sorry, man, it’s true.”
They had wasted around the rest of their day sprawled on the sand littered with stones and driftwood at First Beach, talking about nothing, talking about everything. Quil had taken it upon himself to chase Embry around when they first arrived, trying to put wet clumps of sand down the back of his shirt, all the while Embry let out shrill screams, the two of them running around in an oval-like shape before eventually calling a truce. So now they sat by the shore line, tired and chasing a buzz.
It wasn’t that Embry didn’t want to be around Quil, but he was always a little afraid he might end up saying or doing something that gave him away. They had spent their whole childhoods growing up together, along with Jake. Though Jacob was their close friend, it had dawned on Embry a few years back that he had felt a little more than just friendship for Quil. Jake was a welcomed distraction, but well, he spent most of his time with Bella now. Embry had denied it for a long time, longer than he would like to admit, even before he was aware that he was in love with someone he would never be allowed to have, let alone someone who could feel the same. Even with this knowledge at the constant front of his mind, it didn’t stop Quil from lighting a fire in his soul every time he caught his eyes or offered a rich laugh, or a whimsy smile, like right now; correction, it didn’t stop Embry from allowing it. If Embry wanted to allow himself to dream, he could just pretend they were together, in the safety and seclusion of his own mind. Here, on the beach, slightly tipsy from a first drink, the heat of Quil’s body scorching into his side. Perhaps in his fantasies, he’d be bold enough to lean over and interlace their fingers, sure they would fit so well together, perfect pieces of a puzzle. Maybe if he was daring enough, he’d even be brave enough to kiss him, feel his lips warm, eager and pliant on his own.
Instead, he brought the cold glass rim of his bottle back to his mouth, downed the rest of the bitter liquid within.
“We should head back,” Quil spoke after a moment, turning to face Embry now, watching the cloud covered sunlight die on the plains of his dark skin that grew darker now still in the dimming light of day. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, set his dark eyes ablaze.
“Right.”
He hadn’t meant the response to sound so bitter coming from his lips, and he blinked at the sea’s horizon, willing away his daydreams.
“Let’s go, then,” Embry offered instead, hoping his tone sounded softer. He offered a smile for good measure, standing.
Together they took up their discarded bottles and jackets, and as they walked (more like found themselves swaying in a lightweight haze), there was a faint clapping of thunder. Embry tilted his head up toward the darkening sky, and that was when the first raindrop splashed on the high rise of his cheek bone, and then another, and another. It seemed to wash away whatever bitterness he had been harboring minutes ago.
“Race you back to my place?”
Quil was looking at him again with that mischievous glint in his eyes, and then without warning, took off in the direction of the Ateara house.
“Quil! Get back here, you bastard!”
Embry had tried to sound stern, but his voice came out bubbly with laughter and high pitched, as he chased after his best friend in the nearly approaching night. He heard Quil’s booming laugh ahead, only a few paces, could make out the silhouette of his slightly shorter but broader frame as he dashed under a slight drizzle of rain that would soon turn to a complete downpour. Their sneakers splashed through dirt turned to mud, hollering and giggling as they made their way from the beach and toward Quil’s family home, small and quaint and familiar.
They barreled up the stairs of the porch as the rain began to come down hard on the roof, and Embry was starting to feel a bit woozy and hot as he kicked his dirty shoes off by the front door. Quil took hold of his bicep with one arm, putting a finger over his own lips to shh them both.
“We gotta be quiet,” he half whispered, as he turned the doorknob to let them in, knowing his mother had kept it unlocked for when they came home. The house was quiet and still; Joy and Old Quil must have already turned in for the night. Embry moved into the foyer first, as Quil left his sneakers by the door beside Embry’s. Together they moved as silently as possible, or rather as silently as two teenagers both growing taller in height than the average kid could manage. The floorboards creaked under their weight as they got to the staircase to head toward Quil’s bedroom. Quil was holding Embry by the back of his slightly dampened shirt, which Embry in his dazed stupor hadn’t even realized until they came halfway up the stairs, where he tripped over his own feet. He was starting to feel light headed, and wondered if he was more drunk than he previously thought.
Quil giggled behind him, pulling him back up, and Embry couldn’t help but giggle with him. For a moment, just a fleeting one that would be easily missed, it was like they were ten year olds again sneaking to and from the kitchen in the middle of the night, on the hunt for something sweet.
“Get up, dumbass.”
Embry giggled at that, too, gripping the railing as they continued their journey upward. Why is everything so funny?
“Shut up, idiot.” His words sounded kind of slurred on his tongue, but he couldn’t be completely sure now, head spinning.
Somehow, they managed to make it to Quil’s room without incident or waking the sleeping adults, who would undoubtedly be able to tell they had been doing something, what with their constant giggles and swaying, unstable feet on the hardwood.
Embry heard Quil shut the door with a soft click, as he sat on the bed and then fell back horizontal along its width. His eyelids were heavy, as he stared up at the ceiling, tracing its popcorn painted texture with his dark eyes. He felt the mattress dip with Quil’s weight, could feel his eyes on him, watching. For what, he didn’t know, couldn’t think.
“Are you tired?”
Quil’s voice sounded far away, but when Embry turned his head to look at him, he was sitting right by his shoulder, peering down at him, skin a shade lighter than his own flushed from the run or the alcohol, Embry didn’t know. He had removed his beanie, dark brown hair tousled around his head in a messy mop. The light of the room caught its natural highlights, made strands of it seem to almost glow under its illumination. Embry could have stayed there, staring up at him forever, if he’d have him.
“Bry?”
“Sorry, what?”
Everything seemed a bit hard to focus on aside from Quil, whom he noted was a bit close. Embry felt dizzy, unusually hot like a fire had been stoked in the pit of his stomach.
“I asked if you were tired,” Quil repeated, tilting his head as he did so as if to observe him for the first time.
Embry lifted himself up on his elbows slowly, blinking hard and slow, trying to focus on the texture of the soft yellow walls of Quil’s room, rather than the boy next to him. He ran his hand along the quilt that was draped across the bed, its green squared cloth pattern soft and faded from sleepovers, washed and rewashed countless times over the years. His heart beat was growing rapid as he sat up fully, now.
“It’s really warm in here,” was all Embry supplied, tone lame.
Quil’s brows furrowed at this, and without hesitation, he brought his palm up to feel Embry’s forehead. It was scorching hot, almost unnaturally so.
“You’re burning up, Bry,” his voice was soft, quiet and laced with worry, eyebrows still drawn close together in thought, “I think you’re getting sick.” He removed his hand from Embry’s forehead to replace it on his cheek, finding his whole face seemed to burn like a furnace.
Quil hadn’t even noticed Embry staring at him as he went about checking the temperature of his skin, but meeting his eyes seemed to hold him, right there in that fleeting second. He thought for a moment, that it felt like drowning. Embry covered the hand that Quil had caressed on his cheek with his own. It was a moment of stillness then, the sound of rain beating down on the roof, the wind against the glass of his bedroom window, Embry leaning in toward him. Is this happening? This can’t be happening?!
His brain was quick to ask rapid fire questions, because this? This was uncharted territory he was about to step into. Every logical part of him instructed him to pull back, take back his hand Embry had trapped under his own, play it off like it didn’t mean anything. Despite himself, he felt his body relax and lean as if to meet Embry halfway, as if pulled by invisible string. Quil’s round eyes fluttered closed, another faint clap of thunder, a beat, and then-
Then Embry was practically jumping up from the bed, knocking shoulders with Quil, as if it pained him to remain there for one more second. Quil’s eyes shot open at the sudden movement, watching Embry pacing like in a panic across his bedroom carpet.
“I need to, uh,” Embry brought his now shaking hands up to tuck his long hair behind his ears, run them over his face, “I need to get out of here.”
What the hell just happened?
Quil made a strange noise as if to protest, but Embry was already bounding toward the door, now. At this, Quil got up from his place on the bed, crossing the room in a state of confusion and worry, both at Embry’s state of discomfort and what had just transpired. A pit of dread was beginning to form in his stomach. What if I read that all wrong?
“What are you talking about, Bry? You can’t just leave,” Quil started, grasping at Embry’s forearms. He could feel the skin scorching even through the fabric of the black long sleeved shirt he wore.
Embry didn’t respond, just flicked his eyes from Quil and back to the bedroom door again, restless, uneasy, scared.
“It’s raining,” Quil offered, hoping he sounded calm, “and it’s late—it’s dark out.”
His voice was strained, teetering on desperate, scared perhaps he had just ruined something, ruined their friendship. I just tried to kiss him, of course he wants to leave! But didn’t he—?
“You can stay the night, Bry. It’s pouring out there.”
Embry started to shake his head, tearing his arms from Quil’s grasp. He bolted for the door, and out into the hall. Quill followed as Embry began rushing down the stairs of the small house, not careful now of the noise, not even thinking of it. Before Embry could dash right out the front door, Quil grabbed for him again, right at the wrist.
“Bry, please, just stay. I’m really sorry, just—“ he paused, trying to think of something to suffice, “I’m sorry if I made things weird just now. I didn’t mean to! We can just pretend it never happened, okay?” Quil hadn’t realized he was nearly crying until he felt the prick at his eyes. “I can sleep on the floor.” Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why’d you do that?!
“I’m sorry, I—“ Embry’s eyes were wild, not even glancing at him. He ripped open the front door, the rain falling violently in a slant, “I just need to go home.”
Before Quil could so much as utter another word, make another move to stop him, Embry had torn himself away and bolted right out the door, out into the cool rain, the seemingly endless night. Quil didn’t know how long he had stood there with the door wide open, trying to process everything, trying to reason with himself that he hadn’t just completely ruined the most important relationship he had aside from blood. He had a feeling, a dreadful one, that nothing was going to be the same, now.
He glanced down at his feet. Embry hadn’t so much as taken his sneakers, still left at the door where he’d kicked them off.
Chapter 2: Ease
Notes:
So, I went a little insane with this second installment and ended up finishing it out at over 5,000 words. Literally dragging myself to complete it if it’s the last thing I do, lol. This chapter was a little difficult to write. I really hope it flows decently, because there are multiple cuts for scenes. It kind of had to be written this way, though. Oh, and if you guys see any errors, no you didn’t. I am writing this all on my phone, and editing it on my phone, so be nice to me.
Chapter Text
A teenage boy dashed through the night, heavy and unrelenting rain pelting down on his wiry frame like bullets, cold and hard. His sock clad feet were soaked through with mud, blades of grass and tiny rocks caught up in his tracks and sticking to whatever wet surface of his body they landed on first. He felt incredibly dizzy, sick like he was about to throw up, and his heart thundered so violently in his chest that he swore he was about to die.
What the fuck is happening to me?!
Full body tremors were setting in now, brutal and threatening as they shook him. Still, he ran, could think to do nothing else but that in his own terror. The fear took hold of him, wound itself deep in the very core of his being, and constricted as if to choke him from the inside out. Embry ripped through the tree line, thin branches switching his clothed arms, legs, and bare face. And though he was aware of the twigs that lashed at the fleshy skin of his cheeks, he could pay attention only to a searing, white sting that engulfed him, and the sense of horror that grew tighter in his chest with each passing second. His running slowed momentarily, only because his body was beginning to convulse against his own will. It felt like being pulled apart, his soul the cloth and his body the frayed and torn edges, all loose thread coming undone, and the pain was excruciating. Bones snapping, reforming. Skin, separating and peeling, regrowing. Clothing, turned to shreds and left on the forest floor. An agonized scream came deep from his chest, so violent it made his throat feel raw, but what came out was a mangled, broken and horrified howl.
Am I dying?! Am I dead?!
He faltered, stumbling, wanting to cry or puke or both. Embry did not know how long it had taken him to regain his footing, but eventually, he had. He must have, because now he was racing faster than he ever had, to where he did not know. With tunnel vision, he continued to tear through the forest, the trees growing denser, the night darker and yet his vision remained alarmingly clear. And the sight of huge, grey paws and long black claws as Embry dared to look down upon himself caused him to let out yet another scream, but the sound greeted the forest as a long and drawn out whimper, pained and confused.
Who the hell is that?
Another voice spoke in his head, and this was perhaps the most frightening experience that the evening had to offer thus far. He had heard it loud and clear. Maybe he had lost his mind. This was the most vivid night terror he had ever experienced. He would wake up in a cold sweat in Quil’s bed, and this would remain a bad dream. A very, very bad dream. One that he would not forget any time soon.
I don’t know, but he sounds close.
He’s coming right toward us!
Two voices, now, talking back and forth, ‘round and ‘round in his mind.
Shut up, shut up, shut up! I want to go home, I need to wake up. This is all just a bad dream, you just fell asleep at Quil’s. It’s all just a bad dream. Just wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up!-
Embry had not slowed his pace, as the voices came again, speaking over his own consciousness and drowning it out.
He can’t be far by the sound of that howl.
Let’s circle back around-
I want to go home. I want to wake up. I want to see Quil. I need to go back to Quil’s, I need to-
NO!
This voice was different, older, far more stern. Embry had a sense he could recognize the sounds overcoming his own thoughts, but couldn’t for the life of him place them. Their command was so loud and forceful, that it had stopped him right in his tracks. He realized now that he was standing on four legs. At this knowledge, he backed right into the trunk of a tree, and the branches and leaves shook from the contact with the great mass of him.
Paul, Jared, circle back toward me. We can’t let him wander around people until he learns how to phase back.
I want to see Quil, I want to wake up-
You will stay put.
Complete silence followed this order. It seemed to stretch on forever, as Embry began pacing in a circle around the trees.
Wake up, idiot! WAKE UP!
He’d open his eyes to Quil’s sleeping form beside him. Everything would be fine, and eventually he would forget about this dream. Quil might wake up as well, ask him if he was alright, tell him he could talk about the night terror if he wanted to. This was what he repeated to himself, as he rounded the circle again.
Three wolves made their way through the clearing some minutes later, watching Embry’s grey and blackish form as he continued his journey around the trunks. His coat was glossy, more so under the moonlight which caused the grey of his fur to shine silver. His long legs were matted, caked in a heavy layer of mud and dry leaves.
I’m having trouble understanding him.
The wolf stopped his trek, lifting his large head from where he had kept focus on the ground, to look at the owner of the voice.
Me, too. It’s more a feeling I get.
A black wolf, almost impossibly large and taller than the others stood in the center of the line the three of them formed, with the others on each side, flanking him. One had short brown fur, a dark grey pattern surrounding its face like a mask. This had been the first one that spoke, Embry realized, recognizing whom the voice belonged to now. It was strange, the way their thoughts poured into his own brain with no trouble at all. It was intrusive and unwelcome, a violation of his one safe space. The last was shorter than the brown wolf, fur a dark silver with inky eyes that bore into Embry’s, observing him.
I want to go home, Embry thought.
You can’t. This had come from the black wolf, that was now approaching. Embry felt the terror squeeze at his chest again, and cowered, his muzzle low to the dirt beneath his paws. I’m not going to hurt you, Embry.
Jared and Paul trailed behind Sam very slowly, hesitant they might scare him if they came too close or moved too quickly. They could feel how frightened Embry was, and it sent ripples of horror through them, their forms quivering slightly as they recalled their first phases. Embry saw it all behind his eyes: how afraid Jared and Paul had been the first time it happened, how it felt like they were being lit on fire, how their clothing turned to mere pieces as their bodies shifted shape.
You have to learn how to phase back, first, the brown wolf’s thought ran through his brain. It took me days to change back.
Cameron? Embry recalled the speakers voice from school, tried to pry his mind open for him to hear.
Yeah, it’s me. Crazy seeing you here, Embry. Sam didn’t think you would phase.
It took me over a week! This voice belonged to the silver one.
Lahote? He clamped his mind shut once more with realization, scared suddenly of what they might hear or see. The only one who seemed to have no trouble was Sam.
Embry was feeling delirious, still shaking from fright, head still bowed low to the ground between his front paws like he was too horrified to look up, as if doing so would make this terrible nightmare a reality.
I want to see Quil, was what kept coming to his mind. It was the one thing that kept him teetering on the edge of what he feared might be insanity. Better to balance rather than plunge, right?
No, came Sam’s reply, though he didn’t speak. Not yet.
A burst of anger swelled in Embry then, projecting out and into the three of them. Then came confusion, bitterness, fear blanketing it all.
I just want this to be over!
All three heard his thought loud and clear then, felt the desperation, resentment, disbelief; they were all too familiar with it.
We all do, but you’re part of the pack, now.
Saturday came and went without a word. Sunday was beginning the same.
Quil didn’t know what he had expected, honestly. Maybe some deep recess of his mind wanted to believe Embry would show up again on his front porch, apologize for running off into the night in a frightened panic, which had scared Quil almost as much in the process. Perhaps he would at least call, say he was alright, but no call had come. He couldn’t get the images out of his head as he lay curled up in bed, staring at the wall, green quilt cocooning him. His burning skin, higher than any fever he had felt before. Embry’s fearful dark eyes, the way he ripped his wrist from Quil’s grasp and made a run for it right into the darkness, like he was in pain. Like he was almost horrified.
He really wants nothing to do with me, now?
Joy’s knock on the other side of his door seemed to bring him out of his thoughts, momentarily, and he rolled halfway over in bed to crane his neck her way as she cracked it open. Her long, dark hair similar in color to his own was swept to the side and over her shoulder. She was still in her sleep wear, but seemed to have slept without interruption, if the lack of dark circles under her round eyes was any indication.
“I made breakfast, honey,” her voice called, domestic and a tad hoarse from rest.
“Alright,” came his reply, “I’ll be down in a minute.”
He turned back to face the wall once more as his mother shut the door, and he listened as the soft padding of her footsteps traveled the length of the short hallway and down the staircase. Heaving a hefty sigh, he closed his eyes and willed himself to get up, socialize at the very least. But as he threw the quilt off of his frame and sat up, he still couldn’t seem to reign in his mind. It was all very absurd, to say the least. Never, in all the years of friendship he had shared with Embry, had the other ever looked at him like that. Acted like that.
Like he was scared of me, Quil’s stream of consciousness spoke without further prompting. Like he couldn’t stand to be near me any longer. He must hate me, now. Oh, God, he probably thinks I’m disgusting. The voice in his head was resolute, and spoke with a finality to him, had been all weekend since the moment Embry ran away from him.
Another, meeker voice, the part of his mind that was unbearably optimistic at times, told him not to fret. That’s not true, and you know it. It was just a misunderstanding. You’ll see him tomorrow, you can talk to him then. Explain that you were just—
A pause came, as he tried to rationalize his own actions, make it make sense in a totally harmless way, a way he could maybe make Embry believe if he lied well enough. You were just kidding around. You didn’t mean to upset him. You just thought… his train of thought trailed off now, you just thought that—
Quil ran his fingers through his unkempt hair, pushing it away from his eyes, and swung his legs over the side of the mattress, feeling the soft carpet under his bare feet.
He could maybe love you, too. His internal voice finished now, laced with a tone of deep self revulsion.
Swallowing away the lump that was beginning to form in his throat, he thought back to Saturday.
At the time, he had believed it a good idea to go to Embry’s house to return what he had left, but his trip left him with no clarifications. He had wanted to speak to him, then. The other teen’s jacket was folded and draped across his forearm, and sneakers held at the heal’s counter lining as he trudged through the front yard and made his way up the wooden porch steps. He had knocked unceremoniously on the frame, the screen door shaking slightly with the contact of his knuckles on the wood.
It was Embry’s mother whom answered his knocking, clearly in a rush, straightening her work shirt as she opened the door to greet him through the screen that remained closed. Her blouse was light blue cotton, and her mouth pulled up into a tired smile at the sight of her visitor. Tiffany glanced down to secure her name tag in the space between her left breast and shoulder.
“Hi, Quil,” she breathed, “I was just heading to work.”
“Oh, um,” he paused, looking past her shoulder through the screen door, but there was no movement he could see beyond, “I was hoping to speak to Embry?” It came out more like a question than he had wanted.
Her expression turned puzzled.
“Isn’t he with you?” she had been the one to ask the questions, now. “I thought you were spending the weekend together.”
Shit-
“Uh, yeah, yeah- we were,” the lies began tumbling out of his mouth, “but he,” Quil shifted on his feet, putting weight on one and then the other, “he left this morning to meet some guys from school and he-“
Wouldn’t it be weird for Embry to leave his jacket and his shoes if he was out with other friends? Quil thought quick on his feet now, trying to lie through his teeth if for no other reason than to keep Embry from being in deep shit if his mother were to find out he ran off in the middle of a storm barefoot and jacket-less. In the dead of night, no less. Only to then not return home… this fact was what unsettled Quil the most.
“He just hadn’t mentioned when he’d be coming back over. I was heading this direction, so I figured I’d stop by and see if he was here. My mom wasn’t sure if he’d be back for lunch,” he laughed at that, hoping it sounded believable. After all, Tiffany Call had no idea what had transpired in the Ateara household last night. She had no reason to suspect something wasn’t quite right. “You know how she gets.” He moved his arm to hold the pair of shoes almost behind his back as he spoke. Tiffany didn’t seem to notice.
“No,” Tiffany shook her head, her black hair falling down her shoulders and back, “he hasn’t stopped by. He’s still going to school with you on Monday, right?” she asked next. Usually, she drove her son, but they had planned to just carpool together instead, considering he would be staying at the Ateara’s for the weekend.
Quil nodded without thinking, trying and failing to understand why Embry hadn’t returned home. It wasn’t like him to act this way. Something was very, very wrong. He was certain. A part of his mind told him not to jump to conclusions. Surely he would call later; he was probably with Jacob. Quil made a mental note to call the Black household later.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled again.
“Well, I’m sure he’s just lost track of time, Quil. I gotta go; I’ll be late.” Tiffany made to shut the door, but stopped, “Oh, Quil? Please call when he turns up, just so I know he’s with you.”
Quil had called, left a voicemail, lied again to Embry’s mother over the phone that Embry had turned up before noon and that everything was fine. As he stood from his bed now to make his way down to the kitchen, where breakfast would be plated and waiting for him, he thought, you owe me big time for this, Bry. He had called the Black family home, asking if Embry was there. Billy had acted strange and distant over the phone. He had told Quil that Embry had come by their place, that he was rather sick with some sort of stomach bug, but when Quil asked to speak to him or Jacob, Billy made excuses which only made Quil’s suspicions he was being lied to grow. And by late Saturday evening, his grandfather and Billy were talking over the line, hushed voices.
His grandfather and mother were already seated as he made his way downstairs, two steaming mugs of coffee cooling beside their full plates. Quil’s own was plated with eggs, bacon and toast. A glass of fresh squeezed orange juice sat beside it. He pulled the wooden chair out and took a seat at the rickety table they’d had since he was a little boy, now covered in scuff marks, scratches and faded wood stain from years put to good use. The teen thumbed a scuff along the edge of the table where he sat in recollection. Embry had tripped and fallen once, struck his head on the corner of it when they were running around the house as kids, which required several stitches, along his right temple. It grew faint over the years to a barely visible scar.
No one ever took notice of it, but Quil would never forget. It had been his fault. His mother had scolded them many times to stop running in the house, stating she didn’t want one of them to get hurt, but Quil hadn’t listened and the result was pressing his tiny hands to the gash at Embry’s hairline by his temple like it would stop the bleeding as he wailed for Joy to come help. He had cried for days over it, genuinely convinced in his childish naïveté that Embry would never recover from what Quil viewed at the time as a very serious injury.
“G’morning,” Quil greeted, taking up his silverware and gathering a bit of scrambled egg on his fork. His grandfather sipped at his now cool coffee, served black. He only murmured around the rim of his mug in reply. Quil felt a slight twinge of guilt knowing his mother had prepared all of the food while he remained held up in his room sulking; he usually helped her.
“Sleep well?” Joy asked, watching him eat from across the small table.
Quil nodded; another lie. He had barely caught three hours before the sun rose through his window, making it impossible to drift off. Satisfied and buying his words, Joy took a bite of toast she had been buttering. The house was filled with silverware clinking on ceramic plates, before Joy spoke again some minutes later.
“Are you sure Embry is alright?”
Quil looked up at her from under his lashes midbite. He had told her Saturday morning that Embry had left early, feeling unwell.
“It’s just that,” she glanced over at Quil’s grandfather who was staring into his mug with a sense of knowing, “he’s always with you and over here, so I just don’t want you to get sick.”
“I feel fine,” Quil muttered, taking a piece of his bacon and popping it into his mouth, despite not feeling all that hungry with the topic of Embry coming up, again. He didn’t quite like all this lying, but hadn’t he been doing just that for some time, now? Hiding parts of himself from his own family?
Joy hummed to herself in thought, bringing her own mug to her full lips, coffee mixed with cream and sugar.
“Did you want to do something today, then? We could go to the shops.”
“Actually, mom,” Quil started, “I was gonna go hang with Jake today, if that’s cool? Billy said Embry had gone over there. I just wanna check on him.”
If Joy had been disappointed in not getting to spend quality time with her son, she didn’t voice it.
“That’s fine, hon, just be back before it gets dark, okay?”
“Sure, sure.”
All the years spent around Jake had started leaking into his vocabulary.
He finished the rest of the food on his plate, downed the juice, and grabbed his set of dishes to take them to the sink to be washed. His grandfather watched him carefully out of the corner of his wise, knowing eyes lined with crows feet. As Quil turned the faucet, ran the sponge under the steady flow of cool water, he remembered the convenience store.
“Oh, I forgot,” he looked over his shoulder, “I saw Mrs. Roberts at the store the other day. She asked me to tell you to give her a call sometime.”
Quil found Jacob in his garage, working on one of the scrap bikes Bella had brought to him weeks ago. He always found it impressive, Jake’s skill with reworking and putting things back together.
“Hey, Jake.”
Jacob looked up from his work, face like the sun as he smiled, a contrast from the deep concentration he was in moments ago.
“Quil,” he greeted, reaching up to move the loose strands of hair from his eyes. He quirked an eyebrow. “Where’s your shadow?”
“Huh?”
Quil moved to sit on a makeshift stool Bella usually occupied, making himself comfortable as Jacob resumed his focus on the wires that jutted from the motorcycle’s handlebar. He ran his palms over his dark jeans, watching Jacob as he now worried over a particularly tight bolt.
“Embry.” Jacob succeeded in loosening it with the wrench held firmly in his calloused palm. “It’s weird seeing you by yourself. Aren’t you guys glued together?”
“I could say the same about Bella,” Quil’s reply was light, masking his deep rooted worry, and his reasoning for coming in the first place. So Billy had been lying. “Doesn’t she live in here, now?”
Jacob let out a quiet chuckle, pushing the long sleeves of his beige shirt back up to his elbows from where they had started to creep down his forearms. His physique was filling out, and he seemed much broader to Quil now than he had mere weeks ago.
“Where is she, anyway? Leaving you to do all the work?”
Jacob glanced at Quil beside him, rolling his eyes, a faint yet wistful smile playing on his lips. He turned back to his work, unscrewing the bolt with his fingers.
“She’s spending the day with Charlie,” Jacob replied. “Something about quality time.”
Quil thought of his mother then, guilty over turning down her offer to spend time together this evening… but this was more urgent. He hummed in response, staring off into space.
“Okay, spill,” Jacob had turned fully toward him now.
The other teen tried to feign confusion, but Jacob spoke again.
“You’re acting weird, and Embry isn’t with you. What’s going on? Did you guys get into some stupid fight again?”
Quil sighed. Of course Jacob would know something was up. Perks of growing up with someone.
“Not exactly,” he informed, “I haven’t heard from him since Friday night.”
Jacob furrowed his dark eyebrows.
“He left my place late that night. I went by yesterday, and Tiff said he wasn’t home. I’m freaking out, Jake,” Quil confessed, round eyes going wide with fear and uncertainty. Jacob was silent, so Quil continued, the words beginning to tumble out of his mouth. “He was acting so weird, man. Like he was scared.”
Quil left out what he believed to be the reason for that.
“He just,” Quil held his hands out palm up, like he was searching for something, like the answers would fall into them. “He just ran out of the house. He was burning up.”
Now it was Jacob’s turn to hum in thought.
“Was he sick?”
“I don’t know,” Quil dropped his hands back to his lap. “I tried to get him to stay, but he wouldn’t. He ran out in the middle of the storm, too. He didn’t even take his shoes…” he trailed off, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth to chew, pondering. “I’ve never seen him act like that, Jake. It scared the hell out of me. I don’t know where he is. What if he’s hurt?”
Jacob watched him as he kept talking, explaining now his reasoning for being here. When Quil had first arrived, Billy had answered the door, and the teen stared down at him from his growing height as Billy explained that Embry had gone back to his mother’s. You just missed him, was what Jacob’s father had said. Quil had nodded, tried to come across thankful, but when he turned to look over his shoulder to see Billy rolling his wheelchair back into the depths of the little red house, he made a dash toward the shed like structure that Jacob and Bella were almost always inside, these days.
“Embry wasn’t here last night,” he had informed Quil, confused just as much, now. Why had his father lied? Was Embry in some kind of trouble? Jacob didn’t want to think it, but he couldn’t help but ask anyway. “Do you think maybe it’s dr-“
“No way,” Quil shot the question down before Jacob even had time to finish. “No. Embry wouldn’t do that. I mean… we drank a couple of beers but…” he brought a hand up to run through his waves of hair, “but he wasn’t drunk, just a little tipsy.”
Silence.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Quil’s brown eyes shot back to Jacob upon hearing his question, lips parted, but nothing came out.
“No,” he answered after a beat, “no, I’m telling you everything. We just drank a few, went back to my place, and then he left.”
None of this was making sense.
“Sorry, I’m just…” Jacob pursed his lips, “I’m just trying to make sense of this. Why did my dad tell you he had been here? You said he looked scared?”
Quil nodded, looking down at his lap, feeling the familiar prick of tears at his eyes. He blinked a few times to will them away, hoping Jacob wasn’t looking in that moment.
“What if it’s Sam’s cult?” Jacob straightened his back from where he sat by the bike.
“No way,” Quil shook his head, “you know how Embry feels about Sam and his weird disciples.”
“Look, I’m just throwing out ideas, here. You’re saying he wasn’t drunk off his ass, it isn’t drugs, and if it’s not Sam, then what could it be? Unless you’re saying he’s in deep shit with my dad’s cronies.”
Quil sighed audibly then, shoulders slumping. It could be me, his consciousness replied.
“I don’t know, but… Jake, something’s wrong. I think we should go look for him.”
This was how the rest of their day was spent, as they left Jacob’s garage and drifted around the reservation. They asked around for Embry, but no one had seen him. A few thought maybe they had, but turned out, they were mistaken. Each place they checked, every time they turned up empty handed and with no resolution in sight, Quil felt himself sinking deeper in despair. The sun was nearly setting as they walked slowly back to the little red house, setting the clouds ablaze in vibrant orange. Quil felt like crying, or screaming, or ripping his hair out. He didn’t voice this.
“Alright,” Jacob spoke next to him, practically towering over the other boy. He had grown so much and so rapidly since Quil last saw him. “If he isn’t at school tomorrow, maybe we should call someone.”
“The cops?”
“Maybe we could talk to Charlie about it.”
Quil didn’t like the sound of this, involving the police down on the reservation, but the facts were simple. Embry had vanished in thin air. Billy and his grandfather clearly knew something about this that they didn’t voice to them. Something was very deeply wrong, and no one had seen Embry since he left the Ateara house, as far as Quil was concerned. He could be hurt, somewhere, and I wouldn’t even know. We have to find him. Oh, God, what if he’s hurt somewhere in the woods or-
Images of Embry and the gash at his temple, his blood leaking and covering Quil’s tiny fingers flooded his mind.
“Alright.” He nodded, mostly to himself. “If he’s not there tomorrow.” They reached an agreement. God, please be there, tomorrow. Please be there, please, please.
“It’ll be okay, Quil. We’ll find him. He’s probably just…” Jacob shrugged, finding nothing he could say to console his friend. Truth be told, he was worried, too. They’d call Bella tomorrow if he wasn’t in class, and if he still wasn’t home. Jacob told himself Embry was fine, that he had went home that night, maybe snuck in through the window because his bedroom was ground level. That his mother had just missed him, that he was out with guys from school. That maybe Billy was being honest, that maybe Jacob had just missed Embry himself, what with all the time he spent in the garage. They had went over it again and again, back and forth, agreeing that while it was definitely odd, they shouldn’t jump to any conclusions just yet. “Just, try to get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Quil nodded, bidding him farewell. He kept his cool as he left the Black property, but on his way home, he felt the same sting at his eyes. The sun was dipped low on the horizon, and the shadows of the trees from the forest seemed to loom over him, swallow him. He choked out a sob before clamping his hand over his mouth, looking around out of habit to find no one there. If Embry wasn’t there tomorrow, he was going to lose his mind. He was sure of it.
The familiar frame of his home shone in the distance, dark blue, windows lit up and glowing orange in the approaching nighttime. He wiped furiously at his eyes, and turned to spare a glance at the forest not far from the right of his family home. He felt like he was being watched all of a sudden, eyes on the back of his head. He dropped his hands back to his side, stood still for only a moment, before completing his journey home, stepping sluggish onto the porch.
From within the trees, a massive wolf watched him enter the house, gray and black fur helping to give the form cover within the shadows that the dense forest provided. Three others hung back farther, walking the perimeter, but all were filled with a sense of anguish and longing that came from Embry himself.
Chapter 3: I Could Cry Just Thinking About You
Notes:
I fought long and hard with writer’s block for this one, but I won! I spent hours researching the most random of things, and if something is inaccurate, please forgive me. I’m just some white gay guy waxing poetry over gay wolves. The title of this chapter was taken from Troye Sivan’s song of the same name; I listened to it on repeat while writing. Needless to say I’m obsessed. I wanted to include a beautiful poem my friend wrote, because it made me feel some type of way, and it must be shared. Credit to her, for writing something so beautiful and something that coincidentally fits so perfectly here. You can find her here -> @kwop-kilawtley on tumblr!!! And lastly, I wanted to say that 1) I will be throwing away Smeyer’s timeline because it’s illogical and 2) the native characters are NOT going to chop their hair off. I am desperately trying to avoid Smeyer’s anti native racism like I am playing a very adult and very intense game of the floor is lava!!!!!
Chapter Text
I have something to tell you
But it would make you run
It would force the tide to wash away our castle made of sand
Leaving nothing behind
It would saw down our blossoming tree
Using its wood to spark a bonfire
Along with all your cherished novels
With all your unsent letters to me
And the water spigot is broken
And the faucets are faulty
And there’s a drought in our town
My foolish boy, you’d smother the flames to salvage it all
But we can’t have this happen
I will not let your skin burn
I desperately do need to tell you
But your eyes would glaze over with dejection
Those same eyes that burrowed possibility into my heart
Those same eyes that forced whirlwinds in my stomach
My favorite shade of brown
My bright boy, I hope you don’t figure me out
I would swallow my selfish, tempted tongue over and over and over again
Just so I never had to lose you
The constant buzzing of the alarm clock on the nightstand was what tore Quil from his fitful slumber. He slowly opened his bleary eyes against the darkness of his bedroom, the blue hour of day leaking in from the drawn blinds of his window. He stretched an arm out to fumble in the saddened tint of twilight, finding and pressing the button that would shut the ringing off.
He let out a pensive sigh, tracing the textured pattern of the ceiling with his brown eyes. Remnants of his dreaming lingered in his mind, like snapshots caught in a roll of film. The teen rolled then to his side, closing his eyes against the light of day that was fast advancing, and ran his hand along the length of the mattress before him. It was empty, the fitted gray sheets cool against his searching fingers.
Drifting still with sleep, he could see picturesque imagery, flicking like through a slide film projector. If he lent enough attention, waded deep enough, he could even hear some of what remained of his sleep induced fantasies mixed with childhood memory.
A beach littered with driftwood and stones gone smooth with seawater, soft granules of sand between his bare toes, between his hands small and chubby with youth. Another boy his age, grinning, a front tooth missing that he could see so clearly as he giggled. Inky tendrils of hair and eyes to match that looked at him, crinkled up with laughter, as they worked together to build a large sand castle. Embry mixed water with the grains and brought up the walls of their fortress, and Quil took it upon himself to dig a moat.
That way, they can’t find us, a tiny voice had explained, fingers driven into the earth, we can hide here, away from the monsters. It’ll be our castle.
Green leaves brushing bare forearms and calves as two boys climbed the branches of their favorite dogwood, holding strong and true under their combined weight. The rough feel of bark under Quil’s tiny hands, watching some of it chip away as they made their ascent toward the sky. The smell of earth and distinct sound of life, bumbling around them. Embry’s beaming face and eyes that seemed to sparkle in the soft sunlight as Quil plucked a flower from the dozens that bloomed around them, holding the white petaled blossom out between his forefinger and thumb in offering. Its four indented petals glistening with morning dew.
For you, he had said, and Embry took it graciously, brought the stem behind his ear. It adorned his long waves of hair like a small star, and Quil had felt his heart lurch in his chest then, could recall the moment in time when they were ten years old and sitting on what they thought in their innocence was the one true great peak of the world. Just Embry and him, legs swinging from their seats on a thick branch, as they stared out at the endless forest and the sunlight that filtered through and made the deep brown of Embry’s eyes catch fire and turn his tan skin slick with sweat golden. Two boys, perched high in their most prized dogwood, their haven and theirs alone, that stood far taller and more resolute than the rest. Gods watching the eternal dance of life from their rightful place in the heavens.
It would be the two of them, always, he had believed.
Quil thought himself invincible, then, too. As it turned out, life seen and felt through a child’s soul was regrettably wrong at times.
He withdrew his hand from the cold space beside him, and rose from bed still tired. Other visions had come to him that night as well, and he desperately wished to forget these in particular at the familiar pooling of warm arousal below the waistband of his checkered pajama bottoms. Shame washed over him. Sometimes, only sometimes, his hand would come to rest between his thighs as if of its own accord, but it was always the shame that came next, far greater and more consuming than desire. Eating him alive, no care. And there was guilt, but especially when in his presence. Disgust, rearing its ugly head, which he never failed to aim inward.
I think I might get lucky, he could hear his peers voices from school. Their eagerness, waiting for his own accounts. The satisfied smirks he earned from the lies he fed them. Quil joined these conversations with tales of experience he didn’t have, but his mind always wandered. Like an octopus squeezing through the smallest hole in a net, his escaped and fled. Retreated to the deep recess again. No one would ever know what lurked there; he had resigned himself to this thought.
He knows, now.
While the guys spoke of soft skin, curves and flesh slick and warm with want, he felt nothing. For some time, he had believed he was broken. That was when other fantasies came. Tawny skin, smooth and sun kissed. The ripple and roll of lean muscle under that same skin from movement. Hands, with their fluttering tendons, fingers taking hold of him. Ebony hair and eyes set aflame with beams of light.
Quil padded his way to the bathroom, slipping into the dark hallway and shutting the door with haste. He turned the faucet, splashed cold water on his face. The reflection staring back at him through the vanity mirror was unruly. Minutes passed, he was certain, as he heard his mother and then grandfather awaken and head down the stairs to begin breakfast. Running his hands over his face now, and rubbing the final bits of sleep from his eyes, Quil Ateara prepared himself for the day, all the while hoping he would catch a glimpse of Embry when he walked into the reservation’s small school.
“Are you alright, honey?”
Joy’s voice called to him, and he lifted his forehead off the glass of the passenger side window, turning to her. Her small hands were wrapped around the steering wheel as she drove him to QTS, stealing glances to examine him with her eyes. Her dark circles were beginning to return, and Quil felt a pang of guilt, different from the type he had felt upon waking that morning. The teen had refused breakfast, and his grandfather watched him with narrowed, suspicious eyes from across the kitchen as he sipped his morning coffee.
Wácha kópat boyokwátso? Old Quil had asked if he wanted something to eat, raising a thick brow at his grandson’s refusal. He was always rather traditional, insisted on using the mother tongue of the Quileute tribe, and Quil had picked up a great deal of it this way.
“‘M fine,” he replied, feeling utterly scrutinized under her gaze and the bags that adorned her under eyes. He knew he was the reason for their return.
“You didn’t eat breakfast,” she commented to the emptiness of the vehicle, eyes back on the road.
Quil shrugged, “Wasn’t hungry.”
“That’s a first.”
Her son tilted his head her way again, and they made eye contact over the console of the car for only a moment before erupting into teasing, lighthearted chuckles. It felt like the first time he had truly laughed in days.
“You’re just growing,” Joy informed, seeing the tribal school in the distance. She slowed at a stop sign, waited for a group of younger kids to cross the road in front of the car’s hood. His mother took one more glance at him again, eyes suddenly brimming with unspilt tears, as she said, “but you’ll always be my baby. No matter how big you get.”
“Mom,” this came out like a small whine. Joy turned right at the stop sign, pulling up slowly to the school. It was a small building that stood similar in structure to a large house, with one wide staircase leading up and aged timber shingles covering its walls, canopied by a soft blue steel hip and slope roof. In the mowed fields on either side stood portable classrooms for other grades, kindergarten through eighth. Joy had pulled her gray 2000’s honda accord over to the curb, left it idling as she watched her son grab his bag and lunch she had packed from the floorboard between his feet.
Quil leaned over the console that separated them, pulled her into his chest and squeezed.
“Don’t cry, mom,” he mumbled into her hair. She hugged him goodbye for the day, reaching up to ruffle his waves of hair. “I love you,” he said finally, letting her go and unbuckling his seat belt, opening the passenger door.
“I love you, too. Have a good day,” he heard her call as he stepped out of the car, giving her a small wave.
Quil watched as his mother pulled away and drove down the road back toward their house, before filing up the steps of his tribe’s school. It was small, with only a few class rooms and enough wall length for every ninth to twelfth grader to have a narrow locker. Children in lower grades were resigned to the portable classrooms that flanked either side of the main building. The spotted panels of ceiling tile were aged and some leaked occasionally from lack of maintenance. The government has all this money, and they can’t even fix our school, Quil thought, passing classmates as they opened and shut their metal lockers, placing books and jackets within. Walking through the bundle of bodies, he entered the first room, and took his usual seat at the very back, propping his belongings up beside his desk. The chair beside his remained empty. Other boys and girls his age eventually found their way inside, and he watched them intently, hoping to catch a glimpse of his ink black hair. His knee bounced in anticipation.
Embry Call was a no show, and Quil’s heart plummeted right through the floor.
“I don’t understand,” Jacob was speaking beside Quil at lunch time, keeping his voice low as he did so. Multiple dozens of teenagers around the same age sat and ate, crammed into a small room they used as a cafeteria. All their conversations created a low rumble of noise.
Quil pushed around his carrot sticks, holding his cheek in his hand, propped up on his elbow. His other arm curled on the white fold out table top in front of him, and his lips jutted in a noticeable pout.
Jacob and Quil shared math together. It was noon, now, and the two friends had caught one another up over their packed lunches. Jacob had told Quil how Billy was still acting weird, and Quil told Jacob that Embry hadn’t shown for first period, or second. Mrs. Henley took roll call, and then collected their homework she had handed out Friday. Quil handed her a half finished sheet of geometry equations, and the look she gave him as she accepted the paper was full of disappointment but no shock. He received a stellar 43% for his efforts. He didn’t care.
The two boys decided to leave school around an hour early. Quil had tossed his lunch in the trash. Jacob saw, and made no comment. Ditching the last period, they slung their bags into Jacob’s 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit that was parked on the side of the road by the school, and clambered in. Quil’s forehead came to rest against the passenger side glass once more, staring out at the unfocused greenery flying past as they drove.
“Maybe he came home?” Jacob asked, fingers tight on the wheel. Quil shook his head. The question was merely a lie they were trying to feed themselves, but it wouldn’t go down. They pulled into the yard of his home, red and white paint beckoning them inside. Neither bothered with their bags as they let themselves in.
“Your dad?”
“He’s at a council meeting, I think,” Jacob replied, glancing around the house as they ventured farther in. Seeing the house empty, they shuffled into the kitchen, Jacob pulling the wall phone off the receiver. It hummed low and monotone, waiting for a number to be dialed.
“Here.” He passed it to his friend.
Quil called home, making sure the timing wasn’t suspicious as he eyed the clock on the stove. They stood in the kitchen, waiting for Joy to pick up, and after the third ring she did. He was quick to explain that Jacob had given him a ride from school, and that he might be home later, that they had work to catch up on together. She swallowed the lie without question. Now it was Jacob’s turn as Quil hung up, and he dialed Bella Swan’s number from memory. Jacob had called her in the evening the day prior, filling her in.
“No, Bells, honey,” Quil listened as Jacob spoke to her over the line, the feeling of dread and despair growing between the both of them as they shifted back and forth in the Black’s tiny kitchen, huddled by the landline. “No, he wasn’t there, today. Maybe Charlie should come down here…”
Quil tuned Jacob’s voice out at this. He didn’t want the police to be involved, but, what else were they supposed to do? Let Embry go missing uncared for?
Absolutely not.
And, Jacob had told him Charlie wasn’t so bad. Still, he didn’t have a soft spot for cops, especially not if they would be crawling around on their land. He could already see the search parties that would be formed in his mind’s eye. But an image of finding Embry hurt, or worse, pressed him forward with their plans.
“You don’t have to,” Jacob said, tone soft, “well… if you want to, then.”
Quil watched him intently, the way a small smile danced at the corners of his lips, hitching upward and then releasing again. “He’s kind of losing it. So am I, now. It’s just not like him, Bells…” Jacob glanced then at Quil, before looking down at the tiled floor, phone between his ear and shoulder. “Alright… alright, then, we’ll see you then.”
By nightfall, Jacob, Quil and Bella stood pressed up against each other in the front lawn of Tiffany Call’s home. Red and blue lights from Charlie’s police cruiser flashed, flickering across their faces and reflecting in their glossy eyes. Tiffany had been alarmed and stricken with fear at the sight of a police car pulling up outside her doorstep, and she ran outside, screen door slamming behind her, nearly crying already.
“What is this about?” she had cried, voice almost shrill with fright, bounding toward the police chief and his daughter that spilled from his cruiser. She was still dressed in her work uniform, hadn’t even had time to change at their unexpected arrival. Her hair was wild in the bun it had been pulled into at the back of her head, strands falling loose from a day’s work to frame her face and slender neck.
Charlie had let out a long, tired sigh. He never liked delivering bad news, especially not to parents. Not to a single mother like Tiffany Call.
“It’s your son,” he had told her then, having been given a run down of the situation in La Push by his daughter. She had sounded worried, stating Jacob had called, that one of the boys at the reservation had apparently gone missing. He had wasted little time leaving the station at the news, picked her up outside of their small white house, lightbar already shining. She had bolted for the passenger door, and then they were off, making the journey on the narrow stretch of highway toward La Push.
“Is he alright? Where is he?”
Tiffany reached out toward Charlie’s forearms as if they would stabilize her, before turning toward Quil and Jacob, who had Bella sandwiched between their sides. The girl looked so small pressed against them, in her light jacket zipped halfway up. Tiffany searched the boy’s faces for answers, but they kept their gazes tilted toward the ground. Bella swallowed, sucking in a shaky breath, the sight of a childless mother afflicted with fear and grief bringing back her own wave of guilt for the pain she had inflicted on her father months ago, when he was still in Forks. She pushed the images of impossibly white skin and inhuman, gold eyes from her mind. Couldn’t stomach thinking of him. Couldn’t allow herself to spiral. Not at a time like this. Jacob must have noticed her unease, because he took her hand, gave it a slight squeeze before letting go again.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” came Charlie’s reply, voice stable and calm.
Minutes passed as Charlie questioned Quil, and then Jacob, about when they had last seen Embry Call. The boys had a story pieced together, that he had been at the Ateara’s throughout the entire weekend, but abruptly left before school that morning. Quil’s voice wavered, hands shaking, grateful that Jacob Black would willingly lie for and with him. For Embry.
I just thought he’d be there when school started, Quil had said, a half truth, but he never showed, and no one has seen him. I got worried. He never misses.
Bella felt the urge to put a small, pale hand on his upper back. Quil hadn’t realized he was beginning to cry, letting loose the anxiety and confusion he had kept sealed tight. He found himself grateful for the girl’s comfort, then, too, as she patted between his shoulder blades.
He didn’t tell you where he was going?
Quil had shaken his head quickly, blinking hot tears away that tumbled down his cheeks and splashed on the dewy blades of grass below. Jacob chewed on his bottom lip, watching.
Is there anywhere you think he might have run off to?
Silence, consuming.
Is there anyone that you think might want to hurt your son?
The questions seemed endless as Charlie brought a notepad and pen from his thick coat pocket. Night brought coolness, and breeze.
Sometimes, kids just run away, he told them. They usually turn up by morning.
Not Bry, Quil had thought, but kept his mouth thinly shut.
I’ll go back to the station, put a search party together.
A crowd was beginning to form in surrounding houses, families from the reservation looking on at the scene with curiosity from their own porches.
Movement from the forest directly behind the Call’s single story house caught Quil’s attention. The missing teen, coming home. He was clad only in loose fitting shorts that came down mid thigh, dark washed, and an off white shirt far too baggy to be his own. It had a red print on the chest, but the ink had faded and peeled with age, illegible. His feet were bare and long shoulder length hair a tangled mess. Quil could have dropped to his knees in sheer relief, but his knees did not buckle.
“What’s going on?” Embry stood at a distance from them, eyes blown wide and wild, lips molded into a frown. His shoulders were squared, seemed broader almost.
“Where the hell have you been, man?” Jacob had yelled at him, “you had me and Quil freaking out!” He had half a mind to kick his ass.
“You guys called the cops?!” Embry yelled back. The crowd that had begun to gather dispersed, seeing the missing boy returning. He stalked toward them, fists balled at his sides.
Quil wanted to speak, but he could only stand there, Bella’s cool hand at his spine, tears still running down. He’d let Jacob yell at him.
“What else were we supposed to do?! You left Quil’s today and then didn’t show up at school!”
And there it was, Jacob giving Embry the run down without making it obvious. Embry’s eyebrows turned up in confusion, and then furrowed, glancing at Quil, who tried to will him to keep up the story with his eyes. Embry could have been furious at Charlie showing up, worrying his mother, but his face softened and shoulders slumped at the sight of the wet tracks marking Quil’s cheeks.
“Yeah, I just-“ he sighed, trying to come up with something. Quil was always a better liar. “I just felt sick,” he said lamely.
Charlie rubbed at his chin, sighing.
“Next time, try to at least tell everyone where you’re goin’, kid,” the chief opened his cruiser door, turned off the lights that had been flashing, distracting. False alarm, he thought, somewhat relieved. He glanced down at Embry’s bare feet, raising a suspicious brow. “And maybe don’t wander around in the woods without shoes.”
Tiffany Call stomped her way toward her son, took him by the arms and crushed him in a hug. He towered over her, seemed taller all of a sudden to Quil. Don’t ever worry me like that again, she had scolded him, ever, you hear me?
Bella dropped her hand from Quil’s back.
“You okay?” she asked, voice quiet in whisper.
“Yeah,” he nodded, looking down at her. Her brown hair loose and parted at the side, tumbling down past her shoulders toward her mid back. Quil liked Bella, wished to know her more, was happy her and Jacob got along so well. More importantly, it was fun to tease his friend, asking when he’d finally make a move. “Thanks, Bella, for caring.”
He had meant her help in getting Charlie down to the reservation, but as her face lit up with a soft smile, he found himself more thankful for her care toward him.
“Of course,” she replied, “you’re my friends now, too.” She turned to Jacob then, retook one of his large calloused hands in her dainty ones, looking up at him from his significant height with solace. They spoke words of comfort to one another in hushed voices, Jacob’s free hand coming to wind around her waist. Quil watched their public displays of affection with a sense of envy.
“I still want to talk to you,” Charlie broke the group’s relaxation, “just to make sure everything’s fine.”
Tiffany had released her son by then, leading him toward the house. She waved Charlie over, inviting him in. Quil watched Embry go, didn’t miss the far off look that remained on his face like a veil.
The Earth made its turn, stopping for no one, and Tuesday arrived. Embry was back, had slid into a seat at the front of the room. A girl replaced his desk with her presence next to Quil, who was burning holes into the back of his best friend’s head from the last row of desks. She tried to start conversation with Quil, but he couldn’t remember what she had been talking about when their teacher closed the classroom’s door to begin the day.
The rest of the week passed in this same manner. Joy lost sleep. Quil’s grandfather, and his scrutinizing regard from across the roughened dining table. Morning coffee, steady lines of heat rising as it cooled. Quil choking down food he could hardly stomach. Embry, and his new position at the front of class, his permanent fixation on the whiteboard. Dry erase markers in red, blue and black, the sound of them dragging and squeaking as teachers instructed their pupils. Fantasies wrapping themselves so gently around Quil’s weary mind in the dead of night, not so soothing, serving only fill him with self loathing as he stumbled from his mattress.
Science class had been dismissed, their last period of the day, and Quil practically leapt from his desk, nearly knocking the girl that had risen beside him over as he chased after Embry. Kaya was her name. Quil shot numerous sorry’s, not looking back, weaving through the crowd of students that were beginning to exit the small school. Lockers slammed shut as kids gathered their belongings, and some turned to watch him as he darted past, running Embry down right outside on the concrete of the school zone. He had gotten past Quil and Jacob, managed to avoid them at all costs, a highly impressive feat considering the lectures they shared and the size of their institution.
“Hey!” Quil yelled then, and Embry whirled his head, black hair flying. His deep eyes were slightly wide at the anger contained in Quil’s voice.
“What?” Embry questioned, impatient and sounding uneasy, like a caged animal.
“So, what? You’re just gonna avoid me, now?”
Quil tried, really he did, but he couldn’t help the crossness that embodied his tone. His brows were drawn close together in frustration. Teenagers walked past them, glancing in question, school bags in hand.
Embry started to reply, opened his mouth ever so slightly, and promptly shut it once more.
“I’m not avoiding you-“
“Oh, that’s such bullshit, Bry!” Quil cut him off, taking a step closer. The clouds moved over the sun that beamed down upon them, covering them in hazy light. “You’ve been avoiding me and Jake all week! It’s like- it’s like you don’t even care about us anymore!”
His voice was rising in pitch. Embry’s nostrils flared with his accusation.
“That’s not true,” he raised his voice then to match Quil’s. Their peers were watching now, about a dozen of them hanging back, observing the scene Quil had created.
“You haven’t spoken to me in a week,” Quil shot back, his right hand coming up to jab two fingers into the space below Embry’s left shoulder. The muscle there was taut to the touch.
“I just…” Embry trailed off, looking away, “I just need some time.”
Quil felt like the world was caving in around him.
“I just can’t be around you right now,” was what came next, and Quil was sure now that the Earth had stopped its rotation. Surely it had, just for this impossible upset in their relationship. The ground beneath his feet would open up like a great abyss and swallow him carelessly. Mercilessly.
“Is this about Friday?” Quil’s eyes were flicking back and forth, searching Embry’s own. If he had been more observant, perhaps he could have seen the aching stored there, but it was becoming hard to see, his vision blurring hot with distress. “Because,” his voice was shaky, drenched in grief and shame, “we can just forget about it. It doesn’t have to mean anything, you know?”
If Embry’s gaze was muddled with confusion and hurt, it was lost on Quil, who was slipping now into something akin to despair.
“It’s got nothing to do with you. I just… need time, away.”
Embry didn’t give him a chance to respond, turning fully now, back to him. Quil started to reach out, take hold of him again, but Embry was faster it seemed, because soon he was running down the street and away from him again, leaving Quil standing there on the concrete. He blinked quickly and continuously, unable to stop the distorted blur his tears were causing to his vision. Laughter. He turned his head that direction, finding a group of boys standing closer to the school, snickering amongst themselves. They were watching him intently, leaning over to one another to whisper, devious smiles.
The Earth continued its unforgiving turn, and Quil felt himself free falling into an unimaginable misery.
Chapter 4: Cut Me Deep, These Secrets and Lies
Notes:
closed this chapter at near 6,000 words. I’ve also decided to change the rating of this story to mature, for later chapters.
Chapter Text
Watch it!
Sorry.
The dark brown wolf flicked its tail once more at the silver one’s face, showing he hadn’t really been sorry for hitting him the first time at all, and trotted off, up and over the small hill. And the pack consisting of three teenage boys and one very tired man, barely an adult himself even, continued their perimeter search. Jared’s laughter at Paul’s frustration bounced around in each of their heads, and Sam sighed internally, grateful they could not hear his thoughts. They had trouble hearing Embry’s, too, the newest addition. He kept it sealed so tightly—a constant goal at the front of his mind—to keep everyone else out.
Sam really had not expected the teen to phase at all, truly thought Quil or Jacob would burst at the seems before Embry Call ever would. He thought of his father, then, his chest filling steadily with unspoken resentment. He wasn’t so much a father as he was simply a lousy man, packing up and leaving a family he created behind because it turned out to be more work than he wanted to take on. The title was not one he deserved, one only granted to him by blood.
Paul’s silver form trailed behind Jared, irritable, fur sparkling in the sunset as he followed up and over the hill. Sam moved his large, black head to find Embry bringing up the end of the line they walked in, his head slightly slumped and legs sluggish with each step as he went about picking his paws up.
I know you’re tired, was Sam’s thought, sent solely to him. We’re almost done, and then you can catch some sleep.
He hoped the words—thoughts rather—were of some sort of comfort to his newest and youngest member. After all, this was a lot to take on, especially so quickly.
How do you deal with this? Hearing Embry was hard, even for Sam, unless the teen wanted to be heard. I mean, it’s already bad enough. Turning into… this.
The grey and black wolf stopped his slow walk, coming to brake next to Sam’s massive jet black form. Embry sat back with hesitation then on his hind legs, watching the sun dipping over the hill before them. A calm breeze brushed his fur, and the resentment returned in Sam’s heart as Embry’s fear, anger and exhaustion ran through the both of them, like a thousand needles pricking the skin. Joshua Uley was not only a lousy man but a truly careless one, he decided, running off and leaving their tribe behind, only to bring this burden onto another?
But now you’re all telling me the legends are true? The cold ones… Embry lifted his head once more from where it was drooping, the calm breeze almost successful in lolling him to sleep. Small blue and white wildflowers swayed in the overgrown grassy fields. I feel like I’m going insane, Sam. My mother is going to lose her shit! I’m losing it! I can’t sleep, either. I’m so tired, I can’t focus, I can’t do anything.
Sam listened to the teenager rant, let his volatile emotions take hold of him and shake him with the great rawness at which Embry felt. It was the least he could do. He felt guilt, and then that same bubbling resentment, wondered briefly what Embry’s mother must have seen in his father to sleep with him in the first place.
We have a similar color, he thought, to himself only. He had little to work with, but if the similarity of appearance and his father’s abandonment was anything to go on, Embry carrying the gene—he didn’t want to think about it any longer.
Jacob and Quil already called the cops once. You should have seen her face, Sam. I’ve never seen her so scared. I feel so awful-
Sam realized Embry was still going, broken free from his reserved silence for the first time since he had phased a week and one day prior. Thoughts were being let loose from the vise grip he had been keeping them in.
I just can’t bear putting my mom through this. She has no one, you know? And she works so hard to make ends meet, and to give me a comfortable home-
He’s tired, Sam noted, watching Embry’s form slump from where he sat beside him.
And Jacob? He looked so mad when I came home. I can’t believe they called Bella and her dad, too. I mean, I know they were probably worried, but-
I guess he isn’t so quiet when he’s sleepy.
Quil must hate me, now! I don’t think I’m cut out for this, Sam, maybe there’s been some kind of mistake? It’s not like I add anything to your group, anyway. I’m no good at hunting, and I’m definitely not a good fighter-
Yeah, definitely the sleep deprivation.
You know Quil told me I don’t even care about him anymore? I cant stand this! How could he ever think that? That really hurt my feelings. I don’t understand why he thinks I could ever hate him. He’s driving me crazy! I’ll always l-
Images flooded Sam’s mind then: Quil’s tear stained face, flashing police lights, Tiffany Call and the shuddering relief of her hug, two accusatory fingers jabbing into the muscle of Embry’s chest. A memory of a voice that belonged to Quil Ateara V—Is this about Friday? A trembling, uneasy breath, tears brimming and spilling over round, medium brown eyes. Because we can just forget about it. It doesn’t have to mean anything, you know?
Waves of anger and confusion, accompanied by a thrumming dull ache were what Sam involuntarily felt next, before Embry, in his present state of exhaustion, was able to catch it. Quickly, he held fast, reigned it all in, and clamped down the memories—the walls of his consciousness snapped shut with a violent force, and the disconnect felt like getting a finger slammed in a shutting door.
Silence bled between the two, drenched over the grass, the beautiful soft colored flowers speckling the field as they continued their wind fueled dance. I’m sorry, Embry had sent a meek apology. It was some moments before Sam finally did offer any words.
Let’s finish our rounds. He watched as Embry’s wolf reluctantly stood, and then you can try to sleep. They walked in a solemn quiet at one another’s side, up and over the hill now. Jared and Paul’s forms were in the distance, spread far from one another, eye’s scanning the fields and tree lines that surrounded them. And, Sam began again, I can deal with it only because I’m not alone.
The smaller wolf paused mid-step, his blackened ears upright. He stood rigid, and Sam watched him stiffen, tried to think of something to say to ease his constant fright. He was just a boy, after all—he didn’t deserve to be thrust into this—not a one of them did, in fact. Embry could have sworn he had heard something in the forest, but thought nothing of it openly.
You don’t have to shoulder everything on your own, Embry. You’re part of my pack now, and that makes you part of my family. We take care of our own.
The Alpha did not express his suspicions that the teen could be family in other ways.
And you don’t have to tell me anything, but I don’t think Quil hates you. He just doesn’t understand, yet.
What do you mean ‘yet’? Embry’s tone in Sam’s mind was apprehensive. He had stopped walking momentarily.
Sam hesitated, but didn’t have the heart to lie to his newest pack member. He’ll phase, like you. There, bombshell dropped and exploding over the kid. More anger, more fear, and something new: desperation. All stabbing at Sam’s heart with a fierceness.
You can’t, Sam. Please, I’m begging you! Please don’t do this to him! I don’t want this for him-
I can’t control whether he phases or not, Embry. He attempted to think this in a gentle manner, You know that. He and Jacob both will… eventually. Jacob’s already taller than you. Any day now, he’ll phase. We need to be there when he does.
And Quil? Embry’s fear combined with his despair over the other boy’s fate was all consuming.
He never feels things half-assed, Sam knew it would be wise to keep this thought to himself, then gave an answer, I’m not sure. I expected him to phase after Jacob. I never thought you would. But, well, you did. He may have half a year, maybe longer. I don’t know, I’m sorry. I wish I did.
The older one felt the resentment frothing again, knowing full well it was his own. He hated this, feeling like he was running around in the dark. Dragging innocent kids down with him to share in this horrific fate. Hated his father even more so, for bringing him, for bring Embry, into the world. For knowing the consequences and not caring, not even preparing a single one of them. Creating this. A complete mess. Sam had never wished this on any of them, and now he was stuck filling the role, and yet he felt like he was sinking, had nothing to console these young boys who looked to him for guidance. For strength. Something he knew deep down he couldn’t give.
Embry’s taut ears the same color as Sam’s full coat twitched from sound, and then he was looking around through the tree line, moving in a vague circle. With the wind to help, a particularly foul odor was carried, invading their snouts. Jared and Paul who were just up ahead began snapping their jaws, growls emitting from deep in their chests. Like putrid, decaying fruit, it wafted around the four wolves, and Embry chased after Sam, who had broken into a run to join the others in front of them.
Ugh! What is that?! Embry exclaimed, wished he could pinch his nose, do something to get rid of the scent that was at present felt like suffocating him. God, it smells like alcohol and gross perfume! The stench was overpowering, made him feel light headed from his attempts to not breathe and truly ill, like he was going to retch. I think I’m gonna throw up!
Jared, Paul and Sam paid him no attention, eyes wild and searching all around them, flicking this way and that. A nervous sense of anticipation brewed around the four of them, and Embry soon joined their hunt, but had no clue what they were looking for.
Do you see it? Jared’s voice came to his mind, sounding frantic. It makes me sick!
No, but it must be close. I’ll never get used to that smell. Paul was more calm, spoke as if experienced, but Embry doubted this, as his body language told a different story.
What are we looking for? Embry asked, anxiety building. He thought he saw a flash of movement in the trees. I think I just saw something.
Vampire.
Vampire? Embry couldn’t believe what he was hearing as their mind meld tumbled around against his skull. The cold ones? Like from the legends? I know you guys said we hunt them, but-
Yup, it’s definitely one of those leeches, Jared agreed, cutting him off.
Filthy bloodsucker on our land?! Paul, whom was outraged, took a step away from the three of them and closer to the trees that towered over the field like an enormous circle.
Paul, Sam warned, wait. We don’t know where it is. We move together.
Paul obeyed, and Embry copied and followed his pack, the four now moving slow and low to the ground in crouched positions.
It’s just supposed to be a story, Embry thought, opening his mind now, images of bonfires, tribal elders and tall tales that struck terror in him as a little boy. My mom told me some of them to make me sleep on time.
It’s not just a story, came Paul’s irritable response, beating around in his brain.
I wish it was. Jared’s voice seemed awash with lament.
You guys can’t be serious, was what Embry thought next, I mean, we already turn into giant wolves and I’m supposed to believe vampires are real, now, too? I think I’ve really lost my shit for real, this time. I think I need to sleep, I must be hallucinating or-
Quiet.
This command was obeyed as well, by all three. They lay ducked low to the dirt, the overgrown grass providing some cover, even if only a small amount. The breeze continued, sweeping each blade that grew before Embry’s eyes as he stared alertly at the wide trunks in the distance, where he had seen a flash of something. Yes, it was certainly something, but it had been far too quick to make out with his inexperienced sight. His thick fur was pushed back by the calm breeze, but he no longer found it comforting. Nauseating tension wormed its way into the pit of his stomach.
There! he yelled out in his mind, and the others saw through his eyes for only a second before Paul Lahote was charging right into the dense forest with zero hesitation. The force at which he sprinted and struck the earth shook Embry from his own crouch. Wait!
Before Embry knew it, he was chasing after Paul’s silver tail, filled suddenly with what could only be described as a primal instinct to protect and defend.
Embry! He was sure he had heard Sam yelling his name, but he did not stop, entering the forest now, Paul right before him only about a dozen yards or so away. He kicked up twigs and clumps of dirt which flew free in the air as he ran, could hear the others hot on his tracks, ears flicking at their noise.
Where is the damn thing?
I don’t see it!
Everybody stay calm!
Right there! Embry saw a flash of deep burgundy, and dark brown skin. Long dreadlocks of hair, as the figure kicked off one of the trunks of a nearby tree and up into the air. The sunlight grew dimmer, bringing on its nighttime death, but the wolves vision remained impossibly vivid. It’s so fast!
Paul resumed the chase, as the figure dropped from the trees and to the forest floor without so much as a sound. It turned to them, then, a man—no, not a man, just the shell of one—ruby red eyes piercing into Embry. He felt his heart nearly stop at this, lost in an array of intrusive fantasy. The complete devastation of innocent human life, blood running, devoured. Bodies gone limp in this monstrosities clutches. Gruesome visions—his mother, Jacob, Quil, Quil’s mother and grandfather—torn apart, blood that would run dry. He could see it, the residents of La Push gorged on and skin mangled. His pack, turned to a heap of mutilated mass and fractured bone. He understood, now, their purpose. A great wave of vicious anger crashed over the wolves then, and in an instant Embry was off, faster than Jared or Sam, who was at present trying to direct them as they weaved through the bush—the foliage, the large roots of trees that protruded from the earth. The grey and black spotted wolf, it turned out, was even faster than Paul, who had gotten close enough to the being to be struck, only to then be catapulted back through the air above the three’s heads, landing hard and painfully in the soil.
Paul! Jared had yelled, ringing in each of their heads like an alarm bell.
I’m alright!
Embry glanced back at him to see Lahote had recovered quickly, before turning his attention back toward the enemy. Vampire, he reminded himself. I have to kill it!
Embry, you’re moving too fast!
I have to kill it, I have to kill it, I have to kill it! Before it kills someone else!
To a human’s eyes, it would seem like second long blurs ripping through the forest, as Embry hunted, now at the very front, Jared and Sam flanking him, with Paul bringing up the rear. He snapped his powerful jaws, the thick locks of hair flying behind the vampire’s head as he fled nearly in reach. Almost, almost, almost. Embry’s blackened lips curled back, revealing his bared sharp teeth, blackened muzzle scrunched up in a snarl. A low pitched whuf came from him then, as he closed in, powerful legs thundering against the ground, eyes honed in on his target. They were moving at great intense speed, faster than a car, through and down the natural slope of the forest like a bullet released from a firearm. Vaguely, he could hear his pack mate’s voices swimming, meshing and combining together against his skull, but the fixation on his target was greater still.
Embry, stop!
I’ll kill it! It won’t get near any of-
Stop, that’s an order!
The vampire leapt high up into the air, into the dying sunlight, and over a tiny cliff—where water rushed rapidly, crashing brutally against the sharp rock lined bank on either side beneath its drop off point—and to the other side of the forest. Embry skidded to a halt right at the edge where he nearly toppled over, teeth snapping shut against empty air, the place where this monster’s head had been half a second prior. Forest debris and rocks broke loose from the cliff, splashed into the rushing water below, washed away with its powerful flow.
I almost had it, Sam!
In the time it took Embry to blink, the being was gone, taking its sickeningly sweet aroma with it, escaping off of their sacred land.
You were reckless! You and Paul! Sam sounded furious now. It’s off our land, we can’t cross over. Not like this.
I could have caught him. Embry moved away from the unstable edge of the overhang, let out a frustrated huff through his snout.
You’ve never fought one before, Sam chastised him as Jared and Paul paced behind them, in clear frustration themselves that it had gotten away without so much as a bite taken out. None of us have ever gotten this close to one. We’re going back to Emily’s. Jared, Paul, finish your patrols. I’ll be back in a few hours. If it comes back, if it even comes close, call for me.
The full moon had revealed itself, bright and charged in the inky blackness, by the time the two had found their way back to the reservation, to Emily Young’s fortress. The pair staggered from the woods, having dressed quickly in bundles of clothing she had left for them at the forest’s edge. Two other piles remained for Jared and Paul. Sam had not spoken a word on their journey back to his fiancée’s home, tense and upset. Her home beamed in the night, all orange glow, and the smell of bread grew stronger as they approached.
“You’re back!” Emily was at the counter, fingers sticky and covered with bits of the dough she had been kneading. Sam had entered first, and Embry hung back at the door frame, leaning his weight against it, watching as Emily was taken up into his arms. Laughter bubbled between the couple, then giggling and protests as Sam lifted her off the ground, peppering short kisses along the top of her soft black hair, down her forehead, over the three long gashes that ran down one side of her face.
Embry tried not to stare, pretended not to notice the way the angry scars pulled her eye into a permanent droop, and corner of her mouth into a grimace. He had done so when he first met her, realized how upset it made Sam look, took a mental note not to do so again.
“Missed you,” Sam had mumbled between his kisses, taking her face between his strong hands and connecting their lips. Embry looked away, a sharp sting of jealousy prodding at his clothed chest.
“Sit, eat,” she had gestured to the small rounded white table just beside the counter, loaves of freshly baked bread sitting atop it, waiting. “Where are Paul and Jared?”
“Finishing patrol,” Sam had released her, and she turned her attention back to the dough she had been working, “they’ll be back, soon.”
“Embry,” Emily’s soft voice had called to him from where he remained in the doorway, “eat. I’m sure you’re hungry.” She smiled at him, looking over her shoulder.
He shook his head in disagreement, adrenaline still coursing through his veins, the knot of anxiety and terror and seething rage continuing its ever present brew.
“I should get home,” Embry was talking in a hushed voice, a thousand yard stare fixed on his young face. Crimson eyes, embers of bonfires and smoke tangling in the summertime air as it rose to the heavens, his mother tucking him into bed, playfully nibbling at his tiny finger when he was just a little boy. It’s just a story, baby, Tiffany had said, I promise the monsters won’t get you. Mommy will protect you.
Promise?
Always. A kiss on the forehead, her tired hands brushing his hair back and across a fluffed pillow. Go to sleep, now. Mommy will watch over you.
It’ll be our castle. He thought of Quil then, how he had joined him in building sandcastles on the beach, taking away the fear the fairytales created. A sandcastle and moat was not enough to keep this very real horror at bay, now, approaching adulthood.
Emily looked to Sam, sharing a troubled glance. He seemed to assure her with his eyes, a look that said they would discuss this later.
“I’ll need you back, soon,” Sam had said, taking a seat at the table, tearing into a loaf, still warm against his fingertips. “Try to get some sleep. And eat before you come.”
“Eight hours,” Embry replied, pushing off the door frame. “Will do.”
Embry Call thanked Emily for the spare clothing, before dipping back into the night, racing back to his mother’s. His fingers pulled up on the single window of his bedroom that he had been keeping unlocked, and he crawled through with ease, shutting it with barely a sound. Floorboards creaked just down the hall, and Embry darted then, jumping into bed, yanking the striped comforter over his body and head, pulling his legs up into a fetal position. He breathed shallow as Tiffany opened his bedroom door, listening to it creak, to her soft footsteps as she crossed his childhood room and hovered by his bedside. He felt her lean over him, press a hand to his shoulder bundled with the comforter, noticed the faint kiss she pressed just over his head that was also wrapped up and hidden.
“Goodnight,” she had whispered, making her leave. Shutting his door, his mother left him in the darkness of his own room, and the quiet that would not allow him to sleep or dream of anything but a hungry, evil red.
“Quil, you’re missing all of it!” Jacob called from the living room. Faint noise from the television was still audible over his voice.
The microwave continued its incessant beeping, until Quil pulled the handle, popcorn bag’s edge pinched between his forefinger and thumb, piping hot. He pulled at the bag’s corners, the pleasant roasted, buttery aroma filling the tiny kitchen and then front room as he joined his friends. They sat on the couch, Jacob’s arm slung over Bella’s shoulder as she leaned against him, head on his chest and watching the screen. Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl was playing, over two thirds of its runtime viewed, by now.
“I wasn’t even gone that long,” Quil popped some pieces into his mouth, chewing, “plus, I’ve already seen this movie like five times.”
“You were in there for like fifteen minutes, dude,” Jacob replied, glancing at where he stood in the connected space of the kitchen and living area. “What are you doing? Eating the whole fridge?”
Bella giggled at that, eyes still glued to the screen. Jacob had suggested a movie night at the Black house, and Billy had agreed it would be fine, though his son hadn’t missed the hesitance he showed at hearing Quil would be over, as well. His dad had definitely been acting weird the last week, but he didn’t want to push it. Jacob had already asked about Embry, and he received the same answer that Quil had told him, that Embry had stopped by just for a short moment. That Jacob had just missed him, too caught up in his work out in the garage. Jacob had found this odd and hard to believe, that Embry would show up at his home and not even say hello. Or miss an opportunity to give me Hell about Bells.
“Maybe,” was what Quil had replied with, mouth full of popcorn.
“Me and my dad just went to the store,” Jacob sighed, but a smile was pulling at his lips. At least he’s eating something.
“Oh no, what a shame,” Quil had tried to give his best Jack Sparrow impersonation, hand gestures and all, and he walked toward them in a seemingly drunken wobble, imitating the character on the screen. This earned a giggle from Jacob and Bella, who had turned her attention to him.
“Dork,” she said, as Quil plopped down onto the old sofa on Jacob’s other side. Billy had retired to bed early in the evening.
“Made you laugh, though,” he said, holding out the bag for her and Jacob to each take a handful.
We’re supposed to be making you laugh, she thought, but accepted his offered snack. The treat was salty and rich on her tongue. Jacob had invited her over, had a whole collection of movies, said maybe they should watch something Quil might enjoy. Her new friend’s sadness wasn’t lost on her, and certainly not on Jacob. Bella knew he was upset, didn’t pretend to know exactly why. But something about the far off look he had been sporting as of late reminded her of her own deep depression she had been so helplessly sinking in, until Jacob came, with his smile and warmth. You don’t want me, she recalled her own words from where he had left her alone in the forest, how cold and unbelievably broken she had felt, the hole in her chest and how terribly painful it had been. The never ending night terrors, screams dying in her throat as she woke. But here, in the comfort of Jacob’s arm, his cozy heat, she felt some semblance of belonging. She dared at that moment even to think that Jacob might genuinely want her, his rough hand absentmindedly rubbing gentle, soothing strokes at her bare arm, just under the short sleeve of her mossy colored shirt.
Bella stole a glance at Quil—Jacob’s eyes resumed on the movie—and saw the smile he had maintained for the two of them slipping into a tight lipped stare at the wall. Saturday night, a time when teenagers like them should be having fun and enjoying their time away from worry, and yet she could see the distant look in his chocolate-colored eyes, the thoughts he would not be sharing with her or Jacob, just under the veil.
The trio sat cuddled in the cushions together in a pile, slipping into an easy quiet, watching the rest of the movie Jacob had specifically picked out in his quest to lighten Quil’s mood. They shared comments here and there, and Quil attempted to crack some jokes, but his heart wasn’t in it, and Jacob could feel it. One was missing from their group. When he tried to grin, it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and his airy chuckles were a bit too restrained, forced. Soon, the film had ended and the black end credits began their roll, popcorn half eaten and mostly all of it by Jacob and Bella, in fact.
“Wanna watch another? You can pick, I have a whole collection,” Jacob had said, removing himself from the couch and sifting through his movies, trying to find something else Quil might not have seen. He loves fantasy stuff.
“Actually, I should probably head home,” Quil was sitting just on the edge of the sofa, stretching his arms above his head. “It’s getting kinda late.”
“You sure?”
Quil nodded, feigning sleepiness. He pretended to yawn for good measure. Jacob looked at him for a long moment, shoulders sagging, before nodding.
“Alright, I can take you home-“
“Nah,” Quil was standing now, “I can walk, don’t worry about it.”
He was just pulling his dark hoodie over his head and shoulders when Bella spoke up.
“I can drive you,” she offered, standing to grab her plaid green jacket where it was draped over the recliner beside the sofa. Quil opened his mouth to protest, but the girl already had her keys in hand and was pulling her arm through one of her coat sleeves. Jacob tried not to let his disappointment show on his face at their inevitable departure. Soon, he’d be left to the empty quiet of the little red house.
“Okay,” Quil agreed, tried not to sound too reluctant. He was spent, the energy he had for socializing running dry. Jacob had to call the Ateara house three times before Quil finally answered and took him up on the offer of a movie night. Part of him only agreed because Jacob had sounded so happy about the idea over the phone.
Bella and Quil gathered themselves, slipped on their shoes they had left by the door, and said their goodbyes to Jacob who followed them out to her old Chevy pickup that waited parked in the yard. Quil pulled the rusted color handle to the passenger side, crawled into the seat, and watched his friends hug in the porch light. The crickets played their song, fireflies made themselves known, and if Bella missed the heat of Jacob’s palms at the small of her back, she tried not to make it too obvious. Quil tore his gaze away, kept it fixed on his hands held in his lap, afraid the sting he felt at the sight of them might be written on his face as Bella opened her driver’s side door.
She backed out of the Black’s residence, and onto the narrow road, headlights illuminating the dry asphalt that stretched before the windshield. They drove in silence, only broken by Quil giving directions. The engine sputtered with tired life, filling the truck with its low gurgling as it rocked at the tiny bumps the tires rolled over in the uneven pavement. Notebooks and loose pieces of paper littered the floorboard, and Quil reached down to pick them up, realizing he had the sole of his sneaker on a page.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, brushing the crinkled paper smooth with his hand, and Bella glanced at him as she drove, rubbing her thumb along the cool surface of her treasured truck’s steering wheel. Quil hadn’t meant to read any of what she had written, but it was clear they were some type of journal entry, something intimate. He stopped focusing on the words scribbled and blacked out with ink. “Didn’t mean to step on these.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, turning the cream colored wheel. “It’s trash, anyway.” She had let out a laugh, and it had sounded somewhat pained as she continued down a dirt road, close now to his home.
“Oh, well in that case,” Quil had acted like he was going to drop them back to fall at his feet, which caused Bella to let out another clipped, but seemingly genuine laugh. He smiled at her for only a second, leaned forward, and set the notebooks and single pages he had filed inside their covers on the dashboard on the passenger side.
“It’s just dumb stuff I’ve written,” she explained then, swallowing around the tightness forming in her throat. “Nothing important.”
Quil could see his family home glowing in the distance down the unpaved road, the lights left on and waiting for his return. The tall trees of the forest surrounding it in a crescent. His mother had seemed happy to hear he would be spending the evening with friends, had ushered him right out the front door and into her car to drop him off. He had told her Jacob would bring him home, but really, he had planned to walk back.
“I didn’t know you were a writer,” Quil replied, voice quiet as he watched for movement behind the curtains of the front windows, sure his mother was wide awake and roaming around.
Bella had slowed the truck, foot on the brake pedal, the rotors letting out a high pitched and short lived squeak as she brought the vehicle to a complete stop right outside the Ateara house. The comforting glow pouring from its windows made the deep blue of its exterior seem lighter, somehow.
“I’m not.” Bella wet her lips, eyes trained on his home. “Not really. I just…” she trailed then, sighing faintly, “I just had a lot on my mind. I thought it would help if I wrote it somewhere.”
Quil hadn’t been told much of this, but he knew she had been through something, something rather traumatic. Something so awful it had carved out her insides and left her hollow. And sometimes, there were still traces of it that could be seen. He never had asked, didn’t feel it was his place to.
“Did it?” he questioned, moving his head to glance at her, eyes distant. He saw the same look reflected in her brown eyes that met his.
“A little,” she answered. Quil nodded, moving his hand to open the passenger door, inviting in the cool nighttime air.
“That’s good,” he made to step out of the truck, “thanks for driving me.”
“Any time,” he heard her reply as he hopped out.
“See ya, Bella,” he waved, shutting her car door.
“See ya,” she repeated, and he stood there, on the edge where dirt met the front of his yard, as she drove off. She would make a left hand turn just up the ways, at a crossroad, which would circle her back around toward the main road. Quil had told her that, and soon she would be flying down the strip of highway that connected La Push and Forks.
“You’re home early,” Quil could hear his mother as he opened their front door, in the kitchen. He wandered in, stood by the entry.
“Yeah, I just felt kinda tired. I’m gonna go to bed,” he informed her. “Night, mom.”
Joy looked over her shoulder from where she had her hands sunk in the dishwater of the sink. She had been so happy to have Quil with friends, but the closed off demeanor he had been carrying for days was settling back in now, and her heart was splitting again. The dark circles had not left, for even a moment.
“Alright, honey. Goodnight. I love you,” she called. Quil didn’t say it back. She listened as he made his way up the stairs, and as he shut his bedroom door. Could hear him turn the lock. Joy Ateara bowed her head to the dishes, and let her tears fall and mix into the soapy water of her kitchen sink.
Chapter 5: Wish You Were Here
Notes:
I believe this story will end up being around 30 chapters, depending on how I write it all. Updates might be a little slow from time to time, also. Song titles as they appear in lyrics in the chapter are: Heart-Shaped Box/Nirvana, Wish You Were Here/Pink Floyd, and Comfortably Numb/Pink Floyd.
Chapter Text
So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell?
Blue skies from pain?
Can you tell a green field, from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
“He hasn’t been eating.”
“He’s just worried.”
“About Embry,” Joy finished, hands clasped in front of her mouth and elbows propped on the table, as she stared vacantly at her son’s empty chair directly across from her. His untouched plate that sat, defiant.
Quil Ateara III murmured a mhm around the rim of his matt blue mug, taking another long and drawn out gulp of his coffee, earthy and slightly bitter in its freshly brewed blackened state.
“Are you sure?” Joy hadn’t so much as touched her eggs, nor the fresh berries that sat piled in a small bowl beside her plate. “The council is sure?” Her voice sounded brittle with oncoming tears. She thought of Tiffany Call, all alone in her tiny, cream faded house. Her son, only half a year younger than her own, a child soldier now. An event unfolding that not even the Tribal Council foresaw. I should give her a call, sometime. She filed this away mentally, along with a list of other tasks to complete. Joy knew she could have it worse, like Tiffany, with no one to support her but herself.
Joy Ateara thought of her husband then, the pride etched on his face whenever he caught sight of his son. His utter joy when Quil had stopped crawling across the hardwood and bravely taken his first steps, falling into his father’s patient hands. Maybe it will skip another generation, he had told her. The men in her life had tried to soothe her ever present worry, that the healthy baby boy once swaddled in her arms would not be chosen, would never become part of an army fated to protect their tribe from them. A monster she often prayed, late in the night, to her families guardians and to Tsikáti that they would never have to encounter. That if she begged on her knees by her bedside long enough, the universe would answer in kind, and eradicate such evil from the surface of the Earth. Free them at last.
Her husband’s father simply nodded once, placing his mug back to rest on the table. He reached up to pull his eyeglasses off, wiping the lenses with the gray cotton of his shirt, the thin aviator frame held between his aged fingers. Joy Ateara watched him clean the thick lenses for a moment, a contemplative stretch of time passing between them, before she spoke again, voice more hushed as she leaned toward him over the old table.
“Jacob won’t have much longer,” her tone was adamant and quiet, quavering with oncoming tears, “and then what happens when my son is next?”
“We don’t know that.”
“Yes we do!” Joy let out a sigh, “Don’t lie to me. It won’t make me feel better.”
From the floor above, Quil waited by the top of the staircase, training his ear to try and hear his mother and grandfather better. Joy had knocked on his door, finding it locked, had told him breakfast was waiting. It had taken what felt like all of the energy he could muster just to crawl from bed and find clean clothes for the day that awaited him.
“I didn’t want this for him,” her son could barely make out her words, “I didn’t-“ The stifle of a sob, low muttering from his grandfather and the uneven breaths of his mother as she tried to regain control of her emotions that were threatening to spill over.
Joy wished her husband were here. He would know what to do, surely. He would press kisses into her hair until the steady stream of tears ran dry against her cheeks, tell her everything would be alright, take their only son under his arms and teach him something she couldn’t. But this, of course, wasn’t a possibility. What should have been was severed when their child was just a boy, and now she and his father were left picking up the pieces, trying to do what was right, what was needed. And at their worn down table, one more chair remained than was needed. She had never had the heart to remove it. Probably never would for the remainder of her life.
The groaning of the tired floorboards under Quil’s weight gave him away as he attempted to make his journey down the steps, and he cringed at the noise, shhed himself mentally as if it would stop the stair’s protests. Dragging his feet at the foyer, the teen shuffled through the hall and toward the kitchen where he knew company was looking for him. There, he found his mother patting at her eyes with a napkin, her under eyes puffy and the dark shadows that lingered there making them appear even more so.
Joy sniffled, pushed back her chair which scraped along the floor. Old Quil didn’t even glance his way, as Joy gathered her and her son’s dishes, took them over to the counter to be washed and stowed back in the cupboards. Quil stood awkwardly in the thin archway, staring intently at the black socks clothing his feet, the dark blue denim of his loose jeans pooling at the ankle.
“Are you ready to go, hon?”
Quil could only nod in response. Joy opened the fridge by the sink, retrieved a brown paper bag that contained her son’s lunch.
“Go get your shoes on, I’ll be in the car.”
The drive to school was silent. Quil picked at a loose thread on his charcoal washed hoodie, the sound of Joy’s blinker ticking in the quiet of her small Accord interior.
He hesitated, drawing in a breath, “Mom?”
“Yeah?”
Stealing a quick glance, he found her eyes fixed on the road, her long hair pulled into a loose ponytail that rested at the right side of the back of her head. The dark brown waves of hair cascaded down the heavy-knit cardigan she wore, its salmon-pink color popping against the plain white shirt only partially visible that she had on underneath from where it was half buttoned.
“Is everything ok?”
Quil knew she was lying when she gave a nod. The puffiness was gone, but the shadows stayed.
“I’m just,” she turned the wheel, eyes flicking up to the rear view mirror before returning to the road she was now on. “Just thinking of your father. It’s just one of those days. Don’t worry about it.”
At the mention of his father, Quil felt like he might sink through the floorboard of the car. He didn’t think often of his dad, could barely remember him if he were being entirely honest, not that he would tell his mother this. But the emptiness in their home, and in her eyes if caught just at the right moment, was always there. Like a ghost, dwelling in the corner of a room, sitting at the empty chair of their dining table on the other side of his grandfather. Embry filled that space when he was over. Quil thought that it would probably never be filled again. Not now.
Quil could think of nothing to say, so he said nothing at all. It’s almost time, he thought; the anniversary of his father’s death would come to pass in a few weeks, and with it his mother would continue to lose needed sleep, and her muffled crying would echo in the home they had created together, and Quil would pretend not to hear. Time, it seemed, did not heal all wounds. Sometimes, it only made it so one could stand it, but just barely. Time, like the universe, was unsympathetic in this way.
As they pulled up to the school, Quil shifted in his seat. “Hey, well, Mom? I was thinking- Maybe we could do something this weekend? Just the two of us?”
He thought back to her sobs he had heard from upstairs, the defeated tone of her voice. I didn’t want this for him. Was it her upset that he had grown up without a father? Or perhaps it was her feeling like she was failing as a mother, he thought. Whatever the case, Quil didn’t want her to feel like that any longer, didn’t want to be another vacant chair at the table, wouldn’t allow himself to sink into the role of another phantom haunting the home. I’ll do better.
Before Joy could respond, shifting the gear into park, her son was speaking again.
“We could go to the shops like you wanted? And I was thinking,” he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, chewed, released, “maybe I could get a job? Just something part time.”
“A job? Why? Are you trying to leave home already?” Just like that, the shadows that seemed to plague her lifted, just slightly, just enough for a teasing smile to dance across her lips.
“Well, I just-“
“We can go Saturday, and maybe we will see about that job. But right now, you’re gonna be late. I’ll be by later to pick you up.”
Quil couldn’t help but smile at her approval.
It was Monday, and Embry entered their last period with an awful crick in his neck and an even worse attitude, one that had steadily built since the sun broke over the horizon. Dropping his bag by the side of his new desk, he slid down into his seat, the padded black dynamic headphones feeding the familiar beat of music into his covered ears.
“Hey! Wait! I’ve got a new complaint. Forever in depth to your priceless advice. Your advice.”
With his arms folded over the desk surface, he rested his forehead down upon his plaid clothed forearms, tapping his sneaker against the tiled flooring to the guitar riff.
“She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak. I’ve been locked inside your heart-shaped box, for weeks. I’ve been drawn into yo-“
Tapping on his shoulder caused him to jerk his head up, reaching to pull the headphones down from his ears. Mrs. Sumpter was standing over him, a disapproving frown and crease of her brows marring her typically smiling face.
“No headphones in class,” she reminded her student, voice stern. Most everyone had filed into the crammed classroom by now, subtle chatter among the kids, gossip and catch-me-up.
“Sorry.”
He reached into his pant’s pocket, pressed the button to turn off the portable cassette player, shiny silver tucked away. Quil had bought it for his sixteenth birthday that had come and passed in late September four months back—he even wrapped it—more like attempted to, all things considered. Where he had gotten the money, Embry never had inquired. Embry decided to prop his head up, elbow digging into the hard plastic width of the desk. Mrs. Sumpter closed her door, called attendance, and Embry’s eyelids drooped from lack of sleep. A few times he actually began to nod off entirely, only to then wake up with a start, headphones shaking around the nape of his neck. No one noticed, besides Quil in the very back of the room, who continued to stare directly at the back of Embry’s head like it might will him to turn around, look at him even just for a second. He didn’t.
“I was wondering if maybe-“
Her voice came through smothered, like a distant echo, like listening to someone speaking while completely submerged under water.
Quil’s eyes flicked to the left of himself, to the desk placed beside his. Where Embry once had been, someone else had taken his place. Kaya. Quil didn’t know her well, didn’t know her at all in fact, had never spoken more than a friendly hello or goodbye or as of recent, an apologetic sorry as he practically mowed her down just to get to Embry before he escaped. That was last Friday, when he felt like the world might just open up and swallow him. It hadn’t. Unfortunately.
“Huh?”
Mrs. Sumpter was writing on the whiteboard, the red dry erase marker squeaking as it did her bidding. She was saying something about atoms, Quil wasn’t entirely sure, hadn't cared enough to focus on her words.
The girl smiled closed-mouthed, bowed her head, bashful. Her straight hair fell over her face, nearly as dark as Embry’s Quil believed, a curtain shielding her round face that was beginning to turn a shade of pink from blush. She pressed on, raised her head to look at him, the same shy smile fixed in place.
“I was saying- I was wondering if-“ Her dark hazel eyes darted around the top of her desk, back to their teacher who was still facing the board, and then settling on Quil once more. “I was just wondering if, um- If you wanted to hang out?” The question came out like a cheep, the rosiness of her cheeks creeping down toward her neck.
The pair found an audience in Embry at this, whom slowly turned in his seat to look back at them, one eyebrow arched, puzzled. It wasn’t that he had meant to eavesdrop on Quil, but he swore his hearing had become much sharper since his initial phase. That, and he had been tuned into listening as Quil clicked his ballpoint pen, fiddling with it between his fingers in a nervous habit he had acquired over the years. Alright, so maybe he had meant to eavesdrop on Quil. If Sam would just let me fucking talk to him, then I wouldn’t have to.
“Hang out,” Quil repeated, stumped.
Kaya nodded, never losing her smile. Embry looked between them, eyes roaming back and forth, studying her plump cheeks and sloped nose. She was a pretty girl, he guessed, but more important than that was that this girl had finally worked up the courage to actually make a move. Embry never thought she would, too shy, even more so than him. Fuck, why did I choose to sit up here? God dammit-
If Quil was ever at a true loss for words, it was right now, in Mrs. Sumpter’s chemistry class, where Kaya Woodruff was for the first time actually asking to spend any amount of time with him.
“Well, me and some friends-“ Kaya was starting again, but this did not help Quil’s deer in headlights look.
Holy shit, is she asking me out? No, be cool.
“We were going to get dinner sometime, and I thought… well, would you like to come? I don’t have anyone else to go with, don’t really wanna be a third wheel.”
Oh fuck, she really is asking me out. What do I do? What do I do?!
Say no, say no, say no- “Embry, would you care to answer?” Their teacher interrupted his internal pleading, and Embry turned back to the board, his own face reddening from embarrassment now.
“Uh…” An entire room of eyes were laid on him now, “sorry, I’m not really sure.” Their chemistry teacher sighed, gave up the fight, and called on another student. Embry turned back to look over his shoulder again, but this time, Quil was staring directly at him. If Embry could have sunk further in his chair, he would. He considered looking away, but decided against this and instead, furrowed his eyebrows and continued their silent feud. Quil broke their bitter staring contest first, secured his attention back on Kaya who had such a hopeful expression painted over her soft features.
“Like a date?” he asked her, tried not to sound stupid as he did so. He felt completely and totally out of his element here, in more ways than one. Quil had never been asked out on a date, certainly not by a girl. Why does she even want me to go?
“Sure, I guess.” Kaya shrugged as if to act nonchalant, but the continuous blooming of her tanned skin said otherwise. “So? Do you wanna come? It’ll be just us and a couple guys I’m friends with. They said it’s cool if you tag along.”
Quil looked past her shoulder then, and sure enough, in the far corner of the room, a couple of boys his age were watching the two of them intently. When they saw him looking, they faced the front of the room again, but he remembered. The snickering outside of their school, the facade he had tried to keep up with them throughout sophomore year, joining their conversations about girls and third or fourth base like he had a single clue.
In some alternate timeline he would have turned her down gently, saved himself from bearing some additional guilt, as if he didn’t have enough already. Quil didn’t know why he agreed in the first place. Perhaps it was the expectant twinkle of her eyes that looked more green than brown in the overhead fluorescents, maybe it was the way his peers had whispered to one another as they watched him and Embry fighting outside on the concrete Friday just outside the school, or most probably it was the simmering glare Embry was displaying quite openly as he observed them, and the spite that fizzled deep within Quil’s chest at the sight.
You don’t want to talk to me anymore? Fine. Fuck you. Venom, dripping, bleeding dry until all that was left was a heavy discontentment.
“Yeah, yeah, I’d be down.”
I’ll make it easy for you, Bry. You won’t have to worry about being around me anymore.
And maybe even, in some twisted and truly fucked up sense, he foolishly believed he could fix himself— this was a way out—a way to repair something inside himself that was deficient and utterly wrong.
Kaya’s tight lipped smile blossomed into a full toothed grin. There was the slightest gap between her two front teeth, but it only added to her softness.
“Cool.” She bit the corner of her bottom lip, plump and shimmery from gloss she wore, “what about this weekend?”
“I can’t this weekend, but maybe next?”
Embry turned back to the front of the class, tried to shut out the conversation and the chatter of the room, and waited for dismissal with a gnawing, insistent ache.
Hours passed, and soon 5:00 p.m. arrived. Embry had come home, stomped his way through he and his mother’s simple dwelling, and flung shut his bedroom door for good measure. Which was where he still resided now, dusk soon advancing on the horizon. A vinyl record spun slow and routine on a turntable, filling the room with the lonely, melancholic vocals etched into the disc’s surface. When he had first burst through his own door, he had half a mind to take the Sony Walkman and pitch it into the wall directly across the room, but with a split second of sweltering vehemence, he dropped the hand that had his fingers curled so tightly around its silver cuboid shape.
Embry had instead spent his time opening the portable player, removing the cassette tape, which he then placed carefully back in its clear, plastic casing. He busied himself filing Nirvana’s In Utero album away with his collection of other tapes that were stored in multiple small, 80’s holders that spun like a revolving door. Each had found their way into his possession over the years, one bright red plastic that was entirely scratched and beat to Hell, and the other faux wood grain; their only similarities were the black tops and bottoms, mold and way they twirled atop his book shelf, all dark cherry wood that held more of his collection. Eventually, the teen had decided to spin a record, pulling free the sleeve from the dozen’s stored in a slight tilt on the middle shelf. He watched it rotate, placed the needle gently in the outer groove, heard the familiar static before the music started.
Embry had made his way from the record player that rest on the edge of a small, thrifted desk he had owned since he was twelve. The white paint was chipping, had been for years, revealing the true color of the wood underneath. The turntable was vintage, a present from his mother when he turned thirteen, a wooden box base, silver dial knobs for an on/off switch and volume, and a clear glass lid that hung on hinges.
He took a leather bound book from the drawer of his desk, pulled it free from the darkness. The cover was a distressed nutty brown, and beautiful crimson threads wove down the length of its spine in intricate braids, binding the pages. A journal, handmade and with the most attentive care, that one of the elders of their tribe had gifted him a few winters back. She had passed last fall; he had attended her burial, along with most everyone else. The woman had been highly gifted with her hands, nimble fingers most would think frail able to weave so finely and perfectly the most awing creations. She sold some of her items, like journals and baskets, from time to time at little vendor shops her younger relatives helped set up—but she had not asked Embry for payment. He had been reluctant to take her offered art, but all she had requested of him was that it be put to good use, and that it had. Two thirds full, bulky and uneven from years of use and many secrets stashed inside, but it had been well made, and the threads held it firmly in one piece.
On the bed, legs crisscrossed, Embry unwound the strap that held the journal closed. A Ruby ribbon swathed in loops and knotted at its front, coming undone now in his fingertips.
“How I wish, how I wish you were here.”
The current of vocals and instruments were broken now and again by scratches in the track, warped from years of excessive replay. He opened the first page, a parchment square neatly folded and a tinge yellow with age falling out into his lap. Embry set it aside on the striped comforter with utmost care, knew the treasured memento pressed flat inside. Flipping through the pages, his eyes scanned the penmanship in an array of pencil and ink of various colors. He told himself he would not cry.
“Running over the same old ground, what have we found? The same old fears, wish you were here.”
Dusk had come, draped over La Push like a thin sheet within an hour. Embry had set his leatherback journal to the side after a while, half concealed by the blue and white striped bedspread that he had curled up into, parchment tucked in his bawled hand. He had swapped the record, the dimming sky turning the walls of his enclosure navy.
“There is no pain, you are receding.”
Tiffany had rapped on his door, opened it, found him facing the wall his bed was pressed against, bent into the fetal position.
“A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon. You are only coming through in waves.”
She reached out, petted his shoulder, then his long hair fanned out against the pillow in such a way that made him feel like a young child again.
“They called me in for a late shift,” she told him, bending down to kiss his left temple that was unscarred. “There’s leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry. I’ll be home late.”
“Your lips move, but I can’t hear what you’re saying. When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse out of the corner of my eye.”
Embry might have given a hum in acknowledgment, but he did not stir from his place in the warm duvets, eyes sliding closed in a desperate need for sleep. Sam had given him the night off, said he wasn’t fit to be wandering around without rest, but tomorrow was back to their usual rounds along the ancient land, still searching for that monster. It hadn’t returned, yet, anyway. His mind wandered to Quil, to the girl and her proposed date, to the dried flower protected in his hand that he had kept all these years.
“I turned to look, but it was gone.”
The record caught, then continued, filling the silence as Embry drifted into a half-dreamed state. Of summer and the pleasureful heat of the beating down rays of the sun, of white blossoms surrounding him, Quil gifting him a token of good blessing held in between his tiny fingers. Water droplets sprinkled along its opened, tender petals as it was twirled in the light of day.
“I cannot put my finger on it now. The child is grown, the dream is gone.”
Embry had dreamt often of them being together. He knew for certain now, that would never happen. Should have never even allowed himself to hope. You never had a chance, anyway. No use in pretending. You’re not ten anymore.
Tears soaked into the pillow case, and a cathartic, deep slumber beckoned him.
“I have become comfortably numb.”
Quil tsked, shaking his head in mock irritation.
“You owe me two grand. I don’t think this is gonna cut it.”
“Does it look like I have that kind of money on me?” Bella had but one slip of paper, which she clung to desperately.
“I guess that means you lose.”
“Cheater!”
“Am not!” Quil rushed to pile together his property cards, clutching them close to his chest as Bella dove over the Monopoly board that was sprawled on the planked floor in the middle of the trio of friends.
“I think she’s right,” Jacob piped in, a huge grin spread across his sunny face. Noise from the television on the other side of the wall seeped through, where Billy and Charlie were watching a game.
“Don’t take her side!” Quil gaped, as Bella swatted at his hands, only for him to press himself firmly against the frame of Jacob’s bed. They were crammed in the limited empty space of his bedroom, a very serious and intense game of real-estate and bankruptcy unfolding, and Quil was driving Bella down to her last dollar. This was dangerous, friendship ruining territory the three were in. “It’s not my fault you have no luck! I was just smart about my money!”
“Smart is not how I would describe you,” Bella bit back, teasing, relenting finally on getting ahold of his cards, “you just bought every property you landed on.”
“Uh, yeah, duh,” Quil gestured with his hands toward the board, still holding the slips of paper, “that’s the fucking point!”
“And now I have nothing,” Bella sighed, sitting back on her calves, a look of defeat etched onto her face. “I can’t even buy groceries with this.” She waved a pink five dollar bill around in the air, a shred of fake currency.
Five stitches along her hairline were visible, running down and stopping about half an inch on her forehead. Jacob and her had decided to test their bikes that he had just completed Friday, they even invited Quil to act as spectator but he had spent his Saturday with his mother, skirting along different vendors, and kiosks like she had wanted. It was mid Sunday now, the board game Bella had brought from home consuming multiple hours of their time. It had taken little convincing for Charlie to drop by the Black residence, with an offer of Rainier beer and baseball to be watched with a friend. And Quil thought, very honestly as the girl’s lips curled into a playful smirk, that this was time well spent.
“She’s starving, Quil,” Jacob feigned concern, his own stack of money quite thick, “are you gonna just let her go hungry like this?”
“Yeah, I have five cats, you know,” she joined the gag, “and a cactus.”
Quil burst into laughter, dropping his property slips that scattered around the board and by his socked feet, covering his face with his hands. “You two are so stupid,” he choked out in between the chuckles that vibrated his chest, face reddening from lack of air. He groaned, threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine! Fine, Bella wins.”
He reached out, moved the tiny metal ship piece back three spaces from Boardwalk, where multiple red hotels sat, past Luxury Tax and Park Place, landing her instead on Chance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her give Jacob a playful nudge of thanks.
Bella rubbed her palms together, then hovered her fingers dramatically over the Chance pile of cards, pulling the top which she scanned with her eyes eagerly.
“Yes!” she yelled, excitedly, grabbing her playing piece and nailing it on Go. “That’ll be two hundred, pay up.” Grinning, she held her palm face up, and Quil rolled his eyes, gathered the bills, which she wasted no time in snatching from his fingers. “I live to see another day. What was that about luck?”
The group’s game continued for another hour, and Jacob’s luck, it seemed, was running out.
“I hate this game,” he said, exasperated. His long, dark hair was pulled into a loosely plaited braid that ran down his back, some bits of fly away strands falling around his face and over his eyes, which he blew away, frustrated. Rolls had been reversed, and now Bella and Quil were trying to bankrupt him.
“Sore loser,” Quil taunted, counting his dollars with a theatrical flare that Jacob had unwillingly given him, having landed on Connecticut Avenue, where another couple of hotels had been bought, lying in wait like a trap.
Bella leaned back, stretching her arms above her head, and Jacob was resting most of his upper body weight on his arms that were extended behind him, palms to the floor. Knuckles on the door roused each of them, and their attention turned to see Charlie poking his head through the crack he had opened. His gaze wandered about, finding nothing disarray or suspicious. His daughter’s trip to the ER did nothing to settle his nerves, but she had assured him it was an accident, her own clumsiness getting the best of her again, that she had simply tripped and fallen. The doctors hadn’t kept her long, which he had been thankful for, no serious injury, just a puncture but still in need of being sutured.
“Game just finished,” he notified his daughter, offering the boys a short nod.
“Alright,” Bella breathed, dropping her hands in her lap. Charlie closed the door after a moment of awkward silence, announcing he would be waiting in the living room for her. She sighed, began picking up pieces of paper and fake bills in gold, pink, blue. Quil and Jacob joined her efforts without word, assorting their own piles.
“So, guess we’ll have to continue later?” Bella questioned, eyes on the floor as she collected parts of the game.
“Fine with me. This weekend?” Jacob asked next, felt his heart flutter when they reached for the same playing piece, fingers brushing.
“Uh, I can’t,” Quil answered.
“Oh, right, I forgot.” Jacob held out a stack of bills and Bella took it from him with thanks, filing it inside the cardboard box that had been long since tossed aside. “They have you scheduled already? Didn’t you just talk to the guy?”
Quil had been excited to share with them that he had found employment, even if it were only part time. And at a book store, somewhere he figured he wouldn’t mind being at on weekends or after classes. Something to occupy his time, or help with bills, even.
“Um,” Quil felt his face beginning to warm, “no, actually… I’m going out with someone?” It had sounded like a question leaving his lips, and in truth, he was still rather confused about it himself. Kaya had agreed they could go this up coming weekend, that they could meet up with her friends and grab food. Quil wasn’t entirely sure why she had bothered asking him to accompany her, of all people. It’s not like we’re friends.
Jacob and Bella locked eyes, and then looked at him together, eyebrows raised and quirked, at a loss.
“So you do have a girlfriend?” Quil knew she was only kidding, but he couldn’t help but internally cringe at the word. Girlfriend. How utterly wrong and strange it sounded in relation to himself.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“You’re going on a date? No way,” Jacob laughed, continued cleaning up by putting each metal playing piece in his palm.
Quil’s cheeks felt like they were lit aflame.
“Kaya asked if I wanted to go out to eat with some of her friends,” he shrugged, kept his attention on the floor, embarrassed. “I dunno, I thought maybe it’d be fun?” He had thought many things since Friday, but the idea of fun was not one of them. It’s too late to cancel, now. He could have, but a part of him didn’t want to disappoint her, while another didn’t want to seem cowardly.
“Kaya?” Jacob stopped for a moment, lost in thought, “that girl that’s been obsessed with you since like, seventh grade?”
Bella giggled, “Obsessed?”
“She is not obsessed,” Quil could have groaned, handing Bella his share of discarded pieces.
“Dude, she’s been crushing on you forever,” Jacob shook his head, “you can’t be this oblivious.”
“I highly doubt that,” Quil argued, “and I’m not oblivious.”
You’re as oblivious as they come, Jacob thought, fighting a smirk.
“It doesn’t even mean anything. We’re just getting food.”
“To you, maybe,” Jacob countered. Finally, all the pieces of Monopoly were put back in their box, and Bella closed the top, standing.
“Well, good luck on your not date,” she couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped, “and your not girlfriend.”
Quil pushed himself off of the floor then, and Jacob followed, as they began shuffling toward the door. Charlie was waiting to take them home, and Quil would walk. Bella had offered to drop him off again, though he would have to catch a ride in the police cruiser. He had turned down the proposition, preferred to make the trek home alone. Spending time with the only other friends he had was fine and well, but he still found it depleting his energy. In truth, he just needed time to himself, to think, to pull back the veil for just a moment. That was all he needed, just a very short moment.
“Yeah, yeah,” he followed her out the door, Jacob following close behind. “Good luck beating me in the next one.”
She turned to look at him as she met her father by the couch, rolling her eyes, but the twitching at the corner of her lips told him she wasn’t really annoyed.
“And try not to hurt yourself,” he added.
“I’ll do my best,” she answered, smiling, then asked her father if he was ready to go. Cheerful farewells were exchanged, the cruiser pulling out and away from the red house, and Quil took his leave as well.
Finally, the film wiped away, so that he could truly breathe.
Chapter 6: The Beach
Notes:
I’ve recently had a fellow author plagiarize this story on AO3, which was very disheartening to me, considering the countless hours I’ve poured into this fic so far, and the amount of words I’ve already written. Thankfully they deleted it and apologized, but I want to state here once and for all: under no circumstances does anyone have the right to plagiarize my work, regardless of whether you change words around or copy and paste it. You also do not have the right to steal my concepts. If you feel so compelled as to use a concept I’ve created from my story, please message me for permission, and if it is granted, please credit me accordingly as the original author as well as crediting my story as the original concept it was written in. Lyrics from The Beach by The Neighborhood.
Chapter Text
If I told you that I loved you, tell me, what would you say?
If I told you that I hated you, would you go away?
Now I need your help with everything that I do.
I don’t want to lie, I’ve been relying on you.
Fallin’ again, I need a pick-me-up.
I’ve been calling you “friend”, I might need to give it up.
I’m sick, and I’m tired, too.
I can admit, I am not fireproof.
I feel it burning me.
I feel it burning you.
I hope I don’t murder me.
I hope I don’t burden you.
If I do, if I do.
Embry’s chair creaked as he shifted his weight, bare forearms stretched out over the white table’s surface. The air around him was infused with an essence of a variety of foods Emily was busying herself with preparing. A master at work as she bumbled from the stove, to the counter, and back again in a constant loop. Zest, toasted loaves of bread fresh from the oven, and a strong whiff of herb like rosemary and thyme layered over chicken, which was presently broiling. He found the scents relaxing, though he was still somewhat anxious waiting for his pack members to return from patrol. Embry tore his eyes away from her back and hair that tumbled down over it to focus on the many threads between his fingertips.
Weaving jewelry was far more difficult than it looked, he was beginning to realize. He let out an agitated puff of air, slumping back in his seat, arms meeting to cross at his chest as he scowled at the messy wad of string.
“Not your strong suit?” Emily felt out, reaching over with her left hand, plucking a dusty blue dishtowel from the countertop. She wiped her hands gingerly, and then swung the cloth over her left shoulder clad in pink short sleeves, turning back to look at Embry as she did so.
“Guess not,” he sighed. He did not look up at her.
Embry was aware of her walking close to him now, listened to her pull a chair beside him from under the table’s top. She sat down, took up the loud colored string. Embry watched her movement, eyes glued to the table, tracing the gashes that ran all the way down her head to her fingertips. Like giant canyons sliced through with wild and all powerful river flow—cavernous and a shiny, angry red—despite being long since healed. If he stared long enough at the mended lacerations, he could almost picture the great wave of lifeblood rushing out from her thin frame, a dam giving way, bursting and drowning everything in its wake. The shimmery muscle, nerve endings growing out under the skin like the veins of a tree. Eternally severed, never rejoining, never to feel again.
He swallowed thickly, afraid. What if I did something like that?
“I promise it isn’t as hard as it looks,” Emily was calm, gathering the vibrant cords and beginning to braid, graceful and light. Beads would be added to it later. She made it appear effortless, observing her work with an experienced ease.
“Where did you learn to do this?” Embry questioned, studying the flicker of her fingers and faint beat of tendons under the grooved, dark skin.
“Abá.” Grandmother. Embry thought of the old woman, the artist behind his journal, protected in red cedar and laid to rest in their burial grounds. He wondered if she had taught her children or grandchildren her craft, before she passed on. I have no one to teach me that, he thought, and then considered, maybe she can. It was strange yet comforting, to know another from the Makah tribe, half of himself, all of his mother. He had spent his whole life on the Quileute reservation.
“Did she teach you to cook, too?” he asked next, genuinely curious, studying her swift movements, almost like plucking the way she moved her fingers to and fro. Quil has always been a good cook. An internal groan. Stop thinking about him.
Emily hummed, nodding, eyes never leaving her handiwork. “Yes,” a faint reply, “and my mother. Sometimes my aunt, when I was with her.”
She thought of Leah. Felt the loss, face dimming for a moment before she regained control of herself.
“You make it look so easy,” he commented, “I wish I could do that.”
“You can,” she assured, “I’ll show you what I know. It’s part of your culture, too.”
Embry considered this. He had offered to help her weave various pieces to be brought to the younger children at school, displayed in their compact classrooms that stood in the fields. It was part of himself he did not know, that he would like to.
“I’d like that,” he agreed, glancing up to find her smiling at him, partially contorted. Embry looked to the side at the view of her, did not wish to stare at the long and profound claw marks that misshaped her. Did not want to think he could be capable of such damage, himself.
“You can look at me, you know,” she sighed, stopping her movements. She brought her hands down to rest on the table’s surface, smile fading.
“Sorry.” He felt like he was apologizing a lot these days, “It’s just- I’m just-“ his eyes flickered back to her, then broke away again, uneasy.
“You’re not used to it.” A statement.
He nodded, wary, dared to look at her once more, to hold his sight there for any extended period of time.
“It’s alright, I understand.”
“Did…” he swallowed, nervous to ask but curiousness persisting, “did it hurt?”
“Yes.” Her dark eyes were fixed on him, relentless in their hold. “Very much.”
He nodded meekly, was finally able to tear himself from her gaze, eyes back to the table’s surface. What if I did that to him? No, I would never hurt him. Ever. Visions manifested in the black smoke of his mind, horrifying and deadly, the ability to rip through human flesh just as easily as any monster he hunted.
As if she had heard his thoughts, Emily spoke again, broke him free from the chamber of his mind.
“It was an accident,” she told him, “one of those things had gotten close to our land one night. He was just trying to protect me. It was dark, we had been sleeping, and he had gotten out of bed. I didn’t think, I just went after him. I just… got too close. I was caught in his mid-turn.”
Embry moved his head to look at her then, eyebrows upturned in a sorrowful expression.
“Sam still blames himself,” she shook her head, as if an unwanted thought appeared and she was trying to rid herself of it, “I always tell him that it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. But I’m sure you’ve found out how stubborn he can be.”
“He loves you a lot,” Embry noted.
Her mouth stretched into a musing smile, close lipped, before she spoke again, “I know he does. And I love him just as much.”
Embry watched her, could almost see for himself the images playing behind her inky eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder whether he would ever get to experience the love of another, like them. That doesn’t happen to people like me.
“I tell you this because,” she paused, gazed at him like from a long distance, “because I know you’re scared and you aren’t used to all this. I know it’s a lot to take on so quickly. Sam will take care of you. I will. You are all our guardians. And you are a good kid. I know you want to help others. That’s honorable, Embry.”
Her words washed over him in a tide, and he nodded, afraid he might burst into tears. And then Emily was acting fast, beckoning him with her scarred hand. Come here, she had said, pulling him into a much needed hug. Emily allowed him to cry into her shoulder at the kitchen table, brought a hand up to cradle the back of his head.
He did not know for how long he had been weeping, but the blush of her shirt above her chest was damp when she did eventually pull away, hearing the others come bounding through the front door of her home.
“You’re back,” she breathed, relieved as she was each time they returned safe and sound. Emily allowed Sam to take her into his arms, to be painted in his kisses like stars that dazzled the night. A kitchen timer buzzed on the counter, and Embry scrubbed furiously at his eyes. They were bloodshot and forlorn.
Jared and Paul wasted no time taking seats at the table as Emily was released from Sam’s love only momentarily to grab the finished chicken and bread. She brought a tray of loaves to the table, and they reached for them eagerly, stealing glances at Embry who sat across from the two of them, facing the kitchen.
“So she talked you into this,” Jared said as a distraction from what the three of them had walked in on, gesturing to the half woven necklace still resting before him. He was positively grinning, tearing a piece of the bread and popping it into his mouth, chewing. Sam took a seat to Embry’s left, the empty chair before him Emily’s, who was cutting the chicken.
“Oh, man, she tried to teach me that once,” Paul laughed, “but I just turned it into a giant knot.”
“Right? I don’t know how she does all that,” Jared replied, as Emily hovered behind them, tray of sliced meat on a floral hand painted platter. She reached over their heads and set it down in the center of the table, beside the bread.
“I’ve already told you two, you’re just over complicating it,” she shook her head, “and Embry wants to learn.” He caught her eyes as she said this, saw the soft smile pulling at one corner of her mouth. “I’ll make a pro of him. Just wait and see. Three times is a charm.”
Embry returned her smile, bashful.
Jared was reaching for the chicken with bare hands when Emily stopped him. “Wait until I get plates and utensils,” she scolded, venturing back into the kitchen and returning with a set of five. She passed each one out, and when the table was set finally to her liking, she lowered to her own seat.
They each took turns reaching for the platters, filling their dishes. An easy chatter filled the small abode, laughter and genuine smiles.
“So?” Emily spoke through the antics of Paul and Jared to her right, “was everything alright today?”
“Still no sign of it,” Sam informed her, and Embry turned to look at him then, to take in his words. The three of them had gone on patrol together an hour before noon, and had returned now close to five for dinner. Sam had asked Embry to stay behind, with Emily. Just to keep her company, he had said, though Embry had a sneaking suspicion it was more wariness. That if they caught sight of the vampire they were searching for, there might be a repeat of events multiple weeks prior.
Sam had told him he would need to learn to control the impulse, this innate sense to protect. Embry thought he knew the reason for the alpha’s fear and hesitance, now.
“Maybe it was just passing through,” Jared thought aloud, taking a bite of his chicken stabbed through with a fork.
“Maybe it learned not to come back,” Paul said after, glaring at open air. Jared shrugged in reply.
“Yeah, maybe,” Sam agreed, but the look in his eyes told a story of disbelief. I just don’t understand, he turned the theories over in his brain as if to examine them. That one looked different. Maybe they’re working together? It had been quite a while since the appearance of the first leech, the one responsible for—
He realized he had been watching Emily, the permanent lines on her skin, and promptly looked away. Swallowed hard. That one had red hair, he thought next. Sam could remember that awful night, his drowsed state, the sickening stench stalking closer toward the boarder. Hair bright like a match struck in the night, attempting to chase after it, all while Emily chased after him. The panic, the hysteria, the blood. I’ll never forgive myself. I’d do anything to change it. I’d do anything.
At the kitchen table, a tenseness had grown, and soon the whole group was looking at Sam, who was staring unseeing at his plate.
“I think we need a break,” Emily announced, and this got her fiancé’s attention. His head lifted, skeptical.
“Em, I don’t think that’s-“
She cut her love off, “No, I think it would be good for all of us. We’re all tired and stressed. Why not take a few hours to relax? We can go to the beach.”
And so they did.
To say Joy Ateara was a little surprised to hear her son was going on a date was putting it lightly. When he told her with whom, that surprise turned to understanding. Theresa Roberts was this young girl’s aunt. They had met at the vendors one afternoon, when Joy had a free day from babysitting. She took up watching after Mr. Dowling’s four year old daughter, in Forks, for extra cash. It was a flexible schedule, and he paid quite well, and Joy didn’t mind looking after her, enjoyed it even.
“Mom, please,” Quil whined, tired of her doting. She pulled her hand away from his hair, trying to fix the curls that were nearly identical to her late husband’s. Joy was giddy and beaming on the driver’s side of her car. She left it to idle, just outside of the River’s Edge Restaurant.
“Ok, there, perfect,” she clasped her hands together, wished only she had a camera to take a picture.
“Seriously, mom, it’s not a date,” he sighed, unbuckling his seat belt. She had dressed him in nice fitting clothes, unlike what he typically wore. A good pair of dark washed denim jeans, plain white buttoned shirt and a dark olive green jacket that had belonged to his father, fur lined from animal game. Quil was just starting to fill it out, but it was still a little big on him, only not enough to swallow.
“Yes, I know, you’ve told me this many times hon,” she replied, hands in her lap as she was turned to him in her seat. The engine continued to rumble lowly. “But I still want you to look nice. My baby’s going on his first date!”
“I look fine. You didn’t need to pick out my clothes,” he huffed, tried not to roll his eyes, “it’s just some kids from my school.”
Joy nodded, still smiling. “Well, try to have fun,” she said, “and be home before midnight, okay? You have school tomorrow.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he waved her off, pulling open the handle of his passenger door.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, opening the console and pulling out cash, “don’t forget this.” Joy handed him two twenties, which he shoved into the pocket of his jeans.
“Thanks, mom.” Quil reached over, pulled her in for a split second embrace. “I’ll be home later. I love you,” he called, before stepping out of the door, pushing it shut behind him. She shook her right hand in goodbye through the glass window, put the small gray car in drive, and took her leave.
Quil found the three of his peers already inside by the entry, waiting for him on a bench near the host. The worker was a short, plump older woman, but her smile made her appear younger somehow as she greeted him. She gathered four menus, and led them to their table.
“You look nice,” Kaya complimented, sliding into the booth first, followed by Quil beside her. They were placed by a large window that looked out over the water, which seemed to almost sparkle in its deliberate sway.
“Thanks,” he smiled, nervous, “you, too,” he remembered to add. Two boys, Dakota and Jalen, slid into the booth opposite them. They were dressed casually in t-shirts, jeans and black converse.
Kaya blushed, bowed her head toward the glossed dining table. She smoothed out the cerise shade of her sundress, thumbing the dainty white floral print that covered it all. A cropped, knitted cardigan covered the wide neckline and straps of her dress, and her hair fell over her shoulders, loosely curled. A small bag sat beside her in the booth, pressed against the wooden wall panel where tribal art hung.
“We didn’t think you’d show up,” Dakota was the one to speak, resting his forearms on the table. The dim overhead lighting cast shadows over his angular face.
“Speak for yourself,” Jalen rolled his dark eyes, placing a hand on his chest in gesture, “I didn’t think she would even ask you out.”
“Guys,” Kaya warned, pursing her smoothened mouth in clear irritation.
“I was happy to come,” Quil lied, felt the mask slipping on and over his face with ease. “I couldn’t leave her to third wheel with you idiots.”
A waitress stopped by their table, all smiles, and took the group’s order of drinks. She returned shortly thereafter, placing down four cups of water.
“Are you guys ready to order?” she asked them, pen and pad in hand.
“Yeah,” Dakota had chimed in, and around the table they went. Quil stared down at his menu, not even having looked it over.
“Uh,” his eyes scanned the paper, before Kaya leaned over close to him.
“You should get the salmon burger,” she supplied, “it’s really good.”
She smelt sweet like vanilla, but that wasn’t quite right. Still, the girl was certainly wearing a light fragrance, that grew stronger with her close proximity.
He nodded, ordered as instructed, and handed his menu out to the server whom took it in thanks. Small talk ensued at her leave, most of it school related, which stopped only momentarily upon the waitress’s return, bearing their food. Enjoy, she told them, leaving the teens to eat.
“You know, you should watch out,” Dakota spoke around a mouthful of ribeye that had been half eaten already, “this one is a little dangerous.” He pointed his fork’s end out toward Quil across the table.
Kaya looked at him, then, in questioning.
“Yeah, he’s a player,” Jalen told her.
Quil felt his face burning, all the lies he had fed them over the last year spilling forth, come back to haunt him. He let out an uneasy laugh, tried to think of a way to play this accusation off, knew how untrue it really was, why he had said it all in the first place. What needed to be covered up then, what still needed to be hidden now.
“I am not,” he said, voice wavering, reaching out for his water.
“Yeah, sure you aren’t,” Dakota and Jalen shared a look, fighting oncoming smiles. “That’s not what you told us. How is Sophia doing, by the way? Are you still seeing her?” Jalen smirked at this line of interrogation.
Quil choked mid sip.
Kaya’s eyebrows shot up at this revelation, pulling her covered top tighter around her small shoulders, uncomfortable.
“None of that matters, and no, I’m not seeing her,” Quil said, a hint of agitation lingering in his tone, “let’s talk about something else.” I never did see her, moron. Not that I’m ever telling you that.
“Alright, then.” Dakota began cutting another piece of meat. “What about Olivia? You seemed to really like her.”
Kaya seemed dispirited at this, turning back to her food.
“I’m not seeing anyone,” Quil told them boldly, the first truth, “so can we drop this?”
Jalen held up his hands as if to surrender. “We’re just teasing, man. No hard feelings.”
“Yeah,” Quil nodded, “no hard feelings.”
As dinner was finished off, the teen’s server manifested once more to ask about splitting the checks. Quil fished in his pocket for the loose bills just as Kaya was unclasping her leather bag. He handed the forty, urged the young woman to keep the change as her tip.
“Are you sure?” Kaya asked, having brought her own cash.
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Quil nodded, gestured with his hands as he spoke, “I don’t mind paying.”
The four of them paid, Jalen made sure to grab his to-go container, and together they exited the restaurant. The two boys announced they were heading home, and Quil watched them saunter down the parking lot, Kaya at his side. A light breeze fluttered the thin, frill end of her summer dress that stretched down just past her bare knees, and the sun was soon to set just behind her head. She shifted on the flats she wore, looking up at Quil who was a good seven or eight inches taller.
“Do you have a ride?” Quil asked, and the girl shook her head, clutching her bag in both hands in front of her.
“Oh, my dad won’t be off work for a couple of hours. I can walk, my house is just a few minutes from here.”
“Well,” he considered asking, and then took the leap, despite a voice in the back of his head telling him not to. “Do you want to go to the beach? We could take a walk, if you want.”
Her face broke into a bright smile, and she nodded, that same hopeful expression dawning her round face that she had worn in class just over a week ago. “I’d love to.”
Together, the couple walked side by side in the sand. They had each taken their shoes off, held in one hand and their free ones dangling, brushing slightly against each others as they strolled along the shoreline.
“So…” Kaya piped up, eyes on the ocean that lapped close to her feet covered in grains, “what was that all about? I didn’t know you went out with Olivia.”
Quil sighed heavily, kept his gaze on his feet that ran prints along the beach.
“I didn’t,” he admitted, shoulders sagging. “I never went out with her, or Sophia.”
“But-“
“I lied, okay?” He looked up to see her eyes wide and swimming with confusion.
“Why did you?”
“I don’t know.” Yes you do. “I just- I guess I was just embarrassed. I just wanted to fit in, you know?”
Kaya was silent beside him, listening to the waves. And then hesitantly, she moved to take his hand in her own. Quil stiffened, sucked in air, alarm bells ringing. But he didn’t pull his hand away, thought it would seem weird, afraid to come across suspicious.
“It doesn’t make it right, but I understand,” she stated, turning her head to look up at him, ringlets blowing in the sea breeze. No, I don’t think you do. “Thanks for paying, and for coming to dinner. It was… fun,” she finished. Had he had fun? Rather, felt trapped in a cage, gawked at and judged, speculated against.
He could hear hollering in the distance, gave it no mind as he tugged on her hand, leading her closer toward an old log he and Embry once claimed as their own. It was just his, now, he supposed. Hated the thought, but Embry had made himself very clear and direct.
“I like this spot,” Quil nearly whispered, like a secret, taking them down to their seat which looked over the ocean in just the right way, the perfect light. The sun was fading on her dark skin, and her perfume lingered on his own.
“This is nice, it’s quiet,” she noted. The water licked at the sand in relaxed strokes, reflecting the light, the clouds gone purple and pink in its departure. She had not let go of his hand.
Quil kept his eyes ahead, studying the horizon, contemplating the water’s depth. Would have liked to walk into it and kill a piece of himself, there, hold it under the surface and suffocate it.
“I really like you,” Kaya admitted suddenly, voice quiet and carried into the sea. “A lot. I have for a while.”
At this, Quil swallowed hard, mouth run dry like the sand under his bare feet. He chanced a look at her, found her already staring at him. Her voice was soft as silk where Embry’s had steadily deepened over the years, the upturn of her nose different where his was straight and sure.
“Have you ever kissed a girl?”
Quil felt like he might start sinking into the sand, a fear taking hold of him. He shook his head silently, mouth pressed shut.
“I’ve never kissed someone.”
“I’ve never kissed anyone, either.”
There was a pause, and then she spoke once more.
“I’d like to kiss you, if that’s alright.”
Quil nodded despite himself, all the while his mind screamed at him as she drew nearer. To stop this, to get up, to make some sort of excuse to leave. He stayed planted in his spot, watched her big eyes slide closed, felt her closed mouth press against his, hesitant at first and then growing in certainty. He realized after a moment that he still had his eyes open, willed himself to shut them, to try and kiss her back. Her lips were cool and sticky with gloss, and he moved against her in a robotic fashion. I feel nothing. This inescapable truth weighed on him like an anchor cast at sea. Why don’t I feel anything? This is wrong, I feel so wrong.
Kaya was the first to pull away, and Quil felt thankful for her departure, the candied flavor of her gloss invading his mouth. He had wondered how long it would go on, their shared kiss dragging for what seemed like an eternity to him, though it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. She was smiling so brightly at him, and he tried to feel something in return, coming up empty—but he forced a smile back, not wanting to dampen her happiness.
The stillness was shattered as Quil moved his head, feeling eyes on him. To his shock and horror, it was Embry, coming down the left side of the shore, hands stuffed in his pockets and barefoot himself. He stared at them, stopping in his tracks.
Kaya must have spotted the teen, too, for she asked, “Isn't that your friend?”
“Yeah,” Quil answered, still hung in Embry’s scornful gaze, then added, “well, he used to be.”
“Not anymore?” Her voice sounded genuinely saddened on his behalf. “What changed?”
Other voices came, revealed with it the owners, rushing down the beach to catch Embry by the arm. It was Jared Cameron and Paul Lahote, who carried a soccer ball in his hands. Hey, we’re gonna head back to Emily’s soon, Jared informed him, Sam doesn’t want us to be gone too long. You know how it is.
Sam? It all was beginning to make sense, after all. Embry had gotten caught up in Sam Uley’s gang. Quil narrowed his eyes, anger bubbling. I cant believe you've been lying to me this whole time. You’d rather be with Sam and his disciples than me or Jake?
“A lot, I guess…” he trailed, still in disbelief. A great sense of betrayal threatened to overwhelm him. He watched as Embry was dragged back down the beach the way he and the others had come, scrunching his nose up in contempt.
“It doesn’t matter, anymore.” He stood from the log, held out his hand to help Kaya up. “I’ll walk you home.”
Chapter 7: Diatribe
Notes:
Lyrics from Far From Home by Five Finger Death Punch
Chapter Text
‘Cause it’s almost like
Your heaven’s trying everything
To break me down
‘Cause it’s almost like
Your heaven’s trying everything
To keep me out
Jacob didn’t bother trying to hide the glare that had been fixed on his face all throughout the school day.
“I can’t believe this,” he said, arms crossed over the fold-out table. “Just look at them.”
Quil took a bite of the sandwich his mother had prepped that morning for his lunch, tuned out the babble of other students surrounding them in their makeshift classroom cafeteria.
“Told you,” Quil mumbled around his mouthful of food, staring in the same direction. Embry, Paul and Jared were all huddled together, against the far wall of the room, conversing amongst themselves, far too hushed and low to make out.
“So, what, he was just there?” Jacob asked, though he had already done so numerous times throughout the day, still unable to shake the doubt.
“Yep,” Quil chewed, swallowed, eyes narrowing. He took a sip from his water bottle, “It’s just like I told you. I saw them on the beach. They were talking about Sam, but I didn’t see him. But he was definitely around, somewhere.”
“So much for hall monitors,” Jacob muttered, “nice to know we aren’t good enough for him anymore.”
It appeared Embry wasn’t attempting to hide his affiliation with them, now, having been spotted the other evening. This was the first of many days to follow that he would eat lunch with Jared and Paul, rather than alone as he had been for weeks since his first phase and subsequent return to school.
“Nice to know he’s one of them, now,” Quil replied, clear annoyance in his tone. The two watched as a girl approached the trio, sitting down at their portion of the long, white fold table. Quil thought her name was Kim, but couldn’t have been positive. For a moment, he found his thoughts drifting to Kaya, but they had lunch periods an hour apart. That, and she was absent today for a doctor’s appointment. A part of him wished she were here, just so he would have another to keep him company. “I just don’t get it, Jake. What’s so special about Sam Uley, anyway?”
Embry looked at him from across the room, and Quil, feeling like he had just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, shifted in his seat and turned to Jacob instead. His friend’s long hair was pulled into a half ponytail in typical fashion, the rest left to fall past his broad shoulders.
“I don’t know, your guess is as good as mine.” Jacob slouched and rested his chin against his clothed forearms, still scowling. “Sam’s weird. He’s been weird for like a year, and you know how he’s been staring at us whenever he’s around. Like, seriously, what’s his deal?”
Quil nodded. Truth be told, whenever they did spot Sam out around the reservation (which was few and far between), he was always keeping a watchful eye on the both of them. It’s creepy as fuck.
“What do you think he wants? I mean,” Quil held a hand out like he was searching for an answer, something he would never get. “Maybe it really is a cult. But… I just can’t make sense of it. Embry would never be a part of something like that. Not unless he’s being forced to.” Quil felt that same sinking feeling dawning on him now, all the desperation and lack of truth he had dealt with when Embry bolted out of his front door in the middle of the night. That all too recognized dread—the gash in Embry’s temple—Quil couldn’t stomach the thought of his best friend being forced to do things he didn’t want to do, being sucked into some sadistic cult. He felt his gut rolling just picturing it.
“Maybe it really is drugs,” Jacob was quick to say. “That’s the only thing that makes sense to me. And my dad is still being weird. I know he knows something I don’t. Same with your old man, you know? It’s freaking me out.”
Quil conjured the boy he had once known, that he had grown up beside for practically his entire life. The way he collected shells on the beach and gifted them to him as a child, his boundless shyness, his attentiveness to the people held closest to his heart. Embry wouldn’t do drugs, would he? No, I know him. I do. Don’t I? Don’t I know you?
“Maybe,” he conceded, suddenly not hungry enough to finish his food. I do know you, right?
The two friends slipped into a relative silence as they finished their lunch period, and at last, the end of the day was in sight. Embry took his seat at the front of chemistry class as he had been, and eyed the door, anxious. Quil eventually trudged in, didn’t so much as look his way as he passed him and continued to the back of the room. Embry turned to watch him in his desk chair, waiting as the minutes of class change ticked by until Mrs. Sumpter pulled her door shut and began calling attendance. Kaya Woodruff was the only student not present, and Embry sighed internally in thanks.
I need to talk to him.
The period dragged endlessly, and Embry remained seated at his desk as class was finally dismissed. He closed his chemistry book quietly, packed his bag beside him, and stood as Quil passed by him in the aisle once more. Embry weaved through the students filing out of the room, found Quil by his locker, filtering through the absolute mess of it.
“Hey!” he called, watched the way Quil went rigid at the sound of his voice, hated the way he seemed to stand there as though he might flee at a moments notice. “Hey,” he repeated, softer, approaching him in the hall as other teens began to exit the school for the day’s end.
Quil said nothing, only watched him with skeptical eyes, locker door still open.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Embry said at last, shrugging the strap of his book bag on one shoulder.
“Oh, now you want to talk to me,” Quil replied, turning back to his locker. He shoved a text book further inside, pushing around loose sheets of paper that were no doubt unfinished homework and assignments, Embry believed.
“Yeah,” Embry nodded, unable to not take notice of the way his hair curled over his forehead, how the dark green of his father’s jacket suited his broadening shoulders, and the slow flushing of his face from anger. He looks good, the thought came almost second nature. You’re being weird, he told himself, don’t make this weird.
“Have you considered I don’t wanna talk to you?” Quil asked next, gathering his geometry book in his fingers, pulling it forth out of the crevasse of the locker. “I get the picture.”
“No, Quil, you don’t-“ Embry started to say, was abruptly cut off by Paul and Jared who stood by the end of the hall near the front exit. They yelled his name over the sound of students, motioning for him to come with their hands.
Quil’s attention flew to them, and back to Embry still by his locker. Something about the way he looked up at him from under his dark lashes seemed to draw Embry in, made him lean in closer. And the questioning look that flashed across Quil’s face at this was suddenly replaced with one of resentment, as he withdrew further.
“I think your new friends want you,” he said, frowning. “Wouldn’t wanna keep them waiting.”
“Quil…” Embry shifted on his feet, still clutching his bag’s strap. Quil said nothing, and Embry loathed more than anything, his silence. And then, with a regrettable sigh, he nodded to Paul and Jared, bowed his head and left Quil by his open locker.
Quil watched the three of them exit the school, all glares and shadows painting his face, before he turned back to his locker and pulled the geometry text book free. He placed this in his unzipped bag on the floor, before continuing to scour through the loose papers inside. Some of them spilled forth, tumbled out and onto the tile flooring of the hallway. Shit, he groaned, dropped down to his knees to pick the pile of them up.
“Ateara!”
His head shot up at the sudden disturbance, eyes flicking around the few of his peers that still remained in the school. Dakota and Jalen were sauntering toward him from the opposite side of the corridor, and in a panicked state, Quil grasped at some of the sheets of paper, stuffing them inside his book bag. Shit, shit, shit!
“Hey, man, are we still on for this weekend?” Dakota reached him first, watching him from his height as Quil gathered sheets of notebook paper, balling them up in his hands.
“You never did get back to us,” Jalen said next, coming up to his friend’s side. Quil scrounged around on the ground, taking what remaining papers he hadn’t shoved deep into his bag and tossing them back into his locker once he stood. He slammed it shut, turning to them. I think that’s all of them.
“I, uh-“ he scratched the back of his head, nervous, “I have work this weekend,” he told them, watched the pair nod, relieved at his success dodging this bullet. “My mom’s probably waiting for me,” he excused himself then, bending over to zip his bag before pulling it up with him to sling over his left shoulder. “Maybe some other time?”
“Yeah, man, that’s cool,” Dakota nodded.
“You’re not ditching us, right?” Jalen asked, raising an eyebrow, “‘cause we can still hang when Kaya isn’t around.”
“No, of course not,” Quil replied, “I know that.” I don’t want to hang out with you, he answered, refused to say so out loud. “But I gotta go, don’t wanna keep my mom waiting. I’ll let you guys know when my schedule is free.”
They ushered him away with their hands, chuckling amongst themselves as he ran out of the building.
“Dude’s weird,” Jalen said, taking a step back from the locker lined wall.
“He’s been weird,” Dakota laughed, looked down at the tile. “What’s that?”
Had Quil been more attentive, perhaps he would have seen Jalen’s foot covering a folded piece of notebook paper. Had he seen this, he could have shoved it into the harbor of his school bag, but he had no such luck this day.
That’s imprinting for you, Paul said, the silver mass of him sliding by Embry’s frame as they continued through the vacant fields. The week had come to a close, which left more free time for their typical rounds with no school hindering the majority of the pack. Embry thought he might be flunking chemistry, what with his busy schedule searching for that thing, which surely was intelligent given it had not shown itself on their land since its great entrance and escape. That, and his inability to focus, too caught up in trying to sneak glances over his shoulder at Quil and Kaya who had stolen his empty desk.
What’s imprinting? Embry had only asked about Kim to pass the time. Sure, he had been somewhat confused by her presence at their lunch table this past week, but he had not wanted to be rude by questioning why she had joined them then.
Hey, it’s not just ‘imprinting’, Paul. This was Jared’s internal voice, coming through defensive. It had taken weeks now for Embry to truly grow accustomed to having other’s thoughts in his own head. The pain of phasing was still present, probably always would be, but this too he had learned to shoulder and ignore, for the most part.
Yeah, whatever, Jared. Kim liked you way before you phased.
The sky above them was but a rolling gray smoke, the clouds darkening and teemed with water that would soon begin its shower to the earth below. Sam was just ahead of his younger members, a bit irritable from the topic at hand.
Yeah, well you can think whatever you want. You’ll imprint, too. I like Kim, what else is there to it? She’s my person. We all have someone we’re meant to be with.
What’s an imprint? Embry asked again, had to consciously allow himself to be heard. This, too, was an act he had to learn as the days with his pack continued.
An imprint, Sam joined their conversation finally, the area clear of any leech that could be trespassing, is the person you’re destined for.
What, like… Embry trailed, considering, mind wandering to the many books Quil had him read, the couples written so romantically within their pages, the lyrics of his favorite love songs drifting through his mind like breath exhaled against a frigid winter morning. Like a ‘soulmate’?
Sure, you could think of it like that. Sam had not turned to look at any of them as he sat back on his hind legs, muzzle pointed up toward the heavens and the rain that would soon greet his blackened fur. None of the council really knows why we imprint. They all think something different.
Yeah, like having kids, Paul said, a hint of disgust at the absurdity of such ideas the Tribal Council had come up with.
I don’t think that’s right, Jared interjected, I mean, the elders can think whatever they want, but they don’t really know. It’s not like they’re us, right? How could they know what it’s like to imprint?
Am I going to imprint? Embry asked, tried to push down the fear and revulsion making a home in the pit of his stomach. The idea of being forced into some sort of relationship with a woman for the sake of reproduction was enough to send him reeling and on the verge of sickness. He tried to mask this, but each of them felt it, like skin crawling away from him. Perhaps he had the situation all wrong, he told himself.
I don’t know, Sam admitted, I couldn’t tell you. If you haven’t by now, maybe you won’t at all. Jared and I both did not long after we phased for the first time.
Embry wondered if it were possible to imprint on another wolf that hadn’t phased, but this too made no sense to him, so he tossed the idea aside. How do you know whether you’ve imprinted? This, they heard.
I just saw Kim one day in class, and I knew. I just knew she was who I was meant to be with, Jared stated, getting mocking replies from Paul. Oh, whatever, you’re just mad you haven’t found the one, yet, dude. Boohoo, no one loves you.
Yeah, sure. Paul was chuckling, the thick laughter of him bouncing in each of their minds. Alright, patrol’s done. I’m going back to Emily’s. I’m starving.
Wait up!
Embry slowed his weary course, and joined Sam at his side, sitting down himself. They watched their two pack members sprint through the rest of the field and into the trees, not far from Emily’s home where she would be waiting for them with bundling nerves, lunch surely ready and sat atop her small, white kitchen table.
I really hope I don’t imprint. This was something Embry allowed Sam to hear, breaking the quiet enveloping them in the damp grass.
It’s not something you can really control, Sam replied, the tone of him unusually soft natured, as he thought of Emily. You can’t help who your soulmate is, right? It’s not something to fear, Embry.
Did you imprint on Emily?
Yes, he answered, listened to the crackling of the sky above. Yes, I imprinted on her the moment I saw her after I first phased.
What was it like? A part of him didn’t want to know, hoped to whatever guardians might be watching over him that they would work to make sure it never happened, but the teen’s curiosity won in the end. Was it like Jared said? You just knew?
Sort of. It was like… seeing her for the first time. Really seeing her. And being seen in return.
Embry sat beside him, watching and taking in what Sam offered up. Slow drops of rain were only just then beginning to fall, slickening their coats with a faint cover.
It was like a familiarity, he continued, like an ‘oh, it’s you’ moment. It’s kind of hard to describe. I just knew that whatever I am, she’s half of it. And I felt such a drive to keep her safe. I think that’s part of it, protecting someone that needs it the most.
Is that why you blame yourself so much? Embry considered letting Sam hear this as well, but knew it would be for the best if it remained purely in the confines of his own mind. And hadn’t he felt this way with Quil many times over, like they were pieces of a puzzle just waiting to fit together? He couldn’t be sure, couldn’t locate the time in his life he had first felt that way for him. Knew only that if anyone on earth was half of his soul, it was Quil, even if he never would have the opportunity to say it out loud. Words would never be able to embody such a swelling truth, anyhow. Even more so, he knew he would do anything to protect the other, would throw himself face first into whatever threat that dared to take aim upon him, no caution for his own safety.
And wasn’t that love? To offer up one’s own life to spare another that is precious? To lay the soul bare, and the sight of it, serene or apocalyptic, the beloved was free to judge? Yes, Embry thought, and he would go on loving without reciprocity despite the pain, for real love knew nothing of space nor time, and certainly not of selfishness.
I believe everyone has someone, Sam broke his thoughts, allowing the rain to dampen them all the more.
Someone would always have Embry, even if he would never have him in return. He knew that, as surely as he knew the sun would always rise.
Can I see Quil? The question came before Embry had even allowed himself time to consider asking it.
Embry- Sam sounded stern again all of a sudden.
Just to talk to him! I won’t tell him anything, I promise.
The rain was beginning to drizzle with more force, now, soaking through to the skin. Embry looked to Sam expectantly, and he didn’t miss the hopeful gleam in the younger’s eyes. With an inward sigh, Sam yielded.
You will tell him nothing about us, he ordered, Embry repeating the command mentally, but fine. You can see him.
Oh, sweet!
Quil turned the book over in his hand, reading the blurb on the back cover. He was already familiar with this author, had a couple of other novels of his work. The description of The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven stared back at him.
This is going in the collection, he thought to himself, putting the book aside on the small cart he pushed to purchase later after he finished his shift. Jacob still hasn’t given me back my copy of The Toughest Indian in the World. I hope he didn’t lose it. I gave him that months ago.
His eyes scanned the shelves before him in the fiction section of the small bookstore he had landed a part-time job at. It was an old school house that had been converted many years ago when the new one, barely larger in size, had been built—the only bookstore in La Push—but he didn’t mind its compact size, found it comforting actually. A few customers chatted at the tiny coffee bar on the far side of the store, an open sort of lounge area for people to sit and read and enjoy a drink if they so pleased. The owner completed paperwork near the register, an old man gone round at the belly who liked to keep his colorful button ups tucked inside his belt. His circular spectacles appeared almost antique, sliding down the end of his wide nose to rest there as he went about inspecting the many sheets of paper at the countertop.
Quil heard a bell ding, signaling another customer’s entry. He continued along the length of the shelf, the middle row of them, taking books from the various stacks atop his flat-topped cart and filing them away in their correct slots.
Embry looked around the store, warm despite the wetness of his clothes, watching the elderly shop owner who was writing in a notebook. His hair had gone white and thinned considerably with age. He didn’t so much as look up in a hello, too lost in focus. The teenager pivoted on his feet toward the coffee bar on the other side of the store, greeted by the presence of a young woman who was too preoccupied brewing to give him attention. Not finding who he had been seeking, he began walking in between the aisles of shelves, and stopped only when he saw Quil, who had his back to him. Ducking behind a shelf, he found himself walking along its length, pausing to examine books. He could peer at Quil through the empty spaces, whom hadn’t even noticed him.
What am I doing? Just talk to him! Quil pulled another book from the shelf, revealing Embry’s eyes through the slot, staring back at him. Quil didn’t seem to spot him, too busy organizing, having found this title in the wrong section. No, I can’t do that. There’s no way he wants to speak to me, now. Another part of him butted in. You asked to see him, idiot.
Embry felt like the world’s biggest fool, stalking along the shelf, watching Quil as he continued his shift. I’m being weird. I’m making this weird. Just talk to him, just talk to him. That’s why you came here!
Quil stopped, crouching down to pull two other misplaced books from the bottom shelf. “People never put these back where they belong,” he whispered to himself. As he rose, novels still in hand, he saw a familiar pair of eyes staring back at him from the other side of the shelf where an empty gap was.
At first, he was startled, not having expected to see him at all—but anger quickly replaced it.
“Oh, great, you’re here,” he found himself spitting the words like poison, promptly turning to set the lost books on his cart. He started to push it again down the rest of the aisle with more force than necessary, not looking back. Quil was almost at its end when Embry appeared from around the shelf, blocking his path.
“Quil, wait,” he said, holding his hands up as if to signal for him to stop. He did, only to try and maneuver around him. “Can we talk?” he asked, tried not to sound desperate, stepping to the side to block him again.
“We have nothing to talk about,” Quil shot back. “Get out of my way. I have work to do.” He kept his voice low so as not to disturb the customer’s peace and quiet.
“Listen, you have everything all wrong,” Embry told him, eyes pleading. Quil observed him, loosening his grip on the cart handle. He had his raven hair pulled back into a bun, but locks of it had fallen from the hair tie’s hold to cradle his face, which were stuck there in their dampness. He had on the same baggy faded red flannel he wore often, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, a black graphic tee underneath displaying one of the many rock bands he loved. His clothing was thoroughly soaked.
“Oh, do I?” Quil sneered, “Sorry about that, Embry. My apologies. I should have known better, considering you fill me in every day.”
Embry sighed, dropping his hands in defeat to his sides. He stuffed them into the front pockets of his jeans, frustrated.
“Why are you even here?” Quil asked, confused. “What, are you stalking me now or something? Did you run all the way here in the rain?”
Embry shook his head, strands glistening in the overhead light. “I, uh,” he glanced around the shelves surrounding them in thought. “I was just looking for something. For you,” he added, “I haven’t decided what book I think you’ll like yet.”
Quil paused, knew Embry always got him a new one as a birthday gift. He had assumed this would not be happening this April 1st, given the circumstances. You came all the way here in the pouring rain to get me a present?
“Don’t bother,” he bit out, “I don’t want anything from you.”
A flash of hurt crossed Embry’s face, and then it was gone again, replaced by a blank expression.
“Move, Embry.” The continuous usage of his full name was not lost on him. Reluctantly, he stepped aside, allowed Quil through the clear gap.
“You don’t understand,” Embry was following behind him, as they turned down another aisle. Quil searched the labels, finding the fantasy section.
“Maybe I would if you would tell me,” he replied, filing the two books in their proper locations. “So? What’s the hold up?”
“I can’t,” Embry said, as if pained. Quil turned to look at him, scrunching his nose, frowning.
“Then go away.”
“Quil-“
“Leave me alone, Embry. First you tell me you can’t be around me, then I find out you’ve been avoiding me and Jake for what, to hang out with your new friends? Jake was right, we must not be good enough for you anymore. Guess I really don’t know you. Thought I did.” He continued down the shelves, inspecting the rows.
“You’re being unfair.”
“Oh, I am? Sorry again.” I’m being unfair? Fuck off. “Maybe you should run off to your new friends and tell them that. I’m sure they’ll care.” His tongue was slithering away from him like a viper, but he couldn’t find it within himself to be bothered enough to stop it.
“Yeah, I’m sure your new girlfriend cares just as much.”
Quil paused at this, detected the seething displeasure contained in Embry’s voice.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He turned, found Embry wearing his own expression of detest. “And she isn’t my girlfriend.”
“That’s not what I saw.” His accusation felt like splinters under the skin, sharp and irritating.
Quil opened his mouth to speak, and found no words coming out. He didn’t know what to say, what excuse to give, what lie to dangle before the other that was once his closest friend in the entire world. You’re right here, but it’s like you’re still so far away. It was something the both of them thought, and felt.
“Whatever, man,” he said finally, shaking his head. “Why do you care anyway?”
Because I’m in love with you, Embry confessed to the recess of his mind, but what came out was, “I don’t. I just- it was just a little surprising, is all.”
“Wow, thanks. Is it that shocking someone might want to go out with me?” Quil asked, rolling his eyes.
No, his mind answered, anyone would be lucky to have you. I know I never will.
Embry shook his head, shifted on his feet, awkward. “No, it’s just that… well, I didn’t know you liked her. That’s all.” He shrugged, hands in his pockets still. “You just never really mentioned her.”
That’s because I don’t like her. I was too busy looking at you. Dumbass. I can’t ever let you know that, though.
For a moment, Quil felt himself relenting, the steam of his anger dissipating. But then it was rising again, bursting flares. “It’s not any of your business,” he said, frowning, eyebrows creased. “It’s not like we’re friends anymore, so it shouldn’t matter to you who I spend time with, or who I want to date.”
This one stung, badly. Embry dropped his gaze to the carpeted floor, examining its wheat shaded pattern beneath his sopped sneakers, dejected.
“We’re not friends anymore?” his voice came out soft and strained, like a young boy’s, instead of the sixteen year old he was. When he looked up, the pain etched onto his features and into his dark eyes made Quil’s heart throb in ache.
“I guess not,” Quil replied. Like pulling a knife from a stab wound, leaving himself to bleed. It’s better this way. Just get it over with. “Friends don’t lie to each other. We used to tell each other everything.”
Embry could feel the stinging beginning at the back of his eyes.
“Look, Bry,” the familiar nickname would have been a welcomed comfort in any other context, but this only made the wound grow larger in size. “Maybe we just shouldn’t talk anymore. It’s obvious you don’t want to talk to me, not like you used to, and whatever’s going on with you, you won’t tell me about.”
I would tell you if I could!
Embry would have replied, if it weren’t for the customer whom interrupted. She approached the two teens, hesitant, with a quiet excuse me?
“Hi,” Quil turned to her, walking down the row of books and away from Embry and his cart. “What can I help you with?” He chatted with her, complimenting the novel she had in her elderly hands, and agreed to take her to a specific genre section she hadn’t been successful in locating.
Embry must have waited there, by the cart piled still with books, staring at nothing in particular for some minutes. The dust particles floated in the air around him, glowing from the store’s lighting. I’m so stupid, he thought, blinking back oncoming tears that were threatening to show. I knew you wouldn’t want anything to do with me, and I don’t blame you. When Quil eventually did return, having helped the senior customer find a specific book she was searching for, Embry was gone from the aisle and the store altogether.
Did he just run off? You know what? Whatever.
He finished his shift in a bitter resignation, filing titles in their designated spaces on shelves. Hours passed him by in a quiet, disrupted peace, until the end of his work came.
“Ah,” Mr. Irving pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, thin lips slightly parted as he read the title in his hands. “My wife liked this author,” he informed his employee, turning the book on its spine to examine the price sticker. He laid it back on the counter, shuffling over to the bulky ancient register that Quil thought could perhaps be as old as him.
“Did she?” he asked, making small talk. He fished through the front pocket of his jeans, came up with a few green bills as payment, as his boss punched the amount into the register’s keys.
“Oh, yes,” Mr. Irving answered, “I still have all her books.” His tired eyes observed the screen. His wife had died some winters back. “She was the one who wanted to open this store.”
He took Quil’s out-held money with thanks, opened the register drawer and filed them with the other singles. Counting change, he placed some coins into his wrinkled palm, shutting the drawer once more and listened to the receipt being fed out, tearing it from the small printer.
“Here you go, son,” he poured the quarter, dimes and pennies into Quil’s open hand, placed the receipt in the front cover of the book, and held it out over the countertop. “Good eye, you must know your literature.”
“I like to read,” was all Quil supplied, taking his purchase and stuffing the loose change back into his awaiting pocket.
“Good,” his employer nodded to himself, straightening the yellow button up he wore, “reading’s good for the soul. Well, anyway, I don’t wanna keep you. I’ll have your first check tomorrow.”
He thanked the old shop keeper, agreed on the start of his next shift, and shrugged on his jacket that hung waiting on a coat rack by the door, tucking his new purchase inside as a protective measure. Quil left the dry comfort of Dogwood Books and into the rain, where his mother’s Accord was parked in the lot, idling.
Chapter 8: The Great Pretender
Notes:
Cant believe I’m already 8 chapters deep into this fic! Super excited for what’s to come!! Again, chapter updates might be slow now and again because I work so much at my job, but I will try to keep updates steady and weekly. Lyrics are from Smalltown Boy by Bronski Beat!
Chapter Text
Pushed around and kicked around, always a lonely boy
You were the one that they’d talk about around town as they put you down
And as hard as they would try they’d hurt to make you cry
But you never cried to them, just to your soul
No, you never cried to them, just to your soul
Run away, turn away, run away, turn away, run away
(Crying to your soul)
Dear Embry
No, no, no. Quil brought the ball point up a line on the blue ruled paper, scratched out what had just been written.
He tried again.
Embry
Sighing, he rested his cheek in the palm of his hand. Crossed out the name once more in smooth black ink.
Bry
The name that he had shortened in childhood youth and glued to the inside of his mouth stared back at him on the white sheet of paper, and he twiddled with the pen held in his fingers, tapping it against the composition notebook that lay open on the counter he stood behind inside the book store. Another week had passed him by, days filled with school and work shifts, and the occasional hang out with Jacob and Bella who were always keen on a movie night. In the free time he did have, he spent it pretending. Pretending to be normal, pretending he enjoyed Kaya’s company, that he even liked kissing her. He tried not to think about how he felt caught up in a mess of entangled web.
Quil surveyed the store, listened to his employer in the back room shuffling around. Can you watch the register, he had asked, and Quil hadn’t minded. It was a rather slow and cold day, all gray and fogged.
The teen brought the pen back to the page.
Why have you made this so hard? As if everything wasn’t already difficult enough to begin with. You complicate everything, you know that?
Anger came in waves, and often each day, but left in its wake was always a loneliness. He had taken up writing his thoughts, most in this notebook, but some on spare papers. Ever since Dakota and Jalen had found him in the hall last Monday, he had made the conscious choice to clean his locker bare, ball up the notes he had been throwing inside, and burn them in his corner of the beach once night fell. Watch the secrets and nauseating intimacy of admission turn to ash and floating embers. It’s not like anyone is ever gonna see this, anyway, he thought, I can’t let anyone see this. No one will ever know but me.
I fucking hate you. I hate everything you’re becoming. I feel so stupid writing to you anyway. Sometimes I just want to scream at you. I don’t understand it. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore. Maybe this is who you’ve always been and I just never saw it till now. How is it possible for you to go from the person I know better than anyone to a stranger?
Again, the outrage pulled from the land of him like a tide, revealed the lonesomeness and silence of the seabed underneath.
Bella told me writing could help. I don’t think it is. I don’t hate you. I hate that I don’t know how to hate you. I miss you more than anything. I’ll never tell you this. I wish we were still kids. Everything was simpler back then. Back before I knew what I was. I think you really fucked me up somehow. I just got too caught up in my own head. Sometimes I thought
Quil paused mid sentence, felt the violent pummeling shame, tried to press it down so he could move forward. The only thing he could do was move forward, now.
that you might actually love me too. God I can’t even write it. It’s so embarrassing. I’m such an idiot for even thinking you could. But sometimes it was just the way you’d look at me. Or the little things you’d do. I dunno. And I know it’s gross and I’m gross and it’s weird. I know that. Sometimes I just wish I could say it. Everything I want to say I’ll never be able to tell you. It’s not meant to be heard.
A younger lady approached the counter with a stack of paperbacks cradled in her arms, and Quil slammed the notebook shut as she drew near him. He made casual conversation, punched in the prices on the ancient keys of the register, and filed her cash in the drawer. She bid him a friendly goodbye as she left, books placed carefully in a handled paper bag. With the coast clear once more, he opened the notebook again, propping his head up on his elbow while the other let words fill the empty blue lines.
I used to think we’d always be friends, but I guess I was wrong. It hurts, a lot. I feel like I’m missing a part of myself. I don’t even know what parts are you and what parts are me. Like who I was before I knew you. I guess I’ll find out now. None of this matters. You’re never gonna read this. I feel so stupid for thinking you would ever be anything else but my friend. You’re not even that, now. None of this means anything. I’m gonna burn this one too.
Mr. Irving emerged from the back room as Quil closed the notebook, thanking him for the help watching over the shop.
“Son, you can go on home for the day if you want,” he said, sighing at the now empty book store save for him and his couple of employees.
“Are you sure?” Quil asked, tucking the composition book under his arm.
“Yeah, it’s been a slow day. We close soon, anyway.”
This was all the teen needed to begin packing his bag, stuffing his notebook inside and grabbing his father’s jacket from the hook. His elderly boss thanked him for the shift worked, and told him to be careful going home, but home was not where he was headed.
It’s just chemistry homework.
It was just homework, true, but said work had been tossed aside over the bed long ago, toppled onto the carpeted floor of Kaya’s room. Four magenta walls like a cage around him, bars rattling.
How long must one pretend until it becomes truth? And how fiercely can someone deny themselves until it’s a slow and oozing suicide in a bathtub? Maybe it comes with a razor, or perhaps you’ve swallowed a bunch of pills, but either way you’re dying and the water is rising over the edge. And your mother’s shrill voice is booming from the other side of the door, asking why the liquid of your grave is flooding the rest of the house, demanding you let her inside so she can pull you from the tomb. But no, it would have been better had you simply not been born in the first place.
Death might be a blessing, for nothing is more tragic than a soul that has already been slaughtered, and a body that sleepwalks despite, keeping up the charade. A phantom, haunting the husk of you. The only thing worse than this, is the reality that everyone else continues on, not noticing you have stopped living.
Because Quil could kiss her, move his mouth in a memorized fashion against hers, unfeeling. He could run his hands down the side of the girl under him, find the curve of her waist and the smooth skin just under the ridden up shirt she wore, but this would not stop the way his mind filled in the blanks behind his closed eyelids. Without permission, always without permission, imagination took over. See, if he tried hard enough, he could pretend it was somebody else’s fingers in his hair, skin under his palm, lips melding into his. If he kept his vision unfocused, he could act like the long ink of hair fanned along the sheets was his. But if this tired, mind numbing movement ceased—if he broke away and looked into her eyes—the fantasy would be shattered again, nothing but shards of broken glass breaking the skin and leaving him to bleed.
When is this going to end? This was what he often thought, each time they connected. It was a special kind of self inflicted torture. I just don’t feel anything. I know I’m supposed to. Why can’t I fix myself? Maybe I’m just not trying hard enough. I really am broken.
When her hands left his scalp, found the hem of his shirt and dared to explore under it along his back, he froze. The cool pads of her fingers lingered there, at his spine, as he pulled away.
“What’s wrong?” Two wide eyes like pine on the forest floor stared up at him. She slid her hands from under his t-shirt, up and onto each shoulder.
“Nothing,” Quil replied, breath heavy. He pushed himself up with his forearms, sitting back on his calves, masking the fear.
“Are you sure?” she asked again, mimicking his movements to sit up as well, facing him on the mattress.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, glancing at the bedroom door that was left ajar. “It’s just- your dad is home,” he told her. Just lie. Anything to make it stop. “I just don’t want him to walk in. He’d probably kill me.” He feigned a laugh that he knew she wouldn’t be able to tell wasn’t genuine.
“Oh,” Kaya replied, nodding as she straightened her blouse. “You’re right. Let me close the door.” She made to get up from the bed, but Quil stopped her, couldn’t fight off the dread with its cold hands squeezing at his throat.
“No!“ he grabbed at her wrist, “no, it’s fine. Uh- we should probably finish this assignment.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Kaya agreed, settling back on the mattress as Quil hurriedly gathered the discarded books, papers and pencils that had been swiped off the bedsheets what felt like an eternity ago. “Sorry,” she added, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, flushing deep scarlet. “I didn’t mean to jump you earlier.”
“It’s okay,” he told her, placing the stacked textbooks between them, a protective barrier he hoped. This masquerade was exhausting, and the guilt continued to build the longer the mask was dawned. He wanted more than anything to take it off. Another part of him, regrettably, clung to it like a lifeline, refused to loosen its hold. Too frightened at what might happen if anyone saw what lie underneath.
She smiled, bashful, then leaned forward again to catch his mouth in a quick, chaste kiss. He didn’t so much as move, but Kaya did not notice the way the gesture went unreturned, soulless.
Quil wondered if she ever would notice his detachment, and if then, his facade would end. Even more so, he wondered if it would greet him as liberation or execution.
“Ateara!”
Just the sound of this unwelcome voice caused the teen to slam his locker door shut out of reflex. Quil turned to watch the pair of boys coming down the hall, again from the opposite side. His last period was chemistry, and theirs, thankfully, was history. It just so happened said classroom was at the very back of the building, and yet they still managed to catch him multiple times over the days.
Can’t they take a fucking hint?
“Oh, hey, guys,” Quil faked a smile, his palm still pressed up flat against the metal. “What’s up?”
“Nothin’ much,” Jalen shrugged, Dakota beside him. Their casual demeanor felt false, somehow, Quil noted. They stared him down as if they knew something he did not.
Okay, this is weird.
“Gonna hang today?” Dakota inquired then, his almost black eyes digging into Quil like he could see right through him. He felt exposed all of a sudden, in the emptying corridor where school was letting out. Mom will be here, soon.
“I can’t,” Quil was quick, almost too swift in his immediate sinking of their request, “I gotta work later. Sorry.”
“Kaya said you were off today.” This was Jalen, hands in the front pocket of his red hoodie, nonchalant.
Quil’s eyes widened, fumbled around in the corners of his mind for another white lie to force down their throats, but he knew he had been caught and that they certainly would not be swallowing.
Before he could utter a word, Dakota was speaking again, asking, “How is everything with Kaya, anyway?”
“Fine,” his answer came out clipped. She had left the school already, meeting up with some of her friends for a sleepover, so she had said.
“Really?” Jalen questioned, quirking an eyebrow as his eyes flicked to Dakota on the right of him.
“Yeah, really. What’s it to you, anyway?” Quil felt the familiar bubbling of anger rising in his chest, squaring his shoulders.
“Nothin’,” Jalen was quick to back off, lips turning into an exaggerated frown. “Just curious.”
Quil felt like a snared animal, lured, backed into a corner of the woods and staring down the gleam of a sharp blade.
“You know,” Dakota started, and Quil’s attention turned to him once more, “we talked to Sophia.”
It took everything for Quil to steal his expression, holding the scowl in place as if skin turned to stone, rather than let it slip into the horror he truly felt upon hearing these words, which would most certainly match his heartbeat that was beginning to spike.
“And you know, it was kinda weird what she said, so then we thought hmm,” Jalen tapped his chin, feigning deep thought as he stared off to the side of himself, “maybe we should talk to Olivia.”
“So,” Dakota breathed sharply through his teeth, “we did. And get this, man,” he gestured with his hands as he spoke, “what she had to say about you was even weirder.”
“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Quil forced out. Just leave me alone.
“Really? Wow, Jalen, he must have amnesia.”
Laughter. This, the pulsing of blood rushing to his ears, and the panicked voice in the back of his mind. That was all Quil thought he could hear. Shutupshutupshutup!-
“Sophia told us that you guys never even dated,” Dakota chuckled to himself, wiping at the corner of his eye because apparently it was too amusing. “And Olivia? She didn’t even know your name.” He burst into a loud, snorting snicker. “She was all like, ‘who the hell is Quil?’,” he mocked in a high, sneering voice.
“Whatever,” Quil finally found his voice again, his face gone wine-red with anger and some stinging humiliation. He bent down to grab his bag where it sat by his feet, slinging it over one shoulder. “I don’t have time for this.”
He stepped to move past the two of them, and they in turn shifted to block him.
“What the fuck? Get out of my way,” he told them, voice rising, head pulled back as if to look down upon them despite the fact they both were slightly taller than him.
“Woah, calm down,” Jalen pulled his hands from his hoodie’s pocket, motioning for Quil to lower his voice. “We just came to give you this.” One hand popped back into the length of the pocket, and then out again, bringing with it a square, folded piece of notebook paper.
The classmate held it out in a pinch, and Quil tore it from his fingertips, glaring at the both of them.
“What the fuck is this?” he asked, voice shaking, but as he unfolded it, he knew exactly what it was. He tried to tell himself that couldn’t be the case, but as his eyes scanned the page, the faded and smeared ink of an unsent letter, there was no denying it. Cool panic ran along his skin, manifested the goosebumps on his forearms.
“We just thought you might want it back,” Dakota shrugged, but Quil wasn’t even listening, couldn’t even register what the other had said as he read his own penmanship, mouth gone dry and slightly open in complete disbelief. I burned this! I- didn’t I?! How the fuck did they find this?! HOW?!
No answers came to his aid, only the shade of his pen put to paper in his hands. The horrible truth of his secret, out now.
Embry
I miss you. Way more than I should. I know I ruined everything between us. I know I made everything really weird when we were drunk and I just wish I could take it back. I know you don’t feel that way about me. I’m such an idiot for even thinking you wanted to kiss-
Quil stopped reading, felt the blood draining from his face and the sweat beginning to seep from his skin through the pores. He didn’t need to continue, he knew exactly what he had written, the first of many letters he had addressed to Embry since. Quil could have cried right there in the hallway, but he wouldn’t let them see him in such a state. They had seen enough, already.
“You know, I kinda figured Embry was a queer, but I didn’t really take you for one.”
Quil reeled back, as if slapped right across the face, the sting of that word felt at a core level. He thought about hitting them, considered trying to fight them both right there against the locker-lined wall just for mentioning Embry’s name at all, and in such a degrading context. But instead, he shoved past them forcefully.
“Fuck you,” Quil spat, clenching his teeth as he made his way down the hall. “I’m not a fucking queer.” He pleaded with himself not to turn back around and slam one of their heads into a metal locker door.
“I bet you want to, but no thanks. I’m not into dudes.”
“We promise not to tell Kaya!”
He didn’t know which one had said what, told himself only to keep walking, to not make a scene. Quil was grateful for two things: that Jacob nor Embry were around to hear any of this, and lastly, that he had made it out of the school without knocking one of their teeth out.
Tonight was a rarity, or it felt like such anyway, as Embry pulled out his chair at the round kitchen table. He was off from patrol, his mother had worked an early Saturday morning shift, and they were free now to sit down and enjoy a home cooked dinner. He had even helped, or tried to anyway, which was more difficult than he had anticipated in such a cramped kitchen.
The walls had remained an off white, the same lack of color they had been since the house was moved into; the mother and son never did have the money or the time to paint it something else. Tiffany had pushed him out of her way over and over, with only one long counter space at her disposal to prepare the food. All the while she commented how much he was growing, as well as how he was eating out the entire pantry.
“I swear, it’s like you’ve grown a couple inches,” she had sighed, stirring the stew in its large silver pot, left simmering on the stove eye.
“Or you’re just shrinking,” he had replied, giggling as she swatted at him with a dish towel clutched in her free hand. Of course he could have easily dodged her playful attack, but he allowed his mother to switch at him. He missed these domestic moments, wanted to savor it whenever they came.
“I’m not that old yet!” she giggled along with her son, pulling one of the drawers open for a fork, finding the deer meat tender and potatoes not too soft, but just perfect.
“Nah, I’m just growing,” he shrugged, moving out of her way. She had ladled the stew into two bowls, carried them to the set table while Embry brought the bread and drink.
“I wish you’d stop,” Tiffany had replied, “I swear it was just yesterday when you were learning to walk. Then I blink and you’re a foot taller than me.”
“I’ll try to stop time for you, mom.”
Embry had tried to chop the onions and carrots into fine pieces and even slices, but Tiffany had taken the knife right out of his hand, and pulled the wooden cutting board in front of herself instead. You’re gonna cut your fingers off, she had said.
Mom, I’m not gonna kill myself, he had objected, watching her precise movements. He had to admit she was far more skilled at this. Quil, too, could give him a run for his money. Embry reminded himself to stop thinking about him, but the more he did so, the more thoughts pertaining specifically to Quil came.
I know that, baby, but as long as you’re in my house I will be running this kitchen. Pretty soon you won’t need me to cook for you anymore. She had sounded forlorn, then, eyes on the carrots held in place between her fingers.
Sure I will, he told her. You know I can’t cook. I’ll starve without you.
One day you’ll meet a girl and get married and then you’ll have a family of your own. I’ll wake up and wonder where the time went before long. It seems like it gets faster and faster.
Embry hadn’t known what to say to such a proclamation, the way she had said it so absolutely. He knew this was expected of him, of course, but he also was aware that such an event would never happen. Not for him, and most certainly not for people like him.
His prolonged silence had caused Tiffany to look up at him, pausing mid slice.
No one is ever gonna beat your cooking, mom, he had complimented her after a moment, and she smiled, tired and older looking than her years from time spent hard at work providing, but genuine all the same.
So they ate over the kitchen table, and they laughed and Embry continued to thank his mother for the meal, raving about how great it was. And for a moment, it felt almost like it had before his world was turned over on its side like a spilt glass of water. Back before he knew monsters were a reality, and not just a childhood fantasy that Quil and his innate fearlessness had chased away, walking stick collected in the woods brandished like a sword.
This particular memory didn’t cause Embry to recoil as if burned by the present, thinking back to all their time spent in the woods surrounding the reservation. They had at once pretended to be going on mythical journeys like the characters in The Lord of the Rings, one of Quil’s favorite fantasy series, and what he even with years tacked on, continued to insist was one of the best stories ever written. Embry couldn’t necessarily disagree with his judgement, either. However, he did disagree with the fact Quil stated that Embry was Frodo and himself, Sam. Perhaps Quil’s childish mind had been right on the money, though, he thought now. They collected long stick like branches, straight enough to use like walking staffs, and these were their precious swords that would protect them in orc territory.
Quil, adventurous and brave as ever at twelve and a half (and he always added the half with pride), tied a raggedy dark bath towel his mother would have thrown out around his neck and called it his cloak. Embry would have done the same, but he instead insisted on carrying his backpack he had filled with apples, juice boxes and his prized first aid kit. Quil insisted on exploring the woods barefoot like the protagonists written in the pages of his beloved series, which was his first mistake, for he cut and blistered his feet up badly against the forest floor. Unfortunately, he did possess the need for shoes unlike the hobbits, which he found rather disappointing. And the towel he had dawned over his shoulders, corners knotted ‘round his neck, had caught and snagged on a lowly branch, and as he tugged himself free he had slipped and stumbled down a tiny slope and rolled to a stop in the dead leaves and twigs.
Embry had rushed to his side at once, sat him up and found his bare knee that had been badly scraped, as far as he considered. He had worried over it immensely, shrugged his book bag free from his narrow shoulders and taken his first aid kit in his hands with care, which was really just a small plastic casing with many different bandaid sizes, Neosporin, and wipes. Even still, he was precise wiping at the blood seeping from raw skin on Quil’s kneecap, and delicate applying the antibiotic ointment. Once the wide bandaid had been sealed to clean skin, Embry had leaned over it and pressed a gentle kiss on top of it, because his mother always did this whenever he hurt himself, and he had done so many times with Quil before. This time, however, was different as Quil stared at him, sitting on the ground, one knee drawn up and the other leg stretched flat. Something about this time had felt so much heavier, and for the first time, Embry had a sense of fear that he had done something truly wrong, some act he was not allowed to commit. Quil had never said a thing, only stared before picking himself up off the forest floor, and Embry never did try to kiss any kind of wound better that he obtained after that.
Embry had only been twelve then, but he knew what happened to boys that kissed other boys, and he knew as well that it wasn’t normal. Sickeningly, he had thought even, that Quil might have considered him strange, but neither of them ever brought it up again, and so the event faded to memory only, buried with time.
“Baby?” Tiffany asked, watching her son staring into space from across the table. He blinked, the glazed over look subsiding, and hummed in acknowledgment. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he answered, finishing what little remained of his dinner. Tiffany did not quite believe this, but she did not press the issue. The night unfolded around them, and soon the leftovers were placed in the fridge, and the dishes freshly washed, which Embry presently dried with the same towel she had been jokingly swatting him with earlier in the evening.
“Alright, I’m gonna get to bed,” she yawned, knowing the hours would slip by quickly with sleep, bringing with it her early morning shift. She couldn’t afford to take days off. “Don’t stay up too late, Embry.”
“I won’t. G’night,” her son replied, gave her a squeezing side hug as he continued drying the large silver pot. Tiffany bid her boy a goodnight, and retired to her room at the back of the single story home. Embry knew she liked to wear earplugs to bed, to help herself sleep. He wiped the water clean in absentminded movements, glancing up at the window over the kitchen sink. The moon shone bright and vivid through the trees beyond the glass.
Half an hour had ticked by, and Embry was just about to turn out the lights and leave the kitchen when he heard it. A distress signal from one of his pack members.
The repetitive howls had woken Quil as well, whom shot upright in his mother’s bed, startled and blinking rapidly in confusion. He groaned, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and turned to look at the alarm clock on her nightstand. Glowing red numbers shined back at him in the darkness. 12:00.
Quil sighed, flopped back down in bed, curling up next to his mother who was fast asleep, wondering if his grandfather had come home by now from a late called council meeting. It was midnight, the beginning of a new day; his father’s death anniversary. He had been in his own room, and would have stayed there had it not been for Joy’s sobs that seemed to echo throughout the upstairs of their family home. He knew she was trying to stifle them, and after listening to the wails and desperate gasps for air, he decided to get out of his own bed and pad sock-footed down the hallway to her room. He had entered and crawled into bed with her without a word, curling up under the covers and reaching out an arm to throw over her shuddering form.
“Go back to bed, hon,” she had told him, wiping at her dampened face which did nothing to help with the tears never-ending.
“Nah, I wanna stay with you,” he had replied, “go to sleep, mom. Dad is watching over us. Everything’s gonna be alright.” He rubbed her back until eventually, she drifted off, dreaming and peaceful. Most times, he pretended not to hear her grieving, but this time, he just hadn’t been able to bear listening through the walls of his bedroom.
He had made a promise to himself to try and do better, for her sake.
Quil listened to the distinct howling of wolves somewhere far off in the distance, slow blinking and bleary. It was unusual, painful, emotive and continuous. He wondered sleepily if one had been separated from its pack, or if maybe it had been wounded, until eventually, the sounds ceased altogether. Strange as it was, it felt almost like it had been figment of his lingering dreams only. Once more, he put his arm over his mother’s form, secured the blankets around the both of them, and joined her in a returning slumber, though his was far more restless.
Chapter 9: When the Heartache Ends
Notes:
I apologize for the long wait for an update, but it’s finally here! I’ve gotten very sidetracked and just didn’t have the time or the drive to write, but I finally finished this chapter! This one is pretty Jacob centric, but I hope you all enjoy nonetheless!
Chapter Text
It had begun pouring hard not long after he left her.
The earth squelched under his sluggish footsteps, rain beating down over Jacob’s already sodden figure. His head was bowed facing the ground, long hair swaying back and forth with each heavy stomp he took and clinging to his face and neck in drenched black ribbons. The ground turned to mud and puddles of dark water beneath his sneakers, which sunk into the mixture every step he took toward the little red house. The air was frigid due to the shower, but the teenager wouldn’t have noticed, for he felt like a furnace was being stoked just under his skin.
This uncomfortable and sudden rise in fever, he found, could be ignored—there was a much more pressing pain he felt was in need of nursing.
Jacob let out a shaky breath, bringing both palms up to his chest, pressing them both flat over one another as if they possessed the power to repair his splintering heart. He could feel the familiar pricking at his eyes, the slight tremble of his bottom lip, which he bit down on to cease the movement of. This attempt to stop from crying did not last long, however, because soon Jacob Black was a sobbing mess, stumbling through slush and pulled up blades of grass that stuck to the soles of his shoes and the frayed bottoms of his presently wet jeans. He wasn’t far from the porch when he decided to turn around. Making his way past the Rabbit and toward his garage, he was thankful that at least no one was around to hear or see him. The rain, too, helped to drown out the noise.
Surely his father was asleep by now.
He didn’t need the added embarrassment, as if being promptly rejected by the only girl he had ever loved and then running out of the movie theater wasn’t a bad enough way to end his Saturday night.
I can’t take this anymore.
It wasn’t really the rejection, it was the why that hurt more than anything else. Seeing, hearing Bella tell him she was broken beyond repair, that she would never be alright again—this was what really cut deep, right to the heart of him. Jacob knew that Bella was wonderful, kind, deserving, but hearing her speak about herself in such an unloving way was a type of pain he found hard to bear. The idea that she could never love again, that she could never want to actually live again, it was an idea that hurt him more than just about anything.
Doesn’t she know how much I love her? Doesn’t she understand that she deserves to be happy?
The voice in the back of his head answered with a swiftness: no. Of course she didn’t know, of course she didn’t understand. That had been taken away from her by someone who never truly loved her, this much Jacob knew.
Tears streamed waterfalls down his flushed cheeks, seemingly never ending under the full moon’s rich light. His long black lashes bathed in it, glistened under the moonlight.
Do you want to see a movie this weekend? Jacob could hear Bella’s question ringing in his ears, it’ll be fun.
He had come over to Charlie’s place to spend time with her; the two of them had made plans seeing as Quil had been with Kaya. Of course, Jacob was happy just to sit and do homework with her, but her asking him to see a movie with her was elating, even if she had mentioned other friends being there. As it turned out, only Mike had shown, but the details of the night’s outing and the awkwardness that ensued were lost on him in the wake of heartbreak.
Jacob felt sick to his stomach. Whether he was really coming down with something or not, he wasn’t sure. Halfway to the shed, he had stopped, bent over and braced his hands upon both knees. His heart thumped dully in his chest, fleeting twinges a reminder that the girl he loved above all else would not allow him to help her. What a horrible fate to be dealt, to watch someone turn into a shell right before your eyes. And you want to help, you do, but they don’t want to get better. With everything they have in them, they refuse to just live.
You can’t help someone who doesn’t want it. You can’t save anyone. I can’t help her if she won’t let me.
And his tears blurred his vision entirely, falling and mixing with the rain.
But I could try. I can still try.
Steadying himself, he stumbled over toward the door, the sobs that racked his chest only making the ever present ache which resided there grow that much larger. And it was when he had been reaching for the door handle, that multiple things had happened in a rapid succession. First came the sound of his voice contorting from a cry to something guttural and anguished, drawn out and mourning. The second was the convulsion that ran up his spine and through each limb, along with the unfathomable pain, which only caused his yelps to grow louder and more frequent.
It felt like being blown apart in a white hot burst, and then pulled tautly back together almost instantly, all misaligned and shredded.
This was how Billy had heard his son, and rushed to call the Ateara landline. This was how Old Quil had discovered the teen in the dead of night, rushing out of his family house and not with ease. His grandson had woken up when the phone rang, had made his way downstairs from Joy’s room, door creaking as he had opened it. Quil had rubbed the sleep from his eyes, watched his grandfather layer himself in jackets, and asked what was going on, why the sudden rush.
Where are you going? It’s half past eleven, Quil had said, rubbing the back of his neck in a tired daze. Is everything okay?
Emergency Council meeting, don’t worry about it. Go back to bed, he had told him, and left without another word.
Whimpering, shaking and cowering against the makeshift shed of his garage was Billy Black’s son, the red of his coat illuminated by the flashlight’s beam that Old Quil shone on him through the drizzle. And of course, there was the difference of his body, a massive wolf nearly as large as Sam’s.
Jacob Black had finally phased.
It was nearing midnight by mere minutes when the pack finally showed up. This, of course, did nothing to actually calm Jacob down. He began crying out desperately, then, emotive and in a continuous loop despite Old Quil’s assurances and the other’s presence. Billy looked on at the scene from the porch, lights on and hands gripping the cool metal of his wheelchair at the armrest. He wanted to be with his son, but Old Quil had thought it best if he stay back, so there he remained, an onlooker as they tried to calm him, wrangle him.
Embry had felt the pain before he had heard it in Jacob’s howls. He had approached already phased like the rest of his pack, a couple of minutes after they arrived. It unfortunately took longer for him to properly sneak out of the house, especially given the fact he had not been planning to. His mom plugging her ears to sleep definitely made this feat easier, though. This much he was thankful for.
Jacob, none of us are here to hurt you.
I can’t get him to be still!
Maybe you should give him space, you’re freaking him out, man! Remember how Embry was?
Embry had heard Jacob’s questioning voice ring through his mind seconds later, after Jared mentioned his name. He passed Old Quil, his head bowed low to the ground and his steps slow and soft against the wet, mushed earth. And as he lifted his large head to glance at the elderly man, he thought for a moment that he saw a look akin to sorrow cross his wrinkled face.
Move, Embry had said, then, pushing Jared and Paul aside to his right, away from the shed’s wall. Sam remained on his left, stopping what he was in the process of telling Jacob at the sight of Embry’s wolf.
Let me talk to him, he told Sam, as he came up to Jacob’s side, who was presently still huddled against the garage, continuing his broken howls until suddenly, he stopped completely. Perhaps it was the shock of it all, or maybe Embry’s presence really had calmed him, he couldn’t have been sure in the moment.
Embry? Jacob asked, finding the courage to make eye contact. The voice in Embry’s mind sounded horrified, yet strangely hopeful all the same.
Yeah, it’s me, was all Embry could think to say back. Sam had told him since his initial phase that Jacob was soon to follow, but he had not been expecting it to be this sudden. Truth be told, he doubted any of them expected it to come so soon after his own phase. Unfortunately, this all seemed entirely unpredictable. He wasn’t sure what to say, now that the secret was out.
Let’s give them some space, Sam had ordered Jared and Paul away, and Old Quil had followed them in silence back toward the porch of the Black’s family home when they made their leave.
Thanks, Sam, Embry had said, watching their slow stroll toward the porch that Billy stayed put on.
Is this real? Am I going crazy?
You’re not crazy, Embry consoled him, sitting down by Jacob’s side, and then stretching into a laid position that was more comfortable. Trust me, I know how you feel. I was the same way when it happened to me. Actually, I was probably worse, if we’re being honest.
Embry lifted his large head to look at Jacob after a moment had passed, only to find his friend already staring at him. His deep set eyes felt as if they were burning holes through him. It was silent a moment more, and then:
Is this why? Is this why you cut me and Quil off for no reason? The fact he didn’t physically speak did not stop the pain, and the anger, from drenching his voice when he asked an array of questions.
I didn’t want to. Embry hadn’t meant to sound so defensive in his response, but he couldn’t help it. You know I wouldn’t do this willingly, right, Jake? You and Quil are my best friends! I love-
He stopped himself, and grew quiet, the walls of his consciousness drawn up high as he almost always kept it.
Silence, again.
Jacob could feel a foreign remorse seeping into his shifted body, sense the desperation, and under that, the heartache that was not unalike his own. The intensity of it felt bottomless, like faltering atop the edge of a great precipice. Bracing for the fall, the impact. He could tell his friend was not far from breaking down, if the emotions he felt coming from him were any indication.
I’m sorry, Embry said flatly, and the sensation of his words entering Jacob’s head was peculiar, disconnected from his own train of thought which had only begun to race faster as the minutes dragged. I wanted to tell you. I couldn’t. You need to understand, I just couldn’t.
This feels weird, was all Jacob had stated in response. The other pack members thoughts save for Sam’s too invaded his psyche, flittering and half formed as if he couldn’t quite grasp them, beating like the wings of a hummingbird, too swift to observe let alone keep track of.
But Embry, his felt steady. In a strange way, Jacob was relieved, to have a friend here.
I know, Embry’s tone had carried the sound of an airy laugh along with it, you’ll get used to it. Give it a week.
Are you sure I’m not losing my mind? Jacob asked, and Embry knew he was only half joking by the way his question formed in his mind. He was trying to keep this light. To stop himself from losing it like he had been, and it was taking most of his effort.
I wish we were, was what Embry replied. I know this is all a lot to take in. I still have trouble. I know you probably feel alone, Jake. This wasn’t an assumption on Embry’s part, either, but you’re not. I know how you feel, and I can help you. We all can.
Jacob made no response, but he dipped his muzzle down to rest atop his outstretched front legs and leaned into his friend’s side to let him know he’d been heard, the rain continuing its drizzle.
Tap, tap.
Jacob could hear the coffee dripping into the pot from where he stood in the kitchen, back against the counter. His arms were crossed over his chest, a thin towel over his shoulders that Embry had used to help dry him off.
It had been a couple of hours since Jacob had successfully phased back. They had all been surprised and glad to find it took Jacob little time to figure out how to change back. A little over an hour since the rest of the pack agreed to leave the Black property to give the father and son a moment of privacy. Part of Jacob had not wanted Embry to leave, but he hadn’t voiced this. Old Quil had stayed quite a bit longer, brewing fresh coffee as the sun began to crack over the horizon, setting the clouds alight in a soft yellow and pink glow. He had shared a cup with Billy, had explained things to Jacob. Well, more like attempted to. Embry had already given Jacob a rundown, and then Sam once his friend had successfully gotten him out of his position against the garage.
Old Quil, Embry, and Sam each had given him pieces of information, and this was all good and fine, but Jacob wanted to hear it from his father. Wanted an explanation, a reason, a justification. And maybe under that, he had wanted his father to tell him this was just a really bad dream he was having, even if he knew these words wouldn’t come.
The coffee dripped slow and quiet, maybe once every thirty seconds now, and Jacob held his arms around himself in the kitchen as he listened to Old Quil finally make his leave.
“I hope they haven’t woken up, yet.”
This was what he had said as he left their house, and Jacob felt anger bubbling under the surface, and then pity. He thought of Embry, and then Quil, and then the lies being forced down Quil’s throat by people he trusted. And almost unwillingly, he thought of himself, and how he was going to be made to do the same thing to him. And Bella… what was he supposed to do?
I can’t tell her, he thought, wearing his lips into a frustrated line. Jacob brought his palms up to his face, covering his eyes, pressing the heel into them like it could make everything stop. Truly, he just wanted everything to pause. Behind his eyelids, his vision began to turn white. I can’t see her. I told her I wasn’t going to leave her, now look at me? What am I supposed to do?
It was the sound of Billy clearing his throat that brought Jacob from his constant ruminating.
Jacob lifted his head, dropping his hands back to his sides as he turned toward the noise. His father was there, in the entryway that connected the kitchen and living room. Something about the way his shoulders sagged and the exhausted look covering every line of his face made Jacob stop from spiraling in rage. He could have screamed, then, but he didn’t. He considered he had much to scream about. Didn't he?
Without a word, Jacob approached his father from where he sat in his wheelchair, took the empty coffee mug from his hand and placed it in the sink. He turned the faucet, rinsing the dish in silence. To say the house had an uncomfortable energy enveloping it would be an understatement.
“Jacob,” Billy said, his name leaving his mouth like a wary sigh.
“What?” he asked, voice clipped and eyebrows furrowed close together as he shut off the water and placed the mug on the drying rack beside the sink. His large hands curled around the counter’s edge, glaring at nothing in particular. So many questions swirled in his mind, perhaps the most pressing of which was: why?
“I’m sorry, son,” was what his father answered with. Such a choice of words broke the dam.
“You’re sorry?!” Jacob yelled suddenly, snapping his head to the side to fix his glare on Billy instead, someone that in that specific moment Jacob felt truly deserved it. His knuckles were turning white around the wood. “That’s all you have to say, dad? You’re sorry?”
The sound of cracking caused Jacob to look down, and he released his grip around the countertop then, a large split nearly at its edge where his fingertips had dug in. Jacob backed away to the center of their small kitchen, gaping at his palms, and then looking back at his father in fear. Jacob wasn’t just scared, he was truly horrified. To know his body was changing like this, that he had no grasp on what he could do now. It was overwhelming.
Billy said nothing, turning his head to the side to try and hide the sadness that lingered in his dark, tired eyes.
“I just,” Billy shrugged, “I wanted you to have a normal childhood. You and your sisters.”
Normal, Jacob sneered in his head. He had half a thought to say this aloud, but looking at his father now, seeing how small and upset he seemed, dissipated whatever anger and bitterness that still fizzled in his stomach.
“Do they know?” Jacob asked next, knowing the answer before Billy even told him.
“No, of course not.” Billy shook his head, finally looking back at his son, daring to hold his gaze. “The Tribal Council wanted this to be kept a secret. We thought it was for the best-“
“Well, secret’s out now, dad! The legends, all of it is true? It’s really true?”
Billy nodded grimly, growing silent for a moment.
“It skipped two generations,” Billy said, “like we told you. Your great grandfather-“
“Was like me, I know. You told me.”
Jacob knew he likely didn’t have all of the information, but try as he might he couldn’t help the sense of betrayal he felt. To know his own father hid such a big, such an unfathomable secret from him his entire life. A secret that wasn’t only affecting him, but would surely impact everyone he loved. It already was, he had to remind himself of this fact.
“How could you keep this from me, dad?” At that moment, he didn’t seem so much like a teenager that towered over most people, but like a small child. Lost, confused, distrustful. “You lied to me. To Quil? You all hid this from us! We were so worried about Embry, and you all kept him away from us!”
“We never expected him to turn,” Billy confessed to the open kitchen, “believe me, Jacob. We never wished this on him. Not on any of you. We hoped that it would skip your generation, too. We wanted all of you to grow up in a normal environment.”
“Why now?” Jacob asked, letting out a heavy breath. His thoughts were racing so fast it felt impossible to keep up. “Why did Embry and I change now? Why did it skip generations?”
Billy was silent for a long stretch of time, unsure if he should continue. Eventually, he caved, and answered with a simple, “The Cullens.”
Jacob had tried to brace himself for the explanation, but this? It was simply too much to take in, and far too quickly. Like rapid fire, questions pressed forward in his mind, of the Cullens, of Bella, of what they really were. Of why they were here, on their land. Worst of all, the question of what they wanted from her.
“What?” was all Jacob managed to croak out, horrified.
“The cold ones, from the legends,” Billy considered stopping their conversation here, but the pleading look in his only son’s eyes pressed him forward. “They are them. There’s others, that aren’t like them. That feed on humans. Sam believes they are after something. They have been coming onto our land, ever since the Cullens left town.”
The Cullens were the cold ones, blood suckers, monsters, vampires.
What did they want with Bella? Why did they leave? Bella… Bella knows. She has to know, right? There’s no way she doesn’t know. She didn’t tell me, this whole time she’s been lying to me-
Jacob spoke then, halting his relentless thoughts. “They brought them here?” The rage was bubbling once more.
“We don’t know that. Sam was certain the couple they have spotted aren’t Cullens. They come and leave. He isn’t sure what they want. That’s why he has them doing rounds across the land.”
The truth, Jacob already knew. Deep in the pit of his stomach, enough to make him feel sick. If the Cullens had taken interest in Bella, then surely others like them had, as well. What else could it be?
“I think I might know what they’re after.”
Quil lay in the comfort of his room, cocooned in the soft green quilt he had kept for years. The sunlight was dimming on the horizon, touching the warm yellow walls of his room through his cracked blinds and transforming the paint into a soft buttery olive. He let out an aggravated sigh as he turned the page of the book he read, irritated with the main character’s choice of actions.
“Maybe if you would let him help you,” he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes at the character’s arrogance. He curled further into the warmth of the quilt, comfortably dressed in sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt.
From downstairs, he heard the landline ringing. Twice it did, before his mother picked up the call with a friendly greeting.
“Ateara residence,” she spoke into the phone, her voice muffled as she walked around the living room area. It was a Friday, and more than anything, Joy was just happy to be off of work and to have her son at home for the weekend. She knew it was irrational to hope for such a thing, but she felt like in the safety of their home, he would be spared from changing. Like Embry Call had, like Jacob Black. And she knew it was selfish to wish for, but she couldn’t help it. Quil’s grandfather had told her the news the day of, when Quil had been asleep.
Quil groaned to himself, laying the hardback open against his chest. He stared up at the ceiling, tracing its texture with his eyes absentmindedly until a knock came from the other side of his bedroom door.
“Yeah?” he asked, his head rolling lazily to the side to see his mother entering. Her hair was down today, tucked behind her ears. She, much like her son, had changed into comfortable clothes for the evening.
“There’s a girl on the phone asking for you, hon,” she told him, holding the black cordless landline against her chest to muffle the noise from her end of the call.
“I really don’t wanna talk to her,” Quil replied, squeezing his eyes shut.
Of course Kaya would call again, today. She had been calling the house every day for a week, always asking when they could hang out, wanting to know when he was free from work shifts, whether they could do homework together. Quil knew he shouldn’t ignore her calls, and even more so he knew he should end things now rather than later, but he couldn’t seem to find the courage to do so. Ever since that day at school, when Jalen and Dakota had confronted him, he had withdrawn more and more into himself. Part of it was fear, that maybe they really had told her the truth. The other side of himself, the logical side, knew they hadn’t. Surely she would have said something had they done so. Above all of this, though, he just wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. After all, there were only so many excuses he could give her.
“I think you should,” Joy told him, offering him a small smile, “she told me she really wanted to talk to you. Sounds important.”
Holding the phone out to him, Quil took it from her outstretched hand with a pensive sigh.
“Dinner will be ready in a couple hours,” she informed him.
“Thanks, mom,” he replied, keeping the phone at his collarbone. Quil watched her leave, shutting the door with her, before he let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. He sat up, slouching and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey, Kaya. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to answer your calls lately,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Quil, it’s me,” the caller said from the other side of the line, a faint crackle of the call heard as they moved the phone, “it’s Bella.”
“Bella?” Relief washed over him. “Oh! Hey, what’s up?”
“Nothing, really…” Bella trailed off, and the line went silent for a moment. “Um, I was just calling because, well, have you heard from Jake?” she asked, and Quil didn’t need to see her to know she was clearly worried. He could hear it in her voice.
“Jake? Not in a week or so. He hasn’t been to school in a couple weeks, now. I called, but his dad says he has mono.”
“That’s what he told me, too,” came her reply on the other end.
Quil had thought it was weird at the time, how his grandfather had come back home early in the morning in the middle of breakfast. And Quil had asked him again if everything was all right, but he was assured that there was nothing to worry about. So, with Jacob not returning to school and his mother telling him the same, he had let it go and decided not to question further. The last person that would lie to him was his mother, this was what he believed.
“Well, I did talk to him last week. He sounded sick,” Quil offered, recalling the brief phone call he had had with Jacob. Honestly, the call had been so short lived that he hadn’t had the time to inquire much of anything from Jacob, but hearing his voice had put him at ease almost entirely. Almost. He had called the Black home twice since then, just to check up on him, but it was Billy whom had always answered the phone.
“I’m worried, Quil,” Bella admitted, “you said you spoke to him?”
“Yeah, I did. It was only for a minute or so. Billy isn’t sure when he’ll be able to come back to school.”
Another pause.
“Well,” there was hesitation in her voice as she spoke, “what are you up to?”
“Nothing, really,” Quil told her, “I was just reading before you called.”
“Oh, I’m sorry if I interrupted-“
“Nah, don’t worry about it, Bella. I haven’t gotten to hang with you in a bit. It’s nice to just talk.”
Quil looked up at his window from across where he sat on his bed, at the sun sinking into the horizon.
“Well, do you wanna hang out, then? Maybe this weekend if you don’t work? I’m free.”
Quil found himself nodding before she had even finished speaking. “Yeah, I’m off this weekend, too. I don’t guess we’re finishing that round of Monopoly any time soon without Jake, though.”
“I’d win, anyway,” she laughed through the phone.
“In your dreams,” Quil scoffed, “I was beating both of you with ease.” Despite himself he smiled at the memory, though it felt so long ago, now.
“Right,” he could practically see her rolling her eyes. “So I can come by your place tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure thing.”
Another ten minutes of conversation stretched on between them, as they agreed on a time and plans, before either hung up. And as Quil pressed the end call button, he found himself smiling. He had missed Bella, missed their group hangouts with Jake, and he supposed the both of them were looking to hold onto normalcy now. Underneath that, he didn’t want to think that perhaps the both of them had been left behind, forgotten about for reasons unknown to them. This thought, he could do without. Losing Embry had been enough. Jacob would come back to school soon, and everything would be fine. He had to force himself to believe that much.
Chapter 10: Heartsblood
Notes:
Lyrics from Shrike by Hozier!
Chapter Text
I was housed by your warmth, thus transformed
By your grounded and giving and darkening scorn
Remember me, love, when I’m reborn
As the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn
“Oh, I almost forgot.”
Bella reached for her bag she had dropped on the floor beside the bed when she’d first come over, unzipping it and rummaging through its contents.
“Did you finish it?” Quil asked, watching as she pulled the paperback from the pouch. It was an old, beat up copy he had picked up from work weeks ago. Its bright red cover had caught his eye, popping against blander colors in its designated section, and he had pulled it from the shelf and eyed its thin blue lettering.
“Yeah,” she nodded, smiling, “didn’t take me long, it was pretty short.” As Quil took the paperback from her fingers, she reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear with her free hand.
“Yeah, it is pretty short,” Quil agreed, running his index finger over the scuffs of the front cover, the bended upper hand corner, before flipping through the pages absentmindedly. “Thanks for returning it,” he said next, getting up from the edge of his bed and walking over to his bookshelf that was propped along the opposite wall. Wordless, he filed the old copy of Giovanni’s Room back into its empty slot on the middle shelf, where he had recently decided to keep other classic literature.
Quil mostly read fantasy or history, but his part time job at Dogwood Books allowed him an exposure to more genres he wouldn’t have typically found appealing. So, almost unintentionally, he had picked up what most would consider classics here and there as the weeks passed. And of course, Bella had been drawn to his collection of novels immediately the first time she had set foot in his room, like moth to a flame. This was the second day she had come by, having spent almost the entire day yesterday at the Ateara home and today, Sunday, much the same. Joy hadn’t minded, in fact she’d been quite happy to hear Quil was having a friend over, and went on telling Bella she would love if she stayed for dinner tonight as she hadn’t yesterday.
Quil turned then, away from the shelf with other titles such as 1984 and The Picture of Dorian Gray.
“What, did you think I’d lose it?” Bella laughed.
“Well, every time I give Jake a book he takes forever to give it back,” Quil shrugged, thinking of his copy of The Toughest Indian in the World. “Or maybe he just reads slow, I don’t know.”
I’m never seeing that again, he thought, he’s had that for like three months.
“I can read fast if it interests me,” Bella flopped back on the bed, against one of the pillows, staring up at the ceiling in thought. “This one made me…” she grew quiet for some seconds, before finishing, “really sad, actually.”
Quil, like his friend, went silent. It had not been his intention to lend this specific title to her. He hadn’t even wanted anyone in the house to know he owned a copy of it. The words, the story it contained, felt like something scandalous to have, as though if someone saw him with it, it could reveal everything about himself he was trying to hide behind the curtain. His fear, he knew, was bordering on irrational. Of course, his mother had no idea what the book was even about and his grandfather wouldn’t care about some novel containing unconventional romance, much less would he ever even think to look for such a thing in Quil’s bedroom. And Bella? Well, of course Bella wouldn’t think anything of him owning it, would she? She just enjoyed reading like he did, and saw a title that piqued her interest. That was all. She could not see through him with such an insignificant thing.
There’s no way she knows, Quil assured himself, it’s just a book. It doesn’t mean anything.
“Why?” he decided to ask instead of continuing to panic over something so minuscule.
“Because, I think it’s so sad that people aren’t allowed to be themselves.” Her words were so simple, but they struck Quil as if he’d been smacked. He hadn’t been sure what he’d been expecting; maybe for her to dislike the story, or more honestly, to find disgust at the fact the story had much depiction and commentary on homosexuality. He knew this was unfair to assume, but it was so hard to disconnect from, for assumptions like this in his mind kept him safe, undiscovered, and most importantly, unharmed.
Quil dared not to look at her from where he sat on the edge of the mattress, her lying horizontal and facing the ceiling. “I think it’s a commentary on what it’s like not being able to love someone,” he said, and then bowed his head, wishing he hadn’t said anything at all.
“Yeah, I think so, too,” Bella agreed, lifting her head from the pillow to look at Quil, who had lifted his head to chance a glance at her.
“What it can turn people into,” he added, “how it changes them into something they aren’t, or something they don’t want to be.” Something about her agreement made him feel courageous, in a way. Enough to lend his own thoughts, anyway. But what Quil didn’t know, was that Bella too could find relatability within the text, if not for sexuality than for denying oneself love internally. How she too could understand, to an extent, how it felt to feel so utterly alone. Different circumstances, yes, but at its core the same emotion. Just the acknowledgment of such a thing was enough to make her eyes begin to water, as she gazed up at the textured ceiling of his bedroom.
She thought, then, of her last conversation with Jacob. How she had admitted her heart’s feelings, the darkest insecurities she had felt plagued with ever since he left her there, alone and cold and devastated in those woods. The months she had spent by her window, watching life itself slip through her fingers like sand on the beach. The nightmares, the gaping hole that throbbed even still in her chest.
“I’ve felt like that,” she confessed to the open air, breathy yet unexpectedly brave. “Lately, I’ve felt like that.” Lately, she thought, was under selling it a bit.
Emboldened by her admission, Quil spoke again, “Me too.”
“Really?” Bella questioned. “Why? I thought… aren’t you dating that girl, Kaya?” She folded her hands over her abdomen, listened to Quil let out a frustrated sigh, felt his body weight fall back on the mattress. Together, they lay in a backwards L shape, searching the textured white paint above their heads for words, for spirit.
“I guess,” he replied lamely, fanning his arms out, letting his right forearm hang over the end of the bed. “I don’t know, honestly.”
The pair remained in contemplative silence for minutes that seemed to stretch along endlessly. It wasn’t uncomfortable in the slightest.
“Sometimes I feel like there’s something wrong with me.”
It was Quil who had professed this deep rooted belief. He hadn’t been sure what exactly made him feel the need to voice a thought he had living in his mind for so many years, but somehow, he felt as though she might understand. Might even offer acceptance, when he had no one else to tell it to.
“I feel like that all the time,” Bella agreed, “ever since-“ she stopped herself, squeezing her eyes shut tight to remove the images of Edward’s face that seemed seared into her brain. He continued to haunt her. Sometimes she felt desperate to hold onto it, to hold onto this proof he existed. Others, though, she felt a need to get it as far from her being as possible. “Never mind.”
“You can tell me,” Quil offered, “I mean, if you want. I can keep a secret.” Like an afterthought, he wondered if she could do the same.
“Can you?” Her tone was half joking, half forlorn.
“Sure, I have lots,” Quil felt his eyes droop, and then slide closed.
Bella considered this a moment more, and then asked, “Like what?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Quil chuckled, but his heart wasn’t in it. Behind his eyelids, memories came to greet him, so far out of reach these days. “I guess the biggest one is… I don’t feel like I’ll ever really get a chance to love anyone. I think I’m just broken.”
“That’s not true,” Bella was quick to state, sitting up on her hands to peer at him from where he lay across the width of the bed. “Maybe Kaya just isn’t right for you, you know? You’ll find someone, Quil.”
“That’s the problem, I already have, and there’s no way they think of me that way,” he told her, opening his eyes to look at her. There was something deep and knowing in her gaze, then, like she was realizing some great mystery. A flash of understanding behind her brown eyes. Everything felt still, fragile, quiet. One misstep and it would shatter.
“How do you know?” Bella decided her words carefully, had to consider she might be far off from what Quil meant. After all, she hadn’t known him for nearly as long as Jacob, and she did not want to assume for fear of being horribly wrong.
He could be talking about anyone, she reminded herself. But she knew the absence that had been eating at her new friend for multiple months now, the way there seemed to be no light behind his eyes when there once was, even if only for fleeting seconds. He didn’t laugh, or smile or engage like he once had, when they had first become friends. Ever since…
She saw herself reflected.
“I just do,” was all Quil gave her, pushing himself up as well on his forearms to mirror her.
“Kids, dinner is ready!” Joy called from the bottom of the staircase, her voice traveling up the steps and into the upstairs hallway.
“Come on, I’m starving,” Quil said, practically jumping from the bed. Just like that, the moment was gone, and seemingly forgotten. At least, Quil hoped so. He feared he might have said too much.
Monday came with no surprises thus far. Again Quil rose, joined his mother and grandfather for breakfast, made conversation with Joy on his way to school. And like all the weeks prior, Jacob remained absent. A crowd of his peers pulled themselves into varying sizes at present, dotting the empty field during their shared P.E. class, some with their arms crossed and indifferent to the class period, others in conversation. The noise of chatter melted together over the grassy turf.
Jared, Paul and Embry were all present today, which was a rare occurrence as of late, Quil took note of. Typically one or two would be absent now and again.
The student’s gym teacher had ventured back into the building, instructing the kids to simply enjoy what was granted as their ‘free’ day, and that he would be back shortly. Some played games like tag, but the majority used their free time to lounge around in the grass, to enjoy the sun on their skin and the cool breeze that brushed against them. Kaya was speaking to Quil, and he nodded at her words in an effort to appear engaged, but still he continued to glance at Embry and his gang, who were standing some yards away across the field, talking so quietly it was impossible to hear over the ruckus.
I hate you, Embry, the bitterness of this statement popping into his head unwarrantedly might have succeeded in shocking Quil had he not been telling himself this same thing for weeks. He was always quick to follow that up with an I don’t mean that, but as the days piled on, and as the silence between them grew deafening, it became harder for the teen to think so. Especially with the knowledge he had been replaced, and with no explanation.
“Catch!”
Quil flinched at the sudden yell from his side, just as Jalen launched a soccer ball from his hands, which Quil caught right before it could collide with his body. Dakota trailed by Jalen’s side, joining the couple’s one sided conversation on the edge of the field.
Quil said nothing to the two boys, his jaw set and eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Checkered ball between his palms, he uttered a flat and reluctant hey before tossing it back to them. Jalen caught it coolly.
“Wanna play?” Dakota asked, and Quil caught his breath in his throat, looked across the field like it was second nature to seek out his once best friend. He saw Embry’s eyes fly up to meet his as if they operated in sync before his gaze was fleeing again.
“Figured it’d be more fun with three,” Jalen followed up. “You in?”
For a moment, Quil considered telling them to leave him alone, but caught himself before he could so much as utter the words. It wouldn’t be polite, and it would surely raise questions with Kaya. The two of them were already struggling to communicate, all of it Quil’s doing.
“Sure,” Quil agreed, wary, as Jalen dropped the ball to the fresh clipped grass below. Kaya had backed off by now, viewing their game in clear annoyance that she didn’t voice as they kicked the soccer ball around, flying under and past their sneakers. The three of them had traveled now close to the center of the field, engaged in the sport.
“Kaya said you’ve been really busy, what’s up with that?”
The question seemed innocent enough, but Quil knew the biting edge it possessed.
None of your damn business.
“Nothin’,” Quil brushed it off, tried to fix his expression, compose himself. Just focus on the game. “Just been dealing with some stuff.”
“Seems like it.” Dakota had replied with this right before kicking the ball swiftly toward him. “Seems like you couldn’t be bothered with her.”
Quil had just caught the edge of it under the tip of his shoe, focused solely on the soccer ball, when a broad shoulder collided with his, sending him falling to the ground with no time to catch himself. The back of his head smacked into the earth with an audible burst, felt the pain shooting through his skull, the rattle of his brain.
“Oops, my bad,” one of them said in mock apology, he wasn’t sure which in his disoriented state. He blinked rapidly, willed himself to sit up, and found the two of them chuckling amongst themselves. They seemed almost to be towering over him from where he remained on the ground. It felt that way, anyhow.
“Watch it, dude,” he barked then, rubbing the back of his head, wincing at the dull ache that rested there.
He looked up again from under his lashes, his brows pulled close together in pain and face stitched in a grimace. Embry was staring at the three of them intently. A hawk perched on a spindly branch that might take flight. Jared and Paul, too, lingering just behind him, following his attention.
“Are you alright?” Kaya asked the air, concerned from the sidelines.
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” She was too far away to hear him in his low voice, but he replied anyway. Quil moved to push himself up. Dakota had his hand held out before him, in a silent offer to hoist him off the ground. He reached out, only for the other boy to pull away last second.
“Sorry, I don’t want a queer’s hands on me.”
The word was like a knife right to the heart. He looked up at the both of them, stunned, mouth run dry. They began laughing again. It was the only thing Quil could hear at that moment. Self conscious, confused, and on high alert, he pushed himself off the ground, tried to brush the grass stains off of his gray hoodie. Staggering, he tried to walk forward past them and over to Kaya, who was looking on at the three of them in confusion and visible worry. As he took a step, one of them must have put a foot out to trip him, because the next moment he was unstable again, barely stopping himself from toppling over once more.
“Fuck you,” Quil hissed in a half whisper, gritting his teeth, catching his balance. He looked at the both of them over his shoulder, scowling.
“Whatever, faggot.” It was Jalen who had said this, his voice quiet in a way it wouldn’t carry outside of their trio.
Dakota chuckled at that, and Quil turned, an anger rising in him, burning at the edge of his eyelids and flaring his nostrils. His jaw clenched, unclenched. His fingers twitched at his sides, half forming a fist.
“What the fuck did you call me?”
He took one, then two steps, face to face and pressed close toward Jalen, who seemed unbothered, if not a little uncomfortable at such close proximity.
Kaya’s eyes were round saucers orbiting around them. Though she hadn’t made out what each had been saying, it was very clearly turning negative.
“I called you a faggot-“
Quil’s knuckles collided with his face, felt the bone of his cheek just under the flesh and muscle, hard like stone. The boy stepped back, dumbfounded, hand coming up to cover the offended area. His face contorted into one of outrage, and it took but a second or two for him to lunge at Quil. They tumbled to the ground, rolling, and soon a whole crowd of kids swarmed, watching, having taken notice of the altercation breaking out.
Nails dug into the tender flesh of his wrists, his own fingers secured tightly around the collar of the Jalen’s shirt, stretching it thin, releasing only to strike his face once more. They pivoted in the grass, Jalen rolling on top of him. Other high schoolers were watching their quarrel like it was a game, yelling commands.
God worked a spindle turning thread, looking on at the earthly scene with apathy.
Knees pressed firm into Quil’s abdomen, and vaguely, like rousing from sleep, he could hear shrieking and cheering from all directions, enclosing upon him like a dome. Fingers ran through his hair, twisted at the root, and yanked so forcefully he thought it might be ripped right from his scalp. The boy brought Quil’s head up from the ground with swiftness, hovering over him, only to slam it back into the divine dirt. Over and over, and soon enough Quil was beginning to see stars exploding beyond the lids of his eyes. He made a sound as if being strangled, desperately reached up and began trying to claw at the area of the boy’s face that was swelling red and angry just under his left eye. A mangled scream tore through his throat as he heaved the weight on top of him, pinning him. Prey caught in a hunter’s snare.
They rolled once more, and Quil resumed his place atop the other, wasted no time bringing both of his fists down in rapid succession, one after another. A horrible ache beat like a drum against his skull, a band squeezing tightly around his head. And then a pair of arms were hoisting him up from under his armpits, and he flailed around, a salmon trying to slip free from a trapper’s clutches, back to the salt water.
“Let me go!” Quil thrashed, wild, rearing his head back to try and collide it with his captive’s own. He met only open air. The other teen had recuperated from the ground, baring his teeth like a predator ready to sink them into something. “Fuck you! You fucking coward, let me go!”
“You’re dead, Ateara,” he spat, and then fists were knocking the air free from his lungs as they collided with his abdomen. He gasped from the sheer shock of pain, keeled over, a pair of hands hooked under his arms from behind the only thing holding him up. Quil angled his head up just in time to be struck across the face, the force whipping his head to the side. A sudden taste of metal filled his mouth, and he watched it dribble to the grass in long scarlet strands, completely dazed.
Stop! What he believed was his own internal voice broke through the ringing in his ears, a shrill wailing that made the throb at the back of his skull intensify. Stop it! Please stop! Someone help him!
And then he was set free, falling like a rag doll to the dirt, broken. He had half a thought to catch himself and only a second to do so, hands fanned out and colliding with the ground.
“Stop it!” A girl’s crying. Kaya, hands clasped over her mouth in horror, eyes running like a river. Quil registered then that it had been her voice, not his own consciousness.
A loud crack broke through, over the yelping of the audience, and then another and another. He didn’t know for how long this went on, could only hear the faded noise of it like snapping. Quil spit blood, could think to do nothing but stare at the pool of gore in the soil between his dirt covered fingers. Someone laid their hands on him, and he whirled at the unexpected contact, ready to continue the fight.
It was Embry crouched in front of him, hands flying from his shoulders to cradle his face, eyes burning like two raging cinders. Fingers fluttered over his fresh bruised skin like a hummingbird’s wings, quick and hesitant. Quil’s vision was blurred red and sticky, and he reached up, hot liquid pouring down from a gash at the arch of his brow. Vital life staining his fingers raw. He pulled his fingers away from the split flesh, stared down at the blood coating his fingertips.
“Quil? Are you okay?”
Embry’s voice broke Quil’s focus, and he looked up at him then, felt Embry take hold of his shoulders. Glancing at his hands, Quil realized how bloody Embry’s own knuckles were, how stained his hands had gotten. Thoughtlessly, he circled his fingers around Embry’s wrists, kept them on him even as Jared and Paul began yelling beside the both of them. Quil hadn’t even cared to listen to what they were saying, but then Embry was pulling his wrists free from his grip, and finally standing.
“What the fuck, Embry?!” Jared yelled, and in a spaced state, Quil took observation of his surroundings. It was like how water drips, almost, how his hearing came back to him. Little at first and then growing.
Dakota was lying on his side in the grass, yelling in pain, clutching his forearm to his chest. Broken, no doubt. Jalen, his nose undoubtedly busted and pouring blood down his face and onto his shirt. Screaming, crying from other students.
“Let’s go,” Paul said, pushing at Embry’s shoulders in an effort to get him to move. “Come on, man, let’s go! Now!”
This was how Embry left Quil, bleeding but safe. The three of them made a dash for the school, didn’t even bother collecting their book bags, and ditched the rest of the day. When they moved, it was like everything had been suddenly unpaused, and then other students were running for the door too and screaming for an adult, for their teacher.
This was how Quil wound up in an empty classroom supervised by their counselor Mrs. Williams, waiting for his mother to pick him up. The school’s Principal had called home, informed Joy Ateara of the day’s events. Quil didn’t need to hear such a call to know how furious she must have sounded on the other end, being forced to leave work early and with zero notice. True to his belief, she had been furious, and the car ride home was tense and boiling over as his mother gripped the wheel, taking short and fuming glances at him. Quil didn’t dare look at her, kept his eyes glued to the trees that flickered by as they drove.
“Honestly, Quil,” she started her lecture for the third time now, her voice raised and exasperated. “I cannot believe this.”
“I’m sorry,” he said just as he had multiple times before.
“I mean, what were you thinking?! Starting a fight? What has gotten into you?” Joy continued to yell, sounding so foreign to even his own ears. He and his mother hardly ever fought, and she certainly did not yell. “I don’t even know what to do with you, honestly! It’s like I don’t even know you anymore, sometimes! Always locked in your room, starting fights at school now, what’s next? Huh? I did not raise you this way!”
Quil remained silent as his mother continued her ranting, “You are grounded, young man. Until further notice, you’ll stay at home unless you have work. Am I clear?” When he made no response, she went on, “I swear, you’ve never acted this way.”
It was hard to keep his own temper in check. He could feel it rising despite his best efforts.
“Yeah, because I’m the one acting weird,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.
“What was that?” Joy asked, eyes flicking to her son yet again as she turned onto the dirt road that would lead to their family home.
“Like you aren’t acting weird, mom! You and Abá!” his native tongue slipped out, enraged just at the thought of his grandfather who was surely waiting at home right now, probably with a disappointed frown.
Joy scoffed at the accusation, “Quil, honestly-“
“Oh, don’t even, mom! You’ve both been acting so weird for months! Especially granddad! I know he’s keeping things from me! Don’t act like he isn’t,” Quil sunk deeper into his seat as they pulled up to the blue home, “I know he’s been lying to me. I know you both have been. I don’t know about what, but don’t act like I’m this stupid! And Jacob? Is he even sick?!”
The look of pure shock on his mother’s face as she put their car in park was all the confirmation Quil needed, then.
“I knew it,” his voice came out fractured, as if he was on the verge of tears, and maybe he was, “I knew you guys were keeping something from me!”
It hurt, the acknowledgment and the acceptance that he couldn’t trust his grandfather. But what was ten times worse was knowing that he couldn’t trust his own mother. He had been trying so hard to do better, to be more present, to be a better son. The cruel irony, to know it was he who had been getting shut in the dark. Perhaps it was a good thing for him to keep himself locked in his room, after all.
“Quil, please-“ Joy started, reaching out toward her son. He unbuckled his seatbelt as she moved, pushing his door open with haste and slamming it shut again.
“Don’t touch me!” he screamed through the glass, running up the porch steps and into the house, not even waiting for her to turn off the car which was still idling. And just like he envisioned, his grandfather had been sitting in the living room, waiting for them to come home, that frown deep and drenched with so many emotions Quil could hardly place.
Quil stood there by the stairs, holding his grandfather’s gaze for what felt like an eternity, angry and hurt, before stomping his way up the staircase and slamming his bedroom door shut, locking it. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying until he crumbled atop his bed. An hour passed before Joy came knocking on his door, and Quil eventually opened it, informed that she had called Sue Clearwater to the home to check the gash at his brow. Thankfully, she had assured Joy it was not serious, and that he would not need to go to the hospital for further treatment.
Same can’t be said for them, Quil thought, recalling their broken and bloodied forms in the field. They deserved it.
Sue had been kind enough to clean his wound, disinfect and bandage it. She noted a deal of swelling and bruising around his eye, assuring it would go down and to take it easy, as she had put it. Quil had hated being fussed over, but had thanked her as she left. And when night fell, and dinner had been made, he did not leave his room to join them.
Chapter 11: Meet Me in the Woods
Notes:
I am on FIRE with these updates! Sorry, it simply compels me. As always, comments and feedback are always appreciated! Thanks for all the support as I’ve been writing this to all my readers! The lyrics are from the song Meet Me in the Woods by Lord Huron, where the chapter gets its name!
Chapter Text
How long baby have I been away?
Oh, it feels like ages, though you say it's only days
There ain't language for the things I've seen, yeah
And the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams
The truth is stranger than all my dreams
Oh, the darkness got a hold on me
I have seen what the darkness does
Say goodbye to who I was
I ain't never been away so long
Don't look back, them days are gone
Follow me into the endless night
I can bring your fears to life
Show me yours and I'll show you mine
Meet me in the woods tonight
What the hell was that, Embry? Man, I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but I think we should.
Will you drop it already? Embry was well past irritable by now, shrouded in the darkness that the trees provided them, partially visible in the sliver of the moon’s glow hanging overhead. Don’t you know when to shut your mouth?
Dude, came Jared’s response, confounded, you broke that kid’s arm. If Embry could roll his eyes in his current state of being, he certainly would have. And I think you broke that other guy’s nose. He looked really fucked up.
Spare me the lecture, Jared, Embry snapped, continuing their journey along their tribal land. Nighttime was suspended and quiet, crickets playing their familiar song. It might have made for a soothing experience, even, if it weren’t for the incessant nagging at Embry’s ear. Why did Sam stick me with him tonight of all nights? Embry complained to the confines of his own mind, knowing Jared would not hear. Best to leave it that way, for they had already been bickering for what felt like over an hour now, and the last thing Embry wanted was to act in another rage.
Stupid, really, was what Embry thought of it. Who was Jared to critique his actions? They were stuck in the same pack, but they were not close—not like he was to Jacob, or to Quil. Begrudgingly, he had to remind himself that he was in fact not close to Quil these days. Sometimes he feared that his absence was causing a damage between them he would never be able to repair. Quil didn’t understand, didn’t have the full story, this Embry knew and couldn’t blame him for, didn’t have the right to remain upset over. But that did not make it hurt any less. He could only hope that eventually, Quil could forgive him. Keeping him in the dark was Sam’s order, but as time stretched on, and as Embry became more accustomed to his new role and to fulfilling it, he came to understand it was for the best. Sam was right.
Except for pairing me with Jared, Embry told himself. He knew he was being petty, but still, he would have rather done tonight’s patrol with Paul. Unfortunately, Paul was given the evening off and Sam didn’t want Jacob out of sight, so they paired up when they made their own rounds. Which left Jared to shadow.
I’m just saying, man, Jared piped up, defensive, you could have hurt them a lot worse. We don’t need to draw this kind of attention to ourselves. The last thing we need is people asking more questions.
Yeah? And if I did, they would have deserved it, Embry was quick to respond. What was I supposed to do, Jared? Let them beat on him until someone else stepped in? Fuck that.
Look, I’m not saying you were wrong, but-
But what? I’m sure I’ll hear enough from Sam later, so I’d rather not hear it from you. I know, okay? I know I should have held back, but I won’t apologize and I don’t feel bad, and you can’t expect me to.
Embry stopped walking, turning his head to look sidelong at Jared’s wolf. He could make out the glint of his eyes surrounded by that charcoal coloring in the gleam of moonlight. The branches that hung over the both of them rattled with a gust of wind that came with springtime, some leaves falling loose and fluttering to the forest floor at their paws.
We aren’t gonna tell Sam, Jared assured him, pausing his steps as well to maintain a firm eye contact, and I’m not saying you should feel bad. I wouldn’t feel bad if it were Kim. Actually, I’d probably do a lot worse.
It’s not the same, he hadn’t meant to sound so defensive, but that was how the words had sprung forth, Kim is your imprint.
Why does it matter? You care about Quil, Jared saw the faintest flick of a black tipped ear from his fellow pack member, he’s your friend. I don’t blame you for getting involved, Embry. I just… well, I just want to make sure you’re okay. You know? It can be easy to get caught up in emotions.
Embry was the first to break their shared gaze, tucking his muzzle toward the ground from where he stood, ears turning down.
I just don’t want you to do something you might regret, that’s all, Jared finished. I know you don’t know me like Jacob, but I’m just looking out for you, man. The brown mass of him passed by Embry’s snout, swishing tail catching the tip of his nose in a light, slightly playful manner. There’s no need to be so brooding, dude. You can talk to me, too, you know.
Flinching at the other’s flick on his nose, Embry raised his head once more, standing straight and rigid under the ray of soft light that danced in between the branches and trunks of pine and cedar alike. I am not brooding, he argued.
Yeah, and I can’t talk to you in my mind, Jared replied, sauntering along the beaten path they had taken and retaken for weeks, months, prior to Embry’s first phase even when he once paired with Paul or Sam or both. Come on, let’s finish this up so I can go to sleep. I’m exhausted.
True to his word as Embry had come to know him, Sam met the two boys at the end of their route, Jacob accompanying their alpha. The sight of Jacob’s wolf was still jarring, to see how he was larger even than Sam. And almost begrudgingly, Embry found out days after Jacob’s initial phase that he now ranked the fastest in the pack, a position he alone once held. Well into the middle of the night, Jared and Embry had completed their scout of the land, finding nothing unusual or of note.
Until they approached the others whom would be relieving them. Embry’s blackened ears twitched with faint sound picked up somewhere far in the distance, carried on the spring breeze. He turned his head to and fro, puzzled, tilted his nose up in the air but caught no scent. No sickening, rotting stench that made his stomach roll and threaten to spill all contents.
What is it? Sam asked, on high alert. All eyes fixed on Embry in that moment, whom at last lowered his muzzle in false alarm.
Nothing, Embry answered, I thought I heard something, but it’s gone, now. Even as he uttered this, he couldn’t seem to entirely shake the feel something was out there, lurking. He had finished his shift with reluctance, uncomfortable with leaving Sam and Jacob alone, but Sam had put his troubles to rest, smoothed them out like cloth.
Don’t worry, Embry, if we find anything we’ll call for you. Go home, get some sleep.
He had bid them a short goodbye, run along with Jared to the edge of the woods where they had left their clothing in separate bundles. The unease did not seem to dissipate as the two of them dressed in silence.
You’re just being paranoid. You’re just stressed.
Embry knew as well as all of them though, that they could have unwelcome guests at any time, and so as he made to head home, he reminded Jared to be careful. Nearing 4:00 A.M. by the time he arrived at his bedroom window, he pulled up on its lower sash, wincing at the slightest creaks it made as he opened it wide enough to crawl through. The last thing he had expected when his bare feet hit the cool hardwood was his mother, awake and looking right at him, sitting on the edge of his bed like she’d been there for hours.
“Where have you been, Embry?” Tiffany asked, voice stern and edged with the faintest bit of anger.
Embry stood in front of his open window, felt the breath of wind pouring through and chilling his bare back. He had on only a pair of second hand shorts that came just above his knees. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, at a loss for words or excuses he could spin. Quil had always been the better liar, much to Embry’s current misfortune.
“Out,” he told her, such a pathetic explanation. What else was he to say, though? Hey, mom. I know this seems kind of weird, you know, me crawling into my room in the middle of the night. Thing is, I’m actually able to shapeshift and you see, it’s kind of my responsibility to protect all of you from vampires. Hope you can understand.
“Out,” his mother repeated his word, nodding to herself as if that made complete sense. She regarded him a moment more, pursed her lips, and then asked, “why aren’t you wearing a shirt? And where’s your shoes?” Her voice had a level of calm to it that he found unnerving, and he knew, he knew she was doing everything to keep herself together.
As if taking notice of the bareness of his body for the first time, he looked down at himself. His feet, covered in dirt against the clean boards of wood under them.
“Why are you awake?” Embry questioned, ignoring her own, trying and failing to smooth out his long hair which he could feel was a tad tangled at the back of his head. “You should be asleep.”
“And you should have been home hours ago!” she yelled then, livid where she resided on the bed, dressed in her pajamas.
I am so screwed.
“I know, I’m sorry. I was just out, with some friends from school,” he explained, cringing internally at such a flimsy lie. “I just lost track of time.”
“Oh,” Tiffany said, a fake sense of cheer to her voice, “friends from school? Alright, then explain to me why I got a call from your Principal this afternoon.”
Fuck.
“You did?” The best course of action, in his teenage mind, was to play dumb. His first instinct, too, knowing he’d been caught and that there was no getting out of this. His mother, as kind and sweet tempered as she typically was, could run a tight household and turn strict like the flick of a switch. A trait she’d acquired, being a single mother. Someone had to raise him right, and when she had first moved to this reservation, she was not exactly met with open arms and she certainly hadn’t been given any handouts.
“I did. Do you have anything to say about that? Anything you’d like to tell me?”
Embry bit down on his bottom lip, chewing, found it hard to meet the scrutiny of her regard. The darkness of the room did him no favors in sheltering him from the storm brewing in his mother’s nearly black eyes.
“He told me there’d been a fight outside. Would you know anything about that?”
Her son did not answer, but as he lifted his gaze to finally look at her, the guilt she found there was more than enough of an answer.
“Embry, they had to take two boys to the hospital,” she stressed, clasping her hands in her lap, “your school suspects you had something to do with that. They’re considering suspension. Please tell me they’re wrong,” she said, her voice wavering. Staring at her son, now, she felt she was losing grip on him. Tiffany Call, for the first time, wondered if she had been doing something wrong, if perhaps her boy was acting out because of some fault of her own.
“Quil’s mother called, earlier,” she went on when he refused to speak up, “she said he was taking the blame, that he admitted to starting it. He said you had nothing to do with it, it was all his fault.” If Embry hadn’t felt a sense of guilt before, he certainly was, now.
Why is he taking the fall for me? He didn’t do anything wrong.
“They’ve suspended him for a week,” Tiffany finished, watching his reaction intently.
“Are you serious?” he asked, upset. “It wasn’t his fault, mom. They started it.”
“And I take it you finished it, am I right?”
Embry paused, raised his chin in an aura of defiance. “I did, and I’d do it again.”
“So you’re running around beating up classmates now, hm? Sneaking off at all hours of the night, walking around,” she gestured wildly with one hand at his frame, in confusion and disappointment and frustration, “half dressed, no shoes, doing God knows what?!”
“They were attacking him!” Embry raised his own voice to match hers.
“Embry, are you doing drugs?”
Her question seemed so out of the blue to him, that it took him aback. A moment it took for him to recover from such a question. “What? No!”
“Because if you are, you can tell me, okay? I’m not going to be angry with you. If you’re in some kind of trouble with someone, you can talk to me, you know that, don’t you? I don’t want you getting mixed up with the wrong people-“
Tiffany stood from the bedside, approaching her son, when he cut her off in a clear irritation of his own. “Mom, I’m not doing drugs, okay? I swear, I’m not. I just, I lost track of time. I left school early, after…” he trailed off, thinking back to the bones he had fractured, “those guys were beating on Quil. I had to stop them. That’s the truth.”
I’d do it again. I wouldn’t even hesitate.
No sooner had Tiffany attempted to reach out to her son, to embrace him, had he stepped back and out of arms reach. Hurt flashed behind her dark, tired eyes, and she frowned. For what seemed like minutes, she stared at him, searching for answers he was reluctant to give her. Finally, she let out a sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat.
“You’re grounded,” she told him flatly, “I’m talking to your school in the morning and sorting this out, and when I do, you are to attend class and come straight home. No more hanging out with friends, no more sneaking around. Do you understand me?”
“Mom-“
“No! That’s final, do you understand me, Embry?” she put her foot down, her expression turning to stone.
He let out a huff, and gave a final nod. “Okay.”
“Alright, then,” she finished, walking past him to shut his window. Tiffany Call closed the latch, locking it, and then made for the bedroom door. Before she left, she looked over her shoulder to see her son planted in the same spot he had been. “Clean yourself up, and go to bed.”
And with those sparse parting words, she left the darkness of his room. If only he knew how hard this was on her, she thought. Maybe then they could repair this rift.
How had one week managed to feel like eternality?
Bella was lost. Bella had been left wandering.
A rational piece of her mind told her she could still turn back, retrace her steps, recall markers to find her way back to the beginning. In actuality, however, she knew this would not help, that it was truly futile. She was cast astray, in these dense woods, pine climbing high into the sky and canopying over her head no matter the direction she chose to travel in. Limbs of trees reached out toward one another as if to embrace, nearly blocking the already dwindling daylight she had been counting on. Even when the sun had shone high in the sky, it had been filtered through.
There had been no one to talk to, no one to keep her tethered to the earth just beneath her own two feet. Jacob had promised he wouldn’t leave her, abandon her to her own fate, to the gaping hole punched clean through her chest. That he wouldn’t give up on her, wouldn’t let it swallow her whole.
He doesn’t want me, the voices in the deepest cavities of her head whispered, he never wanted me. He knows you’re unfixable. He’s sparing himself the trouble, and why shouldn’t he? You don’t deserve him.
She had tried to see Quil again, as well, enjoyed the time spent with him in Jacob’s continued and abrupt disappearance in both their lives. But even Quil, for all his kindness, couldn’t be an ear to talk to or a shoulder to rest her weary head on. When she had rang the Ateara home, an older man’s voice she knew to belong to his grandfather told her he wasn’t able to come to the phone, and after the first time she hadn’t tried to call back. Nothing more, nothing less, and in her own state of disrepair she assumed the worst, that maybe even Quil couldn’t be bothered with such a mess. And it hurt, really it did, a newly blossoming friendship and the feeling of it being severed. In the lonesomeness of her own room, she had barricaded herself and repeated that she must simply be unlikeable, all the while the rational side of her assured there surely was some explanation as to why everyone she cared for seemed to not have time to lend.
Bella brought both palms up, covered her temples and shook her head back and forth like it would quiet the noise inside.
I’m crazy, this is crazy, she scolded herself, what are you doing out here? She had decided that afternoon, that she was not going to stay at home. Charlie had told her about some missing persons reports, asked her to be careful, had even said he didn’t want her wandering out in the woods as he’d been leaving with Harry Clearwater to fish. But had she heeded his warnings? No, of course not, for this was the way of a teenager. That’s how she had gotten lost in the first place, with not much light to spare and not even a flashlight on her person.
I wanted to see it again, she argued with her own thoughts, dropping her hands and moving in one direction now in a brisk walk. Why, though? There’s nothing there for you. This isn’t going to make you feel better. Stop. Go home.
And in that second, for once, this rational voice did manage to halt her steps. Bella hesitated, shifting her weight back and forth, looking up at the trees and the foliage filtering the sunlight on her glossy brown hair. She guessed she had an hour of day left. Turn back now, and you won’t be lost out here in the dark.
It was hardly an argument by that point, as she promptly turned on her heel and began retracing her steps. For minutes, she walked, the drying leaves under her shoes crunching, a comforting sound that kept her present in this moment of life. There, that tree. I passed it earlier, I remember, she told herself, having taken note of the peculiar tilt of its trunk and the way it’d been partially uprooted, how it seemed almost bent backward as if struck by some massive, heavy weight.
Approaching the trunk now, Bella reached out, placed her small hand along the surface of it. Absentmindedly, she felt the soft moss hiding its bark from view, smoothed it over with her finger pads to calm herself. That was when she had seen him. Staring off into the distance of the woods, the beautiful green of life itself surrounding her, a vivid pair of red eyes were honed in on her small, defenseless frame. She could have gasped aloud at the sight, such a starkness against the calm background. Such a horror, too.
“Laurent,” the vampire’s name came out like a strangled exhale, as she turned rigid with fear. Some deranged minuscule piece of her was overjoyed at the sight of him, screamed at her that this must be some sort of positive sign, but in Edward’s absence she had learned better. It surprised her, truly, the caution she felt so strong and overpowering the irrational optimism, the chill that crawled up her spine. Alarm bells telling her to run, to get away from here as fast as her legs could carry her, a prey animal making a mad dash for safety and the predator’s claws just out of reach.
I have to get out of here.
She was even more astonished to hear her own consciousness instructing her to wade through this dark water, this dreadful meet with death. Bella had been expecting to hear Edward’s voice, to see some apparition of him come like smoke before her eyes that existed to no one but herself. A manifestation of her own mind, she knew that deep down. A traumatic response, a coping mechanism, she was far more disinclined to own up to, but it didn’t make it any less true. Not here, not now, in this moment—she would not lie to herself.
“Bella,” the vampire had called back to her, delicate like chimes dancing on the wind, and as she blinked, she found he had appeared only a few feet before her. Startled, she felt herself tremble at the proximity they now shared.
“What are you doing here?” she found herself asking, blinking once, twice more in rapid succession, resisting the allure of him. Try as she might, the way his skin dazzled like fresh polished diamond in the setting rays, it was impossible not to marvel. Everything about me invites you in. Recalling these words, here, now—Bella recoiled further, dropping her hand at once from the mossy bark she had begun clinging to.
“We’ve been watching you for some time,” Laurent said, as if it were simple. As he stepped forward, she backed away. “I hadn’t expected to be so lucky to catch you out here.”
“We?” Bella asked, worry gnawing a pit in her stomach. Her breaths came quicker, hurried. Run! What are you doing? Don’t just stand here!
“Victoria,” he supplied the familiar name as the girl’s answer, “she wanted to make sure that the Cullens weren’t still here. They appear to have left you, have they not?” When she gave no reply, he went on. “She feels that because Edward killed her mate, it’s only fair she repay the favor. I was going to help her, but-“
Bella swallowed against the tightness enclosing her throat, felt the cold at the back of her neck, the hair there standing on end. She thought to lie, to say Edward was coming back any day now, but before she could even open her mouth to speak Laurent was continuing on with an air of casualness. What he said next could have made her burst into tears, had her instinct been to freeze. Once upon a time, it had been.
“I am so hungry.”
At one point of her young life, her first tendency had been to seize up in fright, like a deer in the headlights, ready to meet her fate. As all people, though, with time came change, and for the third time this evening she surprised herself. Bella Swan found herself wasting no time upon hearing those four words, and so she ran, faster than she thought possible for herself up until that point. Faster even than when she was trapped with James. With the open forest acting as her maze, she tore through the underbrush, kicked free the leaves and rocks resting in her wake with her shoes. Panting, she glanced over her shoulder, saw Laurent standing where she’d left him, watching on in a sick sense of amusement.
Thorns snagged along her pant legs, sunk into the denim and flesh so thinly protected there. Keep moving, she guided herself, just keep moving! And she did, hissing at the pricking she felt along her calves, listening carefully to the twigs that snapped under her pounding feet. Her heartbeat was erratic, she could feel it furiously pumping blood as she continued to sprint, zigzagging through the trees before her line of vision. It was getting dark out, she was horrifically aware, and she had no light to see in the transforming abyss that was consuming her alive. The thrumming in her eardrums, and the frightful breaths she sucked in were all she could hear in the steadily advancing dusk. The once bright and enchanting green of the forest now became muted, wilted and muddied browns.
“You are making this harder than it must be,” his voice traveled to her like the notes of a piece of music, and Bella looked over her shoulder in fright, but could not place his position. He was close, very close by the sound of it, but light was leaving quickly, much too quickly and she was left feeling around in the blackness, gone blind and so utterly alone. Bella turned her head this way and that, looking frantically in all directions, not slowing for a moment. “I can make it quick, I promise.”
Next thing the poor girl knew, she was falling, tumbling face first into the dirt. Both palms flew out to brace herself, the ground distinctive and earthy in its odor pressed close to her sloped nose. It helped, she found, to drown out the sweet, perfume like quality of Laurent’s own scent. She blinked slow in disorientation, took a long inhale through her nose, and pushed herself up. Checking behind herself once more, she saw the cause of her crash—a root from a tree stuck up, curled in a tiny arch just above the soil and hidden partially in the thicket. The girl pulled her legs in toward her center, lifting both palms up to get a good look at them in the dim light, to see why they stung so profusely. Both heels were skinned raw, weeping red droplets that ran down the sides of her hands and the length of each wrist. And in horror, as she watched her own blood spill from her body, she saw Laurent’s shoes appear just before her in the brush. He was standing over her now, a threatening shadow still a few feet away, though Bella knew all too well that he could be at her jugular within half a second if he so pleased. She was simply a play thing, his food, his game to hunt. Bella wondered, as she looked up at him in defeat, if he enjoyed the chase more than the kill.
“I’d really rather prolong this, it’s more enjoyable,” he spoke soft to her as if he could hear her thoughts, knelt and latched onto one hand with an intense force, yanking her toward himself, “but I can’t help myself.”
And Bella yelped at the sudden, fierce burning in her wrist, the vise grip she was caught in like a bear claw trap. “Please,” she found herself begging, desperate. I don’t want to die. All those days, months spent at her window, feeling her one will to breathe leave her like water down a drain—she hadn’t wanted this for herself, she realized now. She had once enjoyed life, hadn’t she? There had been a time when things had not been so bleak, so meaningless, when she had known worth within herself. When it had not hinged on the fixation of a predator, something she had believed was love in her own youthful and inexperienced naïveté. “Please, let me go, please-“
It had not been Laurent that had interrupted her pleas, but rather another sound. Something, off to her left side, moving through the undergrowth. By the sound of snapping it made, even in her incoherent state and even through her unimaginable terror, she could tell that whatever it was, it was very large. Laurent, too, had since focused his attention to such a noise, loosening his hold round the girl’s arm just barely.
“I don’t believe it,” he had whispered, but Bella had not even registered his words, her fear a great tsunami washing over her at the sight she was seeing.
At first, she had believed it was some large animal, a bear maybe, hard to make out without the sun to aid her vision. But as the figure drew nearer, she realized, it was no bear, but a wolf. A giant, black wolf, rising up high on its four legs and snarling low and guttural. Along with it, came four others in different colors, manifesting from the foliage, all sharp teeth and scrunched muzzles. The one black like the night lurched forward, piercing growl that caused Laurent to release her completely in a fear of his own. Bella would not have believed what she was seeing had she not been witnessing it. Another wolf stepped toward them in a crouch, even larger than the first that had made itself known to them, reddish fur along its mane and long tail raised upright in a telltale sign of aggression. At this moment, Bella took it upon herself to scramble backwards across the forest floor, scraped hands flurrying to grasp at sticks and rocks that dug into her tender flesh.
Blood continued to seep from her cuts, even through the fabric of her jeans near her ankles and as she moved away from Laurent, she met the wolf’s eyes with a coat painted like a burnt umber, round and large and so oddly familiar. Comforting, in the way they bore into her, and at once the fear that had been trying to sweep her away vanished like smoke, like the visions of Edward she had once tried to hold on to.
Jacob, she thought, couldn’t understand why his name came to her so swiftly, with such an unwavering certainty. Through the darkness engulfing them all, she could see herself reflected in its ever widening eyes.
Jacob himself felt like he had begun floating, when their eyes had connected. He could see her so vividly, could smell the blood on her, and he pulled his head back at the metallic scent in a blind rage. Bella, it’s Bella, was all he could think, all he could focus on, she’s my imprint. She’s the one. She’s mine.
Jacob, Sam warned, and the rest of the pack backed up upon hearing this revelation, stunned and unsure. Their alpha had to think fast, to direct them, to keep control of a rapidly escalating situation they had found themselves in. Wait, Jacob.
She’s mine, Jacob repeated, louder as he zeroed his eyes on his target. I’ll kill you, you filthy leech.
The pack had not been expecting this, to find her out here so far from home, so far from a known trail at this time of day. Even worse, to have their newest member imprinting, when he was still learning, when he was just now encountering one of their kind.
Jacob, I’m warning you, Sam told him, don’t. You’ve never fought one, you don’t know what they’re capable of. He was trying to reel in his own composure, so tired of fearing for his pack’s safety. They were just boys, and it fell on Sam to ensure their safety. The weight of it so great at times he felt like collapsing.
But Jacob was already opening his mouth wide, snapping his tapered teeth at the vampire whom had since risen to his feet. With another growl that rivaled Sam’s own, Jacob was charging after the blur of the figure that was now retreating. Bella, still on the ground, watched in astonishment as the five of them flew past her field of vision one after another, so fast it was almost impossible to even register at all. And then, she was alone again, no monster sinking its fangs into her soft skin.
I’ll kill it, I swear I’m going to kill it, Jacob was screaming in each of their heads, leading their line as they partook in a race. It’ll never hurt her, again! I’ll kill it!
Embry had recognized the monster when he’d first caught its vile aroma, the way it made him feel ill, made him feel dizzy and disgusted. Wait for me, he had said through the buzzing of each of their thoughts that always seemed to fuse together, so difficult in the heat of moments like this to differentiate. He had chased this thing once before, and he’d be damned if it escaped again. Not this time. Through the chaos, he couldn’t help but think of Bella, crumpled on the ground. How she looked so much like Quil, dropped on his hands and knees in the field, bleeding from his head. And as these images came to mind, he sped up, right by Jacob’s hind legs, Sam flanked just behind him with Paul and Jared on either side. Jacob was yelling incessantly over each of their own thoughts, drowning out anything and everything in his fury. Embry snapped his own powerful jaws, showed off his canines that he had been wanting to put to use since the first time this thing had escaped him.
It’s not getting away, Jake, Embry told his friend, as they closed in right at its neck. Within seconds, Jacob had the head of it caught in his mouth, and Embry skidded in a turn as his friend latched on, before grabbing ahold of one of the ankles of their prey. Like biting into marble, it was cold and solid against Embry’s tastebuds, almost salty. Together they held fast even as it thrashed around madly in between their teeth in a futile attempt to break free, and they pulled at both ends, ripping it in two.
The others soon joined in, and as a group, they tore the thing limb from limb.
Chapter 12: Don’t Blame Me
Notes:
Working on the next couple chapters! Finally finished this one, very excited for the rest! Thanks for all the kudos and comments, and the support! It keeps me going :) this chapter is heavy on Bella, but I hope you all enjoy!
Lyrics are from The Archer by Taylor Swift
Chapter Text
Combat, I'm ready for combat
I say I don't want that, but what if I do?
'Cause cruelty wins in the movies
I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you
Easy they come, easy they go
I jump from the train, I ride off alone
I never grew up, it's getting so old
Help me hold onto you
I've been the archer
I've been the prey
Who could ever leave me, darling?
But who could stay?
Once upon a time, Bella Swan had wanted to take her own life.
As if to fulfill some fairytale, some childish delusion, she had practically begged for it. Down on her hands and knees she would go to get a taste of it when the bikes she and Jacob built had simply not been enough thrill, enough danger. Her hands skinned raw and oozing blood all down her forearms she would feel, trying to make some great escape when death actually had come knocking for her. Ruby-like eyes and a candied fragrance suffocating her had caused a twist in what would have been an otherwise sad tragedy of existence. A life snuffed out like candle flame at bedtime, too young and far too willing, and before she’d even truly lived, truly loved.
Part of Bella, though, was almost happy as she stumbled and limped out of those dense, grievous woods. With new found hope she did so, had no clue all the while she was being watched over by guardians that enjoyed playing hide and seek behind tree trunks in the dark. As for her guardians in question, they too were happy to see she had found her way out of the maze, impressed even at her resilience.
Sam had considered having one of them phase back, making up some sort of story to happen upon her so they could guide her to deserving freedom. But by this point, she was already moving with purpose, and as they went to follow at a distance they realized she had been traveling in the right direction at last. Maybe she had guessed and been lucky, they thought, the five of them split into two groups at either side of her. They kept a rather long distance, didn’t want to startle her again, as Sam had believed she’d been put through quite enough for one day. He had even attempted to send Jacob home, but Jacob had argued to stay at least somewhat close to her, the imprint still so fresh and hard to shake, and he’d won that fight in the end.
They followed just in the distance, her own personal protectors, even as she stumbled upon that worn, beaten down piece of metal all red and rusted parked just where she’d left the old thing. As she turned the ignition, and its trusted engine sputtered with life, revived, headlights cut through the abyss—five pairs of eyes reflected gold from where they studied her behind the trunks of trees and foliage. And as the girl raced home, shaken with fright from her close encounter with death, they followed her to that small white abode she and her father felt secure. Just to bid her a parting goodnight, though she couldn’t have known they were still watching over her. Up the steps she ran, blood drops dry around the ankles of the dirtied denim she wore, and into her father’s arms she threw herself as he opened the door at the sound of her truck’s engine.
“Dad!” she had practically cried out, and her father, never quite big on affection, had stiffened either at her unexpected hug, or the name she addressed him that he’d never once heard pass those lips, or perhaps it was both at once. The wolves weren’t sure, weren’t keen on prying into an intimate moment from where they lurked in the woods. But Charlie had soon recovered, wrapping his arms around her small shoulders, ones Jacob so badly wanted to hug himself.
“Bella, you worried me, kiddo,” he had whispered into her hair all in disarray, relief washing away whatever fear had been chewing at him when he’d come home only to discover their house empty. And Bella hadn’t known what’d come over her, to call him that word; dad, but he was really and truly, and she hugged him tighter still, grateful for the first time in a long time that she had made it out alive—that she could see him again. Then he was leading her inside, maybe for a simple cooked meal, something quick and easy as he liked to make it and something Bella would too be grateful to taste, knowing it could have all been taken away.
And when the door had finally been sealed shut, cutting the wolves’ line of sight on the girl they’d only an hour or so prior risked their lives to save, one by one they began to retreat further into that dark, familiar forest they had each learned to call a second home.
Jacob was the last to turn away, eyes trained on the front windows, watching for sign of life and movement within. A shadow dancing across the glass just behind drawn curtains here, a quiet laugh from the girl he loved there, wholesome conversation he could not take part in. And it was at that particular thought, that his heart became oddly heavy in his chest, and he let out a tired breath through his snout, bowing his head.
I just want to see her, he thought, I just want to make sure she’s alright. But he knew, and Sam had commanded it, that there would be no visits. Not until they could sort this whole mess out, regroup and decide a plan as a pack, a unit, a family—as they now were.
It was Embry whom paused his trek behind the others, chancing a glance at his friend over his shoulder. He knew all too well, the pain of leaving another behind, when it was the furthest from what was truly desired. Even if the other couldn’t understand, even if it was for their own safety, it didn’t make it hurt any less. He knew that. His ears, colored as if dusted with coal, twitched and flicked with emotion, and he turned fully then to join Jacob at his side, brushing his muzzle by his friend’s shoulder in a comforting manner.
I know you love her, Jake, he said, voice like a soothing whisper against the sweeping current of their conjoined thoughts, their twisted and fused emotions still running high from the hunt. But she’s safe, now. Because of you. She’s exactly where she needs to be right now. We just need to figure out a plan, then we can go from there.
I know, Jacob broke his gaze from their kitchen window where figures moved within, it’s just-
You don’t wanna leave her, Embry stated, and as their eyes met, there was what Jacob thought a mutual understanding flashing within Embry’s blackened eyes, as if he too knew the trials and tribulations Jacob was now plagued with. He supposed he did. I get it, but this is what’s best. I know it hurts to leave her, but you have to, at least for now. Trust me, I understand.
Without another word, his friend turned and began heading back into the trees that provided cover, only stopping momentarily when Jacob spoke once more. Thanks, Embry. I’m glad you’re here.
Happy to be, he’d replied, tone light and somewhat cheerful, and for the first time he felt he meant it, despite the abundance of issues reaching boiling point in his day to day life. For just this one small moment of time, Embry was happy to be here, with his pack, a protector for those whom needed it most.
“Well,” Bella paused, chewing on her lower lip as she pressed the phone to her ear, “call me when you get the chance.” She held the landline between her shoulder and cheek, hesitating. “Bye,” she finished, the parting leaving her throat like a sigh as she hung up the call.
In the kitchen, Bella twiddled her fingers, hands fluttering as if meaning to pick up the phone once more to ring the Black home, but she had already called twice today, and received no answer. She was worried, really, about Jacob. Still no word from Quil, and Jacob missing in action, Bella was left to her own devices. While Charlie spent his days at work busy with incoming missing person reports, Bella paced the living room, the kitchen, and after dinner when the food had been eaten and Charlie had turned in for the night, she paced the floor of her childhood bedroom instead.
Charlie had known how upset she was, taking it upon himself to ring the Black’s line and leave a message about how he wasn’t all too thrilled how Jacob was worrying his daughter. That the least he could do was return a phone call.
In the dead of night, the chill of springtime wind crept through Bella’s bedroom window that ran parallel her bed. Every bump in the dark roused her from an already fitful slumber that left her in cold sweat, and a scream lodged still in her throat, half formed and dying upon consciousness. The nightmares had returned, far worse now than she could last recall. Jacob had been chasing them away, before he’d cut contact with her, always pulling her out of the horrors trying to eat her alive. These night terrors were vivid, that same feel of being hunted in the forest lost and with no light accompanying each of them. But no matter how many times she dreamed of death’s icy grip around her delicate wrists, it never did take her, never had the chance to.
It was on one of these nights, when she had been tossing and turning upon the mattress, legs tangled in the sheets, that she had heard tapping on her windowsill just from the other side. And she had sat up in bed then, with a start and eyes blown wide, horrified of the monster that she believed to be hiding beyond the pane. As soon as the noise had come, it was gone once more, like clearing fog. Bella had stepped hesitantly to her window, peering out into the vast emptiness, but there was nothing there. And as she had stood by the glass, fingers pressed up against its cool surface, she watched the trees. At the time, she hadn’t known what she was waiting for—a budding feeling of anticipation. She must have stood there for a long while, eyes playing tricks for she could have sworn she’d seen shadows shifting in the woods. But soon, as each night had been, her eyelids grew heavy and her head heavier still, and she eventually found her way back to the soft embrace of her bed hours before sunrise.
That night, Bella dreamt of wolves, like the five she had seen lost in the forest, when she had been so close and certain she would die. In the fantasy her mind created in sleep, they chased away hair that burned in sunlight like fire, and when she woke, she did not do so with a scream but with a released breath. They had given her another chance, hadn’t they? She believed so, felt no fright when she saw them walking near her in her dreams, as if to surround her. A barrier, so that nothing could ever harm her again.
But dreams are just that, dreams and nothing more. It was up to the person on how they would create their lived reality.
So now, as Bella paced her bedroom once again on another silent night, air coming through cold in ways she hated—ways that reminded her of the grip death had once kept on her, of the life she’d been so intent to end, and worst of all the infatuation she’d once felt for a killer—she stared at the pictures pinned to her cork board hanging on the wall. Jacob, his radiant smile and soul that shined outward, bringing her back to life day by painstaking day.
I have to see him, her mind made up, as she stared at the photograph. Something’s wrong.
Bella had been worried, thoughts that Jacob might have gotten caught up in Sam’s gang at the forefront of her mind. Like Embry, a name she was careful to never speak around Quil. At the thought of her friend, the drive to go to La Push was even stronger, and she made a mental note to go by his house, just to check on him. Slowly, Bella pulled free the tack holding the photograph in place, bringing the picture close to her face as if it held some swelling truth, just there in the pixels.
Always, her mind brought her back to that wolf, that umber fur raised upright and eyes so like his. Jacob, she had thought then, couldn’t even make sense of it now as she whispered his name once more to the emptiness of her room. Why Jacob? Why had he come to her then? Had she simply sought comfort in those horror filled seconds? A pull, like thread wound around her wrist now where once had been undead hands, beckoned her to La Push; to Jacob.
I’m going to see him. Tomorrow, I’m going.
I don’t see why you don’t just tell her, man, Jared said, passing Jacob’s wolf to follow behind Sam, the clouds an array of oranges and purples in the dimming sun. The pack had agreed, after a few days of gathering their bearings, that Bella would need to be let in on the secret, and had left it on Jacob’s shoulders to find the time to tell the truth. She was an imprint, after all, and she would have to learn eventually. Jacob had been the reluctant one, trying to fight something beyond his control.
They were making their rounds as usual, Embry and Paul having just been let off of their schedule. The pack had been on high alert, spreading out to Forks to protect the Swan house in shifts, along with the normal ground they covered. Since they had killed that one, no other had come, but Sam knew and was sure to remind them that there was another with hair like a match struck against nightfall.
I already told you, Jacob responded, I don’t wanna put this on her. She doesn’t need this right now. He thought back to Embry, how he’d considered his words of advice. He’d been right; this was for the best. Bella had been through too much, too quickly, still left picking up the pieces of her fractured heart and unable to mend the cracks. After what they did to her, his voice had bite to it as he thought this, Sam and Jared hearing him clearly. And as he thought of her, and of the Cullens, her words at the theater came through the clutter in their shared minds, though the pack had already seen this specific wound within their newest member many times over.
Feelings that Bella did not see him that way, words spoken of her fractured soul and how she didn’t believe she could be helped. It was a pain his pack shared with him, as they shared about everything else.
The longer you wait, the harder it’ll get, Jared told him. I’m not gonna pretend I understand, you know, with her being involved with the Cullens. But we all think you should tell her. A spitting venom from Jacob, at the mention of their family name, but Jared didn’t seem to mind, and continued. Plus, she probably knows more than we do about leeches. She could help us.
It was seconds after this that Paul’s voice was blaring through all of their heads, sounding panicked. His words came to them broken, tripping over themselves in haste.
What is it?
Sam had paused just ahead of the other two, lifting his head high in the air, alert and ready to fight. His first thought had been that another vampire had crossed onto their land, but smelling the air brought no sickening scent like rotting fruit, just the softened floral and comforting scent of spring.
It’s her, Paul was yelling, and the three of them could feel him racing through the forest, tracking their scent and pulled to his brothers like a magnet. It’s Bella Swan! She’s here!
On the reservation?
Oh, fuck-
She’s here? Jacob asked over Sam’s own question, over Jared’s loud exclamation, shocked. Where is she?! You saw her?
No! Paul screamed, and they could feel him close, even before they saw his silver form breaking through the trees. She saw me!
Such a secret unearthed had unfolded like this:
Bella had been driving, over the pot holes in the narrow roads on the reservation, heading to Quil’s house. She had committed the way to memory alone, tires rolling over the asphalt in silence, no music to drown her blooming nerves. The lonesome road that would take her to the Ateara house was dark, no lights to guide her along the road and thick woods along the passenger side, with overgrown grass leading to another tree line beyond on the driver’s side.
She’d had notebooks and loose sheets of paper stacked on top of the dashboard, and as she brought the truck to a stop at the sign, ready to make a right hand turn onto the dirt road that would take her where she sought to go, it had all come sliding off and crashing to the floorboard with no one to pick them up but herself. Road empty, she’d kept her foot on the brake and reached down to grab the fallen books, placing them in the empty passenger seat instead.
Bella muttered angrily to herself as she did so, frustrated in more ways than one. She had already stopped by the Black’s home, but no one had answered the door, and after waiting most of the daylight there expecting someone to come out and greet her, she’d finally put her truck in reverse and headed toward Quil’s. The sun had already begun to set when she’d pulled onto the road that had this stop sign, and she had even considered turning around, worried about showing up unannounced by dark. Stubborn she was, though, and her concern for her friend outweighed the rest.
I can at least see Quil, she reasoned, and maybe he’s seen Jacob.
And it was as she looked back up at the path stretching on before the windshield, that she had seen a familiar face come stepping out of the trees.
It had been Embry Call, just a ways ahead up the road, pulling on an old shirt as he seemed to have his attention on something just within the thicket. What she saw next had startled her, a large head of a wolf peeking out from the foliage, greater than any average one. Its silver fur glistened in the minuscule sunlight, approaching its set on the horizon. Then, it had darted back into the tree line, out of sight, as if it hadn’t been there at all. That was, until another figure stepped out next to Embry not even a full minute later, half clothed and dark hair windswept. She recognized him as Paul Lahote, a boy from the reservation Jacob didn’t seem to be fond of. Part of Sam’s group, she knew, and now for certain could confirm the same for Embry. In the dimming sun, the reflectors of her truck’s headlights shone ahead on the road, and she leaned forward in her seat, hands tightly on the beige wheel until her knuckles had gone white and heart thundering in her chest.
“What?” Was all she could think to choke out, mind racing, images of the wolves she’d encountered in the forest over a week prior swimming in her mind. She blinked rapidly, sucked in a shuddering breath, and sat completely still in the driver’s seat. Paul is? Embry is? The wolves- he is, they are, her mind was running away from her, thoughts half formed and crowding forward. They are them, the wolves! They’re- they can shape shift- Paul just did, I saw it, I swear I saw him- how many of them are there? How many? She stared at them, engine rumbling away, a loud buzz in her ears. Five, there were five I saw. They can change form- Bella could not even register the tightness she possessed on the steering wheel, her eyes gone glossy and unblinking, unwavering. Jacob, why Jacob? He’s- he’s one of them. He’s one of them!
As if they’d heard her internal screams, both turned to look down the road, appearing nearly like small blurs from their distance. In the light reflected on the headlights, even over the space they possessed from her stalling truck, Bella could have sworn she’d seen their irises glint like flame. Like a mirror was their eyeshine in the darkening street.
“Fuck! What’s she doing here?!” Paul had yelled then, words muffled from how far away they were, and Bella watched Embry scream something at him, before the larger of the two rushed back into the woods and out of her field of vision.
“Go get them! I’ll take her to Emily’s!” This was what Embry had said, but she hadn’t caught it, his words sound only against the ringing in her ears.
Bella was frozen, even as Embry rushed toward her truck. His tapping on her driver side window was what seemed to break her state of shock, and she turned her head to look at him, a nervous smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Slowly, as if stuck in a daze, she rolled down the window.
“Hi, Bella,” he greeted, his own hair in a perpetual mess she noticed now that he was closer. He looked tired, uneasy. “You saw all that, huh?”
She could only nod, registering her eyes had begun to sting. Quickly, she blinked to will it away, loosening her grip on the steering wheel.
“So I guess the wolf’s outta the bag,” he attempted to joke, afraid she might press the gas and keep going. Most didn’t live out this far, the Ateara house surrounded by forest far down that dirt road Bella had been about to turn onto like tucked within a crescent moon, and the only car that did come this way was usually Joy’s own. Joy herself had seen the pack, once or twice, but they hadn’t needed to worry because she knew what they were.
The same couldn’t be said for Bella Swan, and Embry needed to keep her from going to that blue house. “Come on, let me take you to Emily’s,” he said next, and Bella had unlocked the door before she’d had time to even think about it. It was strange, the calmness washing over her, as Embry pulled on the handle and helped her out of the driver’s seat.
“Emily?” she asked, confused as he walked her to the passenger’s side. He cleared the books she’d placed there, back on the floorboard, and Bella hadn’t even cared to put the soles of her sneakers atop them. They’d been trash, filled with letters she’d written for Edward, things she should have gotten rid of long ago, she now realized.
“Yeah,” was all Embry had replied with, never much for words as she had known him to be, climbing into the driver’s seat. He shifted the gear to reverse, backed into the grass, and turned around on the narrow road. Bella stared at him the entire drive, didn’t even care that he was driving her beloved truck. She was unsure what to say, had so many questions to ask, but then Embry was speaking again as they pulled up to a house she’d never been to. “The others will be here soon.”
The brakes squealed as the truck came to a stop, and Bella studied the faded gray house, the chipping paint of its blue front door and the colorful flowers in bloom on the porch. Something about it felt tranquil, hidden in the large pine that surrounded it. She hadn’t even noticed Embry at her door until he was lifting her out of the seat, which he did with ease she noticed, as if she weighed nothing at all.
“I’m back,” Embry called as they came to the door, “Bella’s here.”
Bella stepped inside after him, hesitant. The house smelled like fresh baked goods, warmly lit with cedar wood beams and open shelves. Hanging on walls, there was colorful tribal art and woven jewelry decorated with beads and shells alike draped on a hook along one beam of wood. It was an open flooring, the living room on one side and a small white rounded table with chairs in between it and the kitchen which was hidden partly by a small bar area.
“Bella?” Emily asked, and it was then that Bella had caught sight of her, within the kitchen and back turned to them both. She had a dish towel over one shoulder, and when she turned, the breath caught in Bella’s throat. “Jacob told you, then?” she asked, pulling the towel from her shoulder to wipe her hands clean, having been busy cooking.
“Told me what?” Bella asked, just as Embry interrupted her question.
“Not yet,” he answered, pulling out a chair for Bella to sit at the rounded table. He took a place next to her, and began weaving vibrant threads between his fingers that had been left there. It was half beaded, bright red and black and white, soft colored cowrie shells breaking the beads in groups. He seemed anxious as he moved his fingers about, Bella thought. “She, uh,” he paused, eyes flicking up to find Emily’s, “she kind of saw Paul.”
“Oh,” Emily replied, taking a seat across from Bella. She too wore beautiful handwoven necklaces, at least Bella assumed they were. Her hair, glossy and long like the boy that sat next to her, but there was one thing Bella couldn’t help but look at: the scars that ran down her face, to the back of her hand.
“What hasn’t Jacob told me?” Bella asked again, “I mean, other than…” she trailed off, coming up empty for what to say.
“I think he should tell you that himself,” Emily spoke softly, her voice just like the energy she held. Freshly cooked bread and meats rested atop the bar, waiting for Sam and the other’s return.
“I sent Paul to get them,” Embry stated then, eyes focused on the jewelry he was weaving. Over the weeks, Emily had taught him how, a piece of knowledge from the Makah tribe. He hadn’t been decent at it, at first, but now could create with ease. It was a calming habit, something to distract him from patrol and the danger he and his pack mates found themselves swept in.
“What are you making?” Bella asked, tearing her eyes from the scars on Emily’s beautiful face, watching Embry curiously. The comfort of this house, and the safety she had felt when she had first caught sight of that wolf lost in the woods enveloped her, as if to cradle her weary heart and mind.
“A gift,” he told her, “for Quil. It’s almost his birthday.” He grew quiet after, mouth forming into a frown. “How is Quil?” The question was asked quietly, barely above a whisper. Embry knew he shouldn’t have asked, that it would only make him feel worse, but he couldn’t help but do so.
“I don’t know,” Bella answered truthfully, “I’ve tried to call, but he hasn’t answered. He misses you and Jake.”
“I think he’ll like it,” Emily commented, trying to rid the tension in the room. She knew keeping this secret from his best friend was hard enough, had consoled him over it multiple times by now. But Sam was certain he would phase, so the worst of it was playing a waiting game.
“Emily taught me how to make these,” he lifted his head from the cord in between his fingers, to glance at Bella. He pushed away her words about Quil, offering her a shy smile instead partly for her sake and mostly for his own. “She kind of takes care of us.”
Bella nodded, despite her confusion and lack of answers. She pulled her long hair back behind her ears, and wiped her palms on her jeans to get rid of the sweat collecting there. “So you guys, like…” she paused, looking between Embry and Emily and then down at the table top. “You’re wolves?”
“They are,” Emily said calmly, “it can be a bit of a challenge being engaged to one,” she laughed lightly, “making sure everyone is fed and whatnot. They tear through my kitchen.”
“We were going to tell you,” Embry spoke up, then, “but Jacob didn’t want to yet. He’s still kind of new.”
“Jacob is one, too?” Bella asked next, though she already knew in her heart it was true. Even here, in Emily Young’s house, she felt an inexplicable pull. Guided by invisible thread, to something, to someone, and that was him. She knew it, though she couldn’t explain why.
Emily’s knowing eyes were her answer, black like the night beginning to form around them. “He is.”
“I’m just glad we found you when we did,” Embry confessed to the table, “before that thing could get to you.”
Bella thought back to Laurent, to how cold his hold around her wrists had felt, the fear and the peace that found her when she’d looked into that wolf’s eyes, bleeding on the forest floor. For a moment, she hesitated to speak, to say what she had felt as she looked into red eyes and rushed home into her father’s waiting arms all those days ago.
“I am, too,” the words left her lips with a surprising ease.
“What were you doing out there, anyway?”
Bella kept her eyes trained on the white table before her, knowing she didn’t have an answer that would make sense. “I was just… looking for something,” was all she provided, foolish wishes she had been so desperate to hold onto something she now was left wanting to bury, to forget about.
“Jacob and I took care of it,” Embry told her, and at his words, she looked up, shocked. She had assumed Laurent had gotten away, knowing just how fast their kind were. “You don’t have to worry, we’ve been keeping watch at your house, too.” Another shy smile he gave her, before turning back to the necklace in hand.
“He wasn’t alone,” she informed them, “there are more.”
“We know,” came Emily’s voice, like a balm for her worries. “It came onto our land, a while back,” she rested her hands on the table, clasped them together. “She got very close to my house, and Sam phased,” Emily continued, gesturing at the scars marking her dark skin.
Bella sat across from her, shocked to hear this, couldn’t help the way her eyes began to sting at the picture painted for her. That a mess of web she had been trapped in, had affected not just her, but these people. Innocent people. Kind people. The kitchen grew solemn as Emily spoke this horrible truth, and Bella brought her hand up to wipe at her eyes, all the while visions of blood and chaos invading her mind. She had thought, many months ago, something quite different about vampires. So put under a spell, she had believed it some happily ever after, but this? How could blood and death be anything more than a nightmare come to life?
“I’m sorry,” she found herself apologizing, for what she didn’t know, “I didn’t realize-“
“There’s nothing to apologize for, Bella,” Emily consoled her, “what happened has happened. We just need to keep moving, right?” And Bella nodded, as she spoke once more. “Scars are proof you’ve survived. We’ll get through this, just as we have gotten through everything else. Whatever is coming, we’ll face it. The pack will protect us from them.”
“It’s what we do,” Embry agreed, remembering the words Emily had offered him not long after he first began phasing himself, that being a guardian was honorable. And it was, he thought, would do whatever it took to keep the people he cared for from harm, and that included their newest addition in the girl sat beside him. “We exist to fight them.”
“This isn’t the first time our people have dealt with invasion.” It was these words Emily spoke that began tear fall from Bella’s brown eyes, the stress and weight of it all coming down upon her like some giant, immovable mass. “But we survive, and we keep moving. You’re part of us, now, Bella. We know what they’ve put you through, they’ve put us through the same.”
Like a floodgate opening, tears spilt forth, onto the white table where Bella hung her head. No longer could she turn away from it, the pain and terror that’d been forced upon her. The way she had been used and discarded, then played with as if prey, only to be found just in time, still drawing breath. Emily got up from her chair, walked along the table and wrapped her arms around Bella’s shoulders, allowing her to cry, to scream if she pleased. Holding tightly to Emily’s scarred hand, Bella sobbed, for the time wasted, for the girl she had been who had longed to die for what she had mistaken as love. For whatever innocence had been stolen from her, just as the Cullens had taken everything else when they’d left Forks, leaving this current devastation in their wake. Left her, broken and barely breathing. Left boys to fight a war, friendships severed and scars formed.
“It’s alright,” Emily shhed her, smoothing her silky brown hair like she was some small child, and for a moment, she felt like she was. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Promise,” Embry finished, reaching out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Here was safety, Bella felt, at long last finding it. Here, was a home.
Chapter 13: Stay
Notes:
The lyrics at the top of this chapter are from the song The Quiet by Troye Sivan.
Song titles as they appear in lyrics written within the chapter itself are as follows: how to disappear completely by Radiohead, just by Radiohead, solitude by Black Sabbath, and lastly nothing else matters by Metallica.
Thanks again for all the support :) hope you all enjoy!
Chapter Text
Growing distance, free of explanations
We're getting deeper in this mess
Take careful contemplations
I'd rather be spitting blood
Than have this silence fuck me up
This separation, time and space between us
For some revelation
You didn't even care to discuss
I'd rather be black and blue
Than accept that you withdrew
Just tell me
Say anything
Anything hurts less than the quiet
Morning came with the gentle sound of bird song at the window, the promise of something good, something reborn and beautiful like the season.
Bella stirred in her sleep, the first night of peace that found her in a long time, so long she was once certain she’d never rest soundly again. In the fresh-washed sheets warm from daylight pouring through the window, she nuzzled her face into the pillow. Emily’s small sanctuary was quiet and saturated baby blue with dawn. Bella rolled then, onto her back, half conscious and letting herself take in yesterday’s events.
Just as Embry and Emily had told her, the others had eventually come by the house, door creaking and wary expressions worn. She supposed they were afraid of how she would handle it, was surprised herself to be taking it all so well. But, and she reminded herself of this, she had seen things beyond language already. She had sobbed into Emily’s awaiting embrace, had met with death and survived with lungs still expanding, so when they had come—her wolves, she thought of them—she had felt relief.
Jacob had not returned to her, a fact she tried her best not to be upset by. Together she ate dinner with the rest, including Embry whom had grown pensive again and left before anyone else, stating something about his mother. As the pack conversed, Emily told Bella not to worry, that what Jacob had to say was nothing bad. At least, she told her so. She offered Bella a guest room to sleep over in, spare clothing and a soothing shower to match before bed. And Bella had been grateful, calling home to let Charlie know where she was, not wanting him to worry or wait for her.
Under warm water she rinsed herself anew, and emerged still dripping and smelling like sweetgrass from the homemade shampoo she’d used. She felt rejuvenated, purified somehow as she lay down that night for bed, no red circles from tears still marring her eyes. And as she rose in the morning, joining Emily in the kitchen where they ate a peaceful breakfast, she began to smile. At first, just around the rim of her mug where she accepted offered tea, finding she quite loved its rich taste. Then, the corners of her mouth were pulling upward as she ate freshly baked muffins, berry-sweet and subtly tart, something paired well with her drink. She slipped into easy conversation with the older woman across from her as if they’d known one another for years, and when a knock came at the door and revealed with it her Jacob, Bella truly grinned.
“Come with me?” he had asked just as her and Emily finished their food, and she had felt he had not even needed to.
I’ll go with you anywhere, she told her own mind, as they left to walk along the surf of First Beach. Littered with stones smoothed with salt water, they walked in silence, hand in hand.
“Jake,” Bella looked up at him, studied the way the gentle breeze blew strands of his long hair away from his face in serene flutters. “I know there’s a lot I don’t know, but…” She tucked herself further into his side at the feel of wind against her, “But Emily told me about you.”
Jacob was quiet beside her, leading them to a large piece of driftwood she recognized. Over the cool sand and sea foam they stepped, sky steadily lightening before them.
“I know there’s something you’re not telling me,” she continued, “but whatever it is, I can handle it.”
He pulled her down to sit beside him, and she leaned against his shoulder, their fingers laced and his thumb rubbing circles against the back of her hand. Closing her eyes, nestled in the heat radiating from him, she thought of Arizona, almost considered ceasing to talk at all. Always, there was a comfort, an oasis on earth to be found by Jacob’s side, she thought.
His voice took her from this pocket of tranquility she had slipped into, as he replied, “I’m not so sure, Bells.” She did not have to be facing him to know the uncertainty he felt, to catch the slight falter of his voice and the quick breath he drew in.
“Jake, there’s nothing you could say to get rid of me,” she assured him. “Please tell me. Whatever it is, I promise,” she inclined her head to gaze at him, loved the way the light of day broke across his tawny skin in ribbons of gold. Her own personal sun, she always thought of him, and now was no different. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Jacob covered her hand with both of his, large and calloused, and ever so gentle in the way they supported her. He looked out at the ocean, watched the tide push and pull along the sand. Bella grew quiet at his side, studying the shifts of expression across his face, the way his jaw set in consideration.
I don’t wanna put this on her right now. This is the last thing she needs. What is she gonna think of me, now?
Slowly, he pulled himself from his thoughts, and bowed his head to their entangled fingers. Softly as he always was with her, he pushed up the long sleeve covering her fair skin, ghosted his fingers over the scar sunken into her tender flesh. He knew now, where she must have gotten it, the sight of such a mark that didn’t belong there stirring so many emotions deep in his chest, one of the most prominent of which was anger at the knowledge she had been harmed. Bella let him touch her, felt almost as if his skin on hers was medicine, like it would have the power to erase this permanent reminder of pain she’d endured.
“Jacob,” she exhaled, her eyes going glossy with unshed tears, “I can’t lose you. You’re my best friend.”
“You’d never lose me, Bells,” he said honestly, tilting his head to hold her gaze. “I’m always gonna be here for you. I promised you that.”
“I know I haven’t been honest with you,” she blinked, fresh droplets running down her flushed cheeks, “and I’m sorry. I didn’t know, I didn’t know what they’d done to you-“ at the sight of her crying, Jacob wasted no time wrapping her in his arms, her cheek pressed firmly against his chest. “I know I’ve been so lost,” she choked out, her voice shaky, “and I know you’ve been trying so hard to help me. I just… I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to push you away. I know I’ve been hurting you.”
The steady beating of his heart lulled her, and the few tears that had escaped were left to dry against the salty air. “I just want you to know, I’m here for you. I can be here for you, too, like you’ve been to me. I want to be.”
He rubbed one hand up and down her arm, chin settled atop her hair. “Do you remember when we found you in the woods?” he asked, shadows darkening like storm clouds over his eyes, his brows furrowed as he thought about it. Her soft skin, scratched raw and weeping crimson drops down her wrists, onto the dried leaves that covered the ground played as if on a loop beyond his vision.
“Yes,” she answered, the chill that tried to run up her spine disappearing in the warmth he gave to her. “You all saved me.”
When Jacob hadn’t replied, she moved her head that was tucked under his chin, chancing a glance up at him. She had known then, just as she knew now, that it had been Jacob—her protector, chasing away the monster that had been keeping her shackled and awaiting suicide.
“Jake, you saved me,” she stated once more, “thank you.”
When their eyes met, Bella could see the ache hidden just there, in the depths of his irises, the way they flickered with emotion and then shied away. It was fear, she knew, was awash with guilt to see the way she had afflicted him. He glanced down at her lips, just for a second, so short she’d hardly caught it, and then returned to meet her gaze.
“It’s more than that,” he admitted, and there was a vulnerability within the way he looked at her, something she had not seen before—or had failed to notice.
She wondered, had she always been this blind? How much had she never truly seen, and for how long had she been stuck sleepwalking?
“Tell me,” she urged him, refusing to break their eye contact, held suspended in this moment as if time and space itself had failed to go on existing. It was just them, this beach, this driftwood, and an unwavering truth yet to be said aloud. “You can tell me anything.”
The way she spoke, the genuine inflection of her voice beckoned him. He couldn’t lie, never to her. “It’s called an imprint,” he said after a moment, and she blinked a few times, puzzled.
“What’s an imprint?” Bella asked, voice just above a whisper. The wind brushed her hair back, across her shoulders so that it danced through the air.
“I’m not really sure,” he replied, eyes never leaving hers, “Sam and Jared imprinted after they shifted the first time.” Bella’s eyes were large under his, absorbing his words. “The Tribal Council isn’t sure why we imprint, they all think something different. Sam,” he sighed, becoming wary all of a sudden, now. “Sam thinks it’s like, showing you a soulmate. That it’s protecting them like you would yourself. And it’s you, Bells. I imprinted on you, the first time I saw you, when we found you.”
He had taken the plunge, and he waited, eyes searching hers for any hint of reluctance, or worse. But as he did, nothing came—she looked at him the way she always had, as if he was a beacon in the night, guiding her.
“Bella.”
Hearing him speak her name sent another ripple of warmth through her chest, and for a moment, she felt not a gaping hole, but something akin to a flower in bloom, like creation itself. Come to life, with her name on his tongue.
“I just want you to know, this doesn’t have to change anything between us. I understand you don’t want that. But I promise, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. This imprint, it,” he paused, finally looking away to search the horizon as if it would aid him, lost for words. He pulled away, that same fear of rejection rearing its head, hands in his lap. “It can be whatever you need it to be. We can move at whatever pace you want.”
Bella did not speak, simply retook his hand, and he couldn’t help but find her eyes once more, relish in the way she held onto him. The feel of her supple skin against his, a personal fragment of heaven.
I just want her to be alright. That’s all that I want.
“And if you don’t wanna move at all, we won’t,” he said next.
“Can we just stay together?” she asked, offering a weak smile, “and we can figure it out later? I missed you so much.”
Jacob nodded, lips curling, and he reached up to wipe the streaks away left drying on her cheeks. “Honey, we can stay right here.”
Bella rested her head on his chest again, listened to the soothing rhythm of his heart and the familiar waves of First Beach. It was day break, and they were reunited—whatever came next was second to this truth.
“Thank you,” she whispered, forever grateful for his presence in her life, “for everything.”
Lonesome Creek was bare when he had made his trip there, overhead lights bright and blinding against the graying clouds outside. The clerk had watched him closely, no magazine or newspaper to be read as time drew nearer to the store’s closing hour. She observed him from where she stood behind the register, listened to the cooler doors open and close, was aware even as he brought a soda to be paid for to her checkout that he had more hidden in the loose fitting green jacket he wore.
She rang him up in a troubled, swelling silence, and he had refused to make eye contact, sliding a few bills over the counter, Walkman padded headphones covering his ears. He was halfway to the door when she called his name, and like a fog being momentarily lifted, the teen reached up and pulled the headset down to hang around his neck.
“Yes?” he asked, dark circles creating rings around his eyes, bloodshot and dead and puffy from crying.
The elderly woman looked him over for a moment in distaste, the silver pieces of her hair illuminated in the LED lights that struggled to stay lit with oncoming storm. “Don’t let me catch you in here again,” Mrs. Roberts warned him, her face fixed and glowering. She had thought he was a decent young man, was happy to know her niece had found someone like Joy’s good natured son to date. And it was disappointing, to hear from Kaya that they had broken up, and even more so to watch him stealing from her place of work. She hadn’t noticed at first, but there was no look out, now. Not this time, not this time. “I don’t want to have to call your mother,” she said then, her voice stern and absolute. “Don’t make me do that.”
Quil opened his mouth to respond, paused, and then closed it again. He pushed the handle of the door, bell chiming above his head to announce his exit, and then he looked over his shoulder, remorseful. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, chilled air rushing in through the crack he’d opened, “will you just… tell her I’m sorry?”
Theresa gave no response, only fixed him with a hard stare, her eyes narrowed, distrustful. After another moment of heavy silence, Quil faced the door, and left without another word. He had not wanted to look at her, to see the similarities in her features that reminded him of the girl he’d made so upset.
“I think we aren’t right for each other.” She had told him that, one night, a day after he’d been ungrounded when they had escaped down to the beach. Through tears and struggling breaths, she had ripped off the bandaid. “I can’t see you anymore. This isn’t how I thought it’d be.” And Quil had hated the relief he had felt, even as she stood from the sand and dusted her pants, leaving him in the dark and black water that he thought inviting. In the quiet, he had been angry with himself, another person leaving him after discovering how exactly it was that he was faulty.
Now, leaving Lonesome Creek and on the eve of his birthday, Quil sat alone by the shoreline, jacket once belonging to his father draped over his lap and notebook balanced on his knees. Against the log, empty glass bottles were left discarded, turned over on their sides as he wrote.
Jacob had returned to school two weeks prior, and Quil had realized then, that he was now with Paul and Jared. He stayed around Embry, too, when they did appear present for the day, which was dwindling less and less. A part of Sam’s they both were now, leaving him alone, with no explanation. At school, classmates passed him in the locker-lined hall in colorless blurs, as if he were a ghost. He slept throughout lunch, throughout history and geometry or chemistry, and turned in incomplete homework for zeroes. And when teacher’s scolded his declining grades, he did not care, did not even listen. Classmates whispered about him behind his back, refusing to meet his eyes when he would look their way. Jalen, his face bruised and nose splinted, and Dakota whom sported a cast over his forearm ducked into their classes, scurrying away like rats into holes. When his mother had lifted her grounding of him, he’d rang Bella’s number, only for Charlie to tell him she wasn’t home. She never had returned his call.
It was as though he no longer existed.
He did not answer when his mother called him for dinner, and he did not speak when she took him to school. At work, he completed shifts in robotic fashion, mind somewhere far away; a disconnected link. As for his bedroom door, it remained always locked, and the days he was free from work and school, he spent in bed or at the beach only.
“That there, that’s not me. I go where I please. I walk through walls, I float down the Liffey.”
Dreary vocals fed through the earpiece he wore, a mixed cassette Embry had burned music onto and given to him years ago. It played on an old Walkman, one Embry had once used and then given up when Quil had replaced it with a newer version.
“I’m not here. This isn’t happening. I’m not here, I’m not here.”
Moody strumming accompanied the melody, as Quil let it play on, reels of tape spinning within the player. He paused his writing, watched the tiny fire he had started earlier burn on against the dark blue backdrop of the ocean. The tide rolled in as if to reach for him, foam and shells washing over the sand. The song finished, another taking its place, familiar riff and bass opening as he reached for the last bottle that rested at his side. He downed the remaining liquid, malt liquor burning as it poured down his throat.
Underbelly of clouds morphed purple and grayish blues, bruised and pregnant with unspilt rain. And as the rest of the alcohol was finished, he tossed it aside, bottle rolling to clink next to the others, coming to a stop.
“Don’t get my sympathy, hanging out the fifteenth floor. You’ve changed the locks three times. He still come reeling through the door.”
Quil watched the small flames before him, the way they swayed with the breeze and salt from the ocean, waiting to consume. Looking down at the paper filled with confessions, he glared, and in a sudden fit of rage, tore free the page he had been writing in. He tossed it in the fire, watched it lick at the edges, burn and turn to ash an inescapable truth.
“One day I’ll get to you, and teach you how to get to purest Hell. You do it to yourself, you do. And that’s what really hurts. You do it to yourself, just you.”
Flipping through the pages, he ripped them from the spine one by one, eyes burning—it was the only time he thought he felt anything, now.
“You and no one else. You do it to yourself. You do it to yourself.”
He paused, vision gone blurry and head spinning from the amount he had drunk. Blinking, tears splashed onto the pages, black ink smudged and running streaks. Something he had written days ago, before dusk had come to caress him here, now, alone with only hours to go before he tacked another year on to his life.
Bry,
Colt 45 tastes bad. I guess I just never realized when you were around. Nothing else really mattered when we’d do stupid shit together, you know? I couldn’t focus on anything else-
This letter, too, he pulled free from the composition book, letting the flames feed. The tape continued its sure turn, changing songs.
“My name, it means nothing, my fortune is less. My future is shrouded in dark wilderness. Sunshine is far away, clouds linger on. Everything I possessed, now they are gone.”
And Quil let himself cry, his shoulders shaking and lip quivering, rivers running. The waves continued their rhythm, water gone black and miserable.
“Oh, where can I go and what can I do? Nothing can please me, only thoughts are of you. You just left when I begged you to stay. I’ve not stopped crying since you went away.”
Wiping furiously at his eyes, swollen and stinging through the smoke, he continued to read over words long since written. He paused, fingers at the corner of another page, hesitating to tear it free to join the pile of ashes and rising embers.
This is gonna be the last time I write to you. I feel like I’m going crazy just talking to myself. I won’t let you get in my head anymore, I mean it. This only holds power because I keep letting it. I thought for a long time that I actually loved you, Embry. Not like a brother, not like a friend. And I really thought maybe you could love me back. You’ve really fucked with my head. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault for even thinking it could be possible or real. If it were real, I wouldn’t be writing this. If it were real, I wouldn’t hate myself so much.
Tears flowed unending, and he tried to wipe them away as they made the ink run, heart heavy and aching deep in his chest.
This isn’t love. I don’t love you, I never loved you. I’m just sick, there’s just something wrong with me for even thinking it.
Sobbing, he added it to the small fire that would soon burn out. Song finished, the tape paused its weary course, before another filled his ears. Face gone wine-red, and sharp twinges stabbing from within, he brought his hands up and covered his eyes, heels of his palms pressing hard into soft flesh until it was stark white behind the lids. He felt dizzy, sick like he might throw up, alcohol on empty stomach.
“So close no matter how far. It couldn’t be much more from the heart. Forever trusting who we are, and nothing else matters.”
The music was loud, drums and guitar chords pulsing against the padding of the headphones.
“I never opened myself this way. Life is ours, we live it our way. All these words I don’t just say, and nothing else matters.”
He knew it wasn’t true, what he had written. What an amazing lie it was, burned before his feet and blown away in the breeze.
“Trust I seek and I find in you. Every day for us something new. Open mind for a different view, and nothing else matters.”
Quil continued to sob into his hands, head falling heavy and body shaking. When the song finished, he reached up, wiped his face with his long sleeves and pulled the headphones down around his neck, not wanting to listen any longer. All of it was a reminder of Embry, and it made his stomach roll. He didn’t have it within him to stop the tape, though, as if doing so would sever off a part of himself, never able to tell where he alone began and ended. He looked around, almost delirious and drunk, for his discarded pen, and found it lying in the sand beside the empty bottles. Snatching it, he began to write again, page damp from falling tears and ink in messy scrawl, but he didn’t care.
Embry,
Who am I fooling besides myself? There’s never gonna be anyone else. Never was. I just need to know I’m not crazy. I just need you to give me a sign.
Closing the book, pen capped and tucked inside its pages, he set it aside, tried to regulate his breathing and listen to the music the ocean played for him instead. He must have sat there for another half hour when the thunder began, flashes of lightning cracking open the night sky and reflecting in his eyes that he thought had run dry. Quil had not noticed, at first, another coming up through the surf, drowning in the static of his own mind. The mixed tape had ended, and like some prayer regrettably answered, his eyes followed movement along the sand, finding just whom he had for all these weeks of silence been longing to see. But not like this, never like this, and he had wasted no time standing from the log he sat on when he finally did spot him.
Embry, some book of his own held in his hands and something beaded swinging around his neck. He had snuck out again, intending to go to the Ateara house, linger outside for he knew he wouldn’t be able to visit. It was his best friend’s birthday, after all, and he had never missed it. He could leave the gifts on the porch, perhaps, or so he had thought. The last thing he had expected, though, was to find him here.
When the lines of their gazes connected, the sky lit up bright, the heavens splitting open with a storm close to raging.
Oh my god, Quil was screaming at himself, reaching frantically to gather his belongings. As he did so, Embry made his way over, barefoot and jeans rolled up over his calves.
“Quil?” he called his name, like a shockwave running the other through, and Quil looked at him over his shoulder, mortified and stumbling around in the sand, fire he had struck reduced to glowing cinder. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m just leaving, don’t worry about it,” he had replied, tone biting and words tumbling out in a slur. “Sorry, I’m going.”
Embry watched him from behind the dwindled fire, eyes trailing along the sand, counting how many bottles rested there, empty. “Are you drunk?” he asked, but he hadn’t truly needed to, in all honestly. It was apparent, from the way the other tripped over his own feet, his words overlapping and uncharacteristically drawn out.
“Why do you care?” Quil asked, had to force himself not to fall apart as he grabbed ahold of his notebook, dusting off the grains that gathered there. “I’m nothing to you.”
The words stung, but Embry let them pass through him without reply. Instead, he made an offer. “Let me take you home.”
He was at Quil’s side in seconds, hand on his bicep to steady him. In a flash of fury he has never been on the receiving end of, Quil looked at him upon contact, and tore his arm away violently, stumbling back. “Don’t touch me! I don’t need your help,” he muttered, vision unfocused as he reached for his father’s jacket that had fallen draped over the log when he’d stood.
Embry had seized it first, using its thick cloth and fur lining to wrap the novel he had been holding onto. “Give me that,” he instructed, didn’t even wait for Quil’s response before grabbing ahold of the composition book he had been clutching to his chest. “It’s gonna rain, soon,” he informed him, bundling the paper so that it would not get wet.
It was as if the universe was listening, for droplets began to fall seconds after he had spoken. “You can barely walk,” he went on, taking hold of his arm once more to wind it ‘round his neck, “I’m taking you home whether you like it or not. You’ll thank me later when you’re not soaked.”
Together, they stumbled up the beach, Quil dragging his feet and pressed firm into Embry’s side. His skin and face burned, and not even the drizzle beating down seemed to cool it. Up the porch steps of his house, they went, finding cover from the rain that was beginning to pour harder, stronger, thunder and lightning playing off of one another.
“It’s unlocked,” Quil mumbled, and Embry turned the knob, jacket swaddle tucked under his arm, a silent house full of sleeping adults greeting them. Up the stairs, they traveled, floor creaking under their weight. And when Quil stumbled, hands a blurred flurry to grab for purchase, it was Embry who helped him stand.
There was no laughter this time, as he guided them to Quil’s bedroom. No thoughts, no lingering memories of childhood come to pass, only the weight of a connection that was struggling to survive, hanging by rapidly unraveling cord.
The universe and its threads could be such a fickle thing.
Embry shut the door behind them, helped Quil over to his bed and laid the bundle of jacket on his empty nightstand save for a small alarm clock he’d kept for years. Half past midnight, the time read, blinking at him in the warm glow of the room. Wordlessly, he sat at the foot of the bed as Quil curled onto his side, facing the door. He pulled the headphones free from around his neck, threw the portable cassette player to the floor. Embry let out a tired sigh, pulled his feet over his lap one by one and began taking off his shoes, not wanting to dirty the sheets and quilt his mother had stitched together when they were toddlers. Quil’s eyes flew to him, read the faded yellow print that had Def Leppard across the chest—some band shirt he wore often.
“I don’t need you to take care of me,” he said, fresh tears soaking into the pillow case his cheek pressed against.
“I know you don’t need me to,” Embry replied, face turned away as he unlaced the sneakers, fingers making quick work of it.
Quil was silent a moment, eyes lidded and tired. “Then why do you?” he asked, a whisper against the yellow walls of his room that were covered in pictures and artwork, some of it things Embry himself had drawn as a kid.
“Because I want to,” Embry answered softly, standing to take Quil’s shoes to the closet beside his bookcase. He realized, placing them inside, that a pair of his own were in there. Left behind, the night he had phased. He hadn’t realized Quil had kept them this whole time, washed and waiting to be retrieved. His feet were bare against the soft carpet flooring, and he shut the closet once more, returning to the bedside.
Quil hummed in acknowledgement, turning away to stare at the door, as if it were more interesting. “Because I care about you,” Embry expressed, hating the disheveled state his friend was in. He knew it was his fault.
Some birthday. Guess it’s not much of a celebration, he considered.
“You’d do it for me.”
Quil chewed on the inside of his lip for a long time, his breathing slowing. He felt like the room was spinning, like the vinyls they used to listen to together. “I care about you, too,” he admitted, swallowing around the tightness of his throat and the way his mouth felt dry, “probably more than I should.” Such a confession might have fallen on deaf ears, had Embry’s sense of hearing not been heightened. He turned his head to observe him, curled up on the bed, tears falling soundlessly and eyes unblinking.
Brave, that was how he felt at that moment, as he replied, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Yeah?” Quil asked, his voice sounding broken as he spoke, eyes flicking to catch Embry’s own, “well you’re the worst thing for me.” The anger he had been unable to express, reserved for paper and smudged ink only, flew from his lips before he could resist. And Embry masked the hurt, unable to hold his gaze, couldn’t stand the resent he found there and the irritated red that surrounded his eyelids.
“You don’t mean that, you’re just drunk.”
“No, I do. I really do.” He burned holes through the door with his glare. “Sometimes I wish we had never met. Maybe things would be easier.”
“Nothing’s ever easy,” came Embry’s swift reply, guilt chewing through him. “I’m sorry, for everything. I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“Yet you keep doing it,” Quil tried to keep the edge to his voice, but even as he got the words out, they lost their sharpness.
“I know. I just,” he paused, brushing his long hair out of his face where it fell, a curtain hiding him. “I haven’t been myself, lately.”
“So are you gonna tell me what’s going on, then?” Quil questioned, and when their eyes met, his were almost hopeful. Sad, confused, but under that bright with anticipation.
These words, it seemed, weren’t fit to be asked, because then Embry was standing from where he’d been on the bed, tucking his hair behind both ears in nervous habit. “I should go,” he said, the sound of rain pelting the glass of the window filling the room. In a second, Quil was latching onto his wrist, half sitting up and a look of panic settling over his face. Like a repeat, things acted out, and he was afraid to be left again, to have Embry run off into the night and rain. Afraid, more than anything, that if he let him go, he would not see him again.
“Can’t you stay?” he asked, eyes round and glistening in the overhead light, “I’m sorry, I’m just… I just don’t know what’s going on with you. I won’t ask again. Please, just… stay.”
Embry looked off to the side, but did not pull away. With another sigh, he spoke. “I shouldn’t,” he shifted on his feet, and Quil caught the way the beads around his neck reflected, flashing light. “I shouldn’t be here at all.”
He thought of the pack, of his mother, of the punishment awaiting him when she discovered his bed empty yet again. But the way Quil looked up at him, the fractured nature of his voice as he asked him to stay once again, it was enough to make him cave. Turning off the light, blanketing them in darkness, Quil pulled him onto the bed and held tight to his wrist, like he might flee at a moments notice. And when his grip loosened, and his breathing eventually grew even with sleep, Embry watched a sense of peace find him. He stayed there beside him, pulled the quilt over his sleeping frame, let him rest. Embry stayed lying beside him, until 5:00 A.M. flashed on the clock.
When Quil woke, the place beside him was still warm. He sat up, still groggy and tired, head thrumming in the wake of a hangover. And as he rolled over to face his nightstand, he saw the book Embry had been carrying the night before, was able to read the title clearly now, a new print of the last installment of The Lord of the Rings trilogy that he had not been able to get ahold of, his old copy fallen apart with age. The hardback was sat atop his notebook, gold lettering reading The Return of the King in fancy font. Beside it, a necklace he didn’t recognize, threaded with colored beads and pale shells. Quil reached out, picked up the book where it rested on the nightstand, and upon opening the front cover, a piece of parchment turned yellow with age fell out, onto the sheets.
On the blank page on the inside cover, read a note Embry had written. He could recognize the penmanship anywhere.
“I know you probably don’t remember, but I kept it all these years. For you. Happy birthday.”
Half asleep, he read and reread the words, confused as he picked up the parchment that had fallen out. Unwrapping it, he found a dried flower, white petals pressed flat with utmost care and aged with years since passed.
What once had been a dogwood blossom, glistening with dew under summer sun.
Chapter 14: The Storm
Notes:
I apologize for the long wait between updates. But I have good news, which is that chapter 15 is also fully written and only needs to be edited, so that will be uploaded soon as well. Thanks again for all the kudos and comments, and general support you readers have shown me! I hope you enjoy :)
Chapter Text
Days blended together, one great portrait of yellows and reds and forest greens, of mid April humidity and eternal rain shower.
Bella sat beside Embry on Emily Young’s couch, in between he and Jacob, as they listened to her bustling through her small kitchen. Embry bounced his knee, headset playing the same tune on continuous rotation, volume cranked so high Bella could even make out some words, but mostly the beat was what she caught. Jacob, with one arm wrapped around her shoulders, rubbed his fingers along her arm in repetitive, comforting strokes. Outside, water flooded the land as if matching Embry’s dreary mood, showing no sign of pause.
Jared and Kim sat across from them, the girl Bella thought dainty in comparison to him curled into his side, his arm shielding her much like Jacob’s own. Another imprint, she had come to learn, much like the generous woman hard at work behind them, keeping their small group well taken care of and protected from the storm raging outside her quaint home.
“What’re you listening to?” Bella asked, turning to glance at Embry who had his head propped up, elbow on the armrest of the couch. He didn’t say a thing as he tilted his face to look at her, only pulled the earphones down and from the nape of his neck, holding them out to her.
For a moment, Bella eyed them warily, listened to the faint tune draw nearer before taking the headset into her fingers. Padded headphones over her ears, the lyrics poured in, a slow piano melody accompanying the vocal track.
“I feel unhappy, I feel so sad. I’ve lost the best friend that I ever had.”
Bella’s gaze wandered back to Embry, but he had turned away once more, staring out the window and at the rain that ran streaks down the glass. And though he was sat beside her, he seemed so far away, as if his attention had traveled a great distance beyond the yard itself, off some place she couldn’t know.
“She was my woman, I love her so. But it’s too late now, I’ve let her go.”
He had always been quiet since she’d known him, she knew this, but he seemed even more so as of late.
“I’m going through changes. I’m going through changes.”
“Black Sabbath,” she noted, hoping he might be up for conversation, but Embry simply nodded. She pulled the headphones off, holding them out for him to take back. “You’ve got it pretty loud,” she commented in a second attempt, and Embry shrugged absentmindedly as he went to cover his ears once more.
“Helps me not to think,” he supplied, and had the earpiece hovering just over his ears when Jared chuckled from across the living room, and a smile tugged at the corner of Kim’s mouth just from the sound. Embry rolled his eyes, welcoming the blaring music again.
“Don’t worry about him, Bella,” Jared spoke up, “he’s just stuck in one of his moods.”
Bella would have replied in disagreement, but then Embry was pulling down the headset once more, annoyed. “I am not moody,” he argued, “and I can hear you.”
“He’s moody,” Jared repeated.
“Do you ever stop talking?” Embry asked next, eyebrows drawn close together and eyes narrowed. “God, I can have this on full volume and I still can’t drown you out!”
“At least I talk,” Jared argued back, irritated. Truth was, he disliked how closed off Embry still could be within their pack. How withdrawn, distrustful and unavailable. He had thought that Embry might open up given time, especially with his numerous attempts at bridging the social gap between them that was Embry’s own shy nature, but he seemed more reserved than ever now. “Ever since Quil got his ass beat-“
Bella’s eyebrows shot up at this comment, confusion and worry woven into the crease steadily forming between them. She hadn’t seen Quil in weeks, nor spoken to him, and Embry had certainly never told her about a fight. And once she knew about the pack, she was told to keep her distance. Phone calls from the Ateara’s line went unanswered, voicemails remained unlistened to, even after Charlie told her she had a new message. She felt a gnawing guilt for it, but Bella knew if she listened to any of them, she would return the call. Was she cruel like the Cullens, after all, cutting off connections and leaving someone behind? Did they tarnish her despite not turning her? These were some of the worst thoughts that made a home in her head as of late, but no, it wasn’t true. They were unloving, frozen and frigid where she was changing, and chasing sunlight.
Her wide eyes flicked to study Embry’s profile, and there she saw the rising rage in the firm press of his lips, the clench of his jaw. Jared would have finished this sentence perhaps with a ‘you’ve been different’, and probably would have gotten a rise out of Embry, but Jacob put a stop to it all before more could be said.
“Jared,” he spoke up, his voice bringing an immediate hush to the room, “back off.”
The five of them grew silent, the sound of Emily at work in the kitchen the only noise in the house, and Bella looked between the two pack members, saw the way Jacob’s gaze hardened in warning. Building tension dissolved only when Jared relented with a muttered ‘whatever’, breaking eye contact to focus on the girl tucked under his arm. He and Kim seemed to communicate silently, and when Bella turned her attention back to Embry, he had his headphones on once more and face turned to the glass as if the entire interaction hadn’t taken place at all. Jacob, too, glanced his way, but he wouldn’t ask what was bothering him, or about Jared’s remark—not here, anyway.
Maybe when we’re on patrol, he thought, I could talk to him if I got him alone. He knew Embry had seen Quil on his birthday, and gathered it hadn’t gone well based on his behavior, but Embry had not given him any more information in the passing days. Jacob knew Embry well, though, and he didn’t have to be told how going no contact with a best friend was weighing on him. It weighed on them both, in honesty. To see Quil at school, to stay away, to keep up a running lie.
But this is different, Jacob told himself, the way it’s affecting him. There’s something Embry isn’t telling me.
Creaking from the front porch severed his rumination, and he tucked away the trail of thought, intending to revisit it at another, more appropriate time. They were all called to Emily’s by Sam’s order, and he had told them to bring Kim and Bella as well, seeing as they were imprints. Everyone’s attention flitted to the front door as Paul and Sam entered the house, drenched from the day’s downpour and the patrol they had just finished. Emily was first to greet them, kissing Sam eagerly in warm welcome and commenting that she would get them each a change of clothes and towels to dry off. When the two came back to the living room, new clothes on and towels hung around their necks, Embry paused his cassette player and removed the earphones.
Emily followed Sam to the extra space on Jared and Kim’s couch to sit, while Paul stood by the window against a glistening background of rain water and shadows, arms crossed over his chest and face carved into something serious.
“So,” Jacob was the first to speak over the storm that beat down on the roof, “we’re all here like you asked. What’s going on?”
Sam glanced at Emily for a moment, sighing. “I know I called you all here on short notice,” he breathed out, turning back to look around the room at his pack members, “it isn’t serious, yet, anyway.” The silence enveloping the room was palpable, everyone giving him their undivided attention. He looked at Bella for a long moment before continuing. “We’ve run into some problems,” he stated, eyes flicking to Jacob and then Embry, who dropped eye contact the moment their gazes connected. “And we’ve had some really close calls. People almost getting hurt.”
Images flashed behind his tired eyes, of Bella in the woods, of Embry almost crossing the border solo just to kill a leech, of bright red hair and Emily’s blood being drunk by the damp earth under her limp body. It was hard, he was willing to admit to himself, trying to lead this group, to be someone to look toward for help or guidance. But Sam couldn’t even consider crumbling now; he had to put on a brave face, for he felt a responsibility over all of their lives resting on his shoulders.
“There’s still no sign of her,” Paul told the room, impatient and holding back a desire to go out looking again even though he’d just returned. Everyone’s attention flew to him, upon hearing this. “That redheaded leech we’ve been trying to track,” he frowned at the floorboards beneath his bare feet, “she must know we’re looking for her.”
“It’s Victoria, she wants me,” Bella confessed, awash with guilt. More than anything, she hated the fact they were risking their lives for her every day. While the pack went on patrol in shifts, she stayed in La Push and made conversation with Emily or Kim and the three of them tried to pretend that the people they loved weren’t in grave danger. “Her and Laurent have been looking for me this whole time. I should have realized.”
“And she’s not gonna get you,” Jacob replied, anger bubbling just at the thought of her being hunted, “or she’ll end up like the other one.”
“She’s smart,” Sam took over once more, “we can’t underestimate her. We’re covering as much ground as we can,” he paused, seeking out another look of encouragement from his love sat beside him. “I think it’s best if no one goes anywhere alone, from now on. We already patrol in teams, but,” he held Bella’s gaze, “we don’t need a repeat of events.”
Bella nodded, and let Jacob pull her tighter against his chest. “No more wandering off in the woods by yourself,” he told the room, “or going anywhere without telling someone. We know she was working with the other one,” Sam glanced at each of his pack member’s faces, thinking back to the vampire they’d pulled apart together, how they’d come back late in the night after seeing Bella make it home safe, lighting the limbs on fire. “And she could come back any time. But we know what she’s after, now.”
“Vampire girl,” Jared muttered, and Jacob scowled at the remark.
“From now on, we rotate in tight shifts, and no one goes out alone,” Sam ordered, “not until we catch her.”
There were mumbled agreements at his words, the reluctant and exhausted bobbing of heads like buoys on the water, and he sighed again. “I know you’re all tired,” he said, “I’m tired, too. And I know this isn’t ideal. But we don’t need any more surprise phases,” he saw Embry sinking down lower into the cushions, “and we don’t need anyone else getting hurt. We got lucky finding Bella when we did. I don’t really wanna chance our luck again, do you?”
Numerous no’s were muttered. “Good, me neither.”
With the storm continuing its frenzy and the meeting since settled, the group stayed dry inside the house, and Sam found himself with Emily in their shared bedroom. She nursed house plants in silent contemplation, pausing from giving them a drink of water only at the sight of her fiancé sitting at the edge of their bed, his head held in his hands. He would never need to speak for her to understand, to read his emotions, to see the weight bearing down upon his shoulders with an intensity that seemed to grow day by day. She approached him quietly, knelt down before his knees on the hardwood floor, and reached out to cover his warm hands with her own.
“Sam,” she whispered, her voice seeming to sober him somehow as he lifted his hidden face. Emily smoothed back his dark hair, swept the strands away from his beautiful eyes that glistened with unshed welling tears, and took his face in both palms, thumb running patterns over his cheek. He melted into the comfort of her touch like how the last chill of winter thaws in the hopeful break of spring-light, closing his weary eyes. “You’re doing everything you need to do. You know that, right? You work so hard.”
He nodded, but Emily knew he wasn’t convinced. He had always taken his role as Alpha seriously, and she watched as the stress piled upon his back with each joining pack member. They were just boys, and she and Sam both felt it was their responsibility to watch over them, take care of them, and ensure their safe return to their families. It was no easy task, no casual undertaking.
“I know,” he replied, his voice strained, weak, “I just worry. I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing most days, Em. We’ve had so many close calls lately, and I…” he began to trail off then, opening his eyes but refusing to meet her own, staring off instead at the corner of the room. A flicker of shame, of self-doubt and hesitance flashed in those dark irises, she could see it.
“And?” she coaxed gently, though she had an inkling of what this was truly about.
“I just think,” he started again, looking off to the side, “maybe I’m not what these kids need. I mean, if something happens to one of them, I-”
Emily stopped him from continuing that train of thought, pulling his face closer gently so that he’d look into her eyes. “Sam, you are what they need. There are things you have to go through alone, and I hate that, but I will always support you. You’re a good man, and they know it. They trust your judgment; I trust your judgment. You always look out for the people you care about, it’s one of the many reasons I love you.” A wistful smile played on her mouth, as she continued, “You might be Alpha, but that doesn’t mean you have to carry all of it on your own. Let them help you, let me.”
Sam gazed at her, so full of longing as he brought a hand up to cup her scarred cheek. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“And no one will with you there,” she replied.
He grew quiet once more, eyes searching hers. “You did,” he reminded her, the memory of his failure to protect the woman he loved a permanent stain that remained in his remembrance no matter how many times he tried to scrub it away. “It was my fault. I was careless, I wasn’t paying attention, and you paid for it.”
“That’s not true,” she argued, pulling his hand from her cheek to hold in both of her own. “I followed you out there; I knew the risk, and I accepted it when I chose to be with you. I know that you’d do anything to protect me, and I know that you would never intentionally hurt me.”
“Wasn’t my intention, but you were hurt anyway.”
“Sam, it wasn’t your fault. You can’t hold onto this guilt forever; it’s just holding you back. And I hate to see you blaming yourself for things you can’t control. You can’t do everything on your own.” Emily rubbed circles into the back of his hand with the pad of her thumb, watched her touch sooth his heavy heart.
He nodded to himself, taking in her words. Of course, he knew she was right, she almost always was.
“I think it’s time we let the past go,” Emily spoke, barely above a whisper. Even in the dim light of their bedroom, Sam thought her radiant and just as awestriking as the first time. “If we don’t put it down somewhere, we’re never gonna move forward.”
“Jacob”, Bella could hear the sound of her own voice, the way it trembled and shook like ripples on water, like the branches of the trees outside of the Black’s home caught in the storm. She remembered how he’d turned to her, his focus dropping away from everything around them, honed in on her and the worry she couldn’t hide in her tone. “Be careful.”
“I will.”
He had whispered this promise into her hair as he’d pulled her against his chest in a hug she could hardly bear parting from. There had been more she had wanted to say, but her throat closed and all she could do was let him hold her, squeezing her eyes shut against oncoming tears. And as Bella stood by the window in the living room, her eyes closed against the steadily blackening sky and fierce rain that fell to the earth like spears, like a promise of things far worse yet to come, she held tight to the memory of his departure. Arms held around herself, she could almost feel his warmth still seeping into her skin rather than the biting cold of the glass pane.
She had not wanted to leave him, nor had she been keen on staying in his house, its small frame seeming so vast and horrifically quiet in its emptiness—but Jacob had asked. They had left Emily’s hours before, and Billy had offered her coffee or something to eat before he’d left to meet with the Council. Moving away from the window, Bella ran her fingers through her long hair, making a valiant attempt to will away the visions her mind conjured: the hunt, the pack, a fierce tug of war and the careful balance of life and death as if tottering on the edge of a knife. The thought of them all, the wolves risking their lives, caught in the eye of the storm while she could do nothing but watch helplessly on through the window to see what fate might have of them each. Her stomach rolled, shoulders shuddered like the leaves against the unforgiving wind outside, and the images that plagued her, the mere idea of one of them not returning from patrol, pounded against the back of her vision like a war drum. Its steady, unnerving beat…
They’ll be fine, she sought to comfort herself, they’ll come back, soon. Jacob will be back. He promised.
The floorboards whispered beneath her feet as she walked to the kitchen, as if giving her company in this sudden solitude, this heavy and expecting silence she wished at once would burst. On the counter, the coffee pot sat in wait, and she found it was still warm as she pulled out a lone mug from the cupboard, and poured herself a drink, steam rising against her chilled skin. The air was rich, overwhelmed with its strong and bitter essence which seemed to restore her, and altogether remove the tangled web of half-formed visualizations she’d found herself frightfully intertwined in. Clear-minded now, she opened the fridge in search of milk or creamer, twisting open the cap and watching the black liquid turn almost almond in hue, milk spreading on its surface like watercolor on paper.
She had just stirred in the sugar, giving it a quick taste with her spoon, when a sharp knock came at the front door. The noise had been so sudden and so loud she had jumped slightly where she stood, her breathing growing shallow and quick. All at once, it was as if her senses returned, the violent gusts of wind that pummeled against the house, the rain that collided with the roof, and the branches of trees that cried out against the violence of this never-ending storm flooding her ears. Another knock came, hard and demanding against the door, and Bella hesitated to answer it. She worried, for just a moment, whether Victoria had found her, if perhaps she had evaded the pack and snuck onto the reservation to claim her kill. But no, she reasoned, Victoria wouldn’t bother with pleasantries such as knocking.
Maybe it’s dad, she considered, confused as to why he would come by Jacob’s place when she had called earlier already to let him know where she was, not wanting to cause him unnecessary worry. She’d done more than enough at that, over the last months. Or it could be Emily, or Kim.
“Jacob!” the visitor yelled, over the howling wind and rain, so loud she could hear the anger it embodied, and she knew its owner. Unlocking the door, Bella found not her huntress, nor her father, and certainly not Kim or Emily, but Quil Ateara.
He was soaked, his already dark clothing turned darker still from the rain, his hair usually so naturally curly stuck to his forehead in straightened sections that looked almost black, water falling in steady drips from the ends. His nose and cheeks had gone red as if he’d run some great distance, and the way his breaths came out uneven and heavy, Bella guessed maybe he had–or perhaps it was the livid tone and the emotions backing it that colored his skin, now.
Quil was caught mid-knock, knuckles still raised where the door had been pulled open and mouth already forming his friend’s name when he realized who had answered. For a moment, the two of them simply stared at one another, unsure of what to say, what to do, but then Quil dropped his hand, eyebrows raised in shock.
“Bella?” he said her name like a question, puzzled, “what are you doing here?”
“Quil,” she replied, keeping the door only slightly ajar, obscuring half of her body, peeking out at him on the front porch like she was scared to show herself. And in truth, a part of her was. Not returning phone calls was one thing, not venturing to his house an easy enough task to avoid, but staying away from him now, when he was right in front of her face, well that was another effort entirely. She had not expected this, for him to show up here, now, and certainly not in the middle of a thunderstorm. “What are you doing here?” she repeated his own question, one hand on the door like she might close it shut without warning. “You shouldn’t be outside.”
“Where’s Jacob?” he asked, confusion morphing into anger, his eyes narrowing at where she hid partly behind the door.
“He’s not here,” she told him, the first truth in a sea of lies she was ready to wade through. “He left a while ago.”
“Where’s Billy?”
“He’s meeting with the Council,” Bella answered, studying his face as his eyebrows drew close together, something shifting behind his eyes at her words, like some puzzle piece fitting into place, some revelation becoming known to him.
Some revelation, indeed, for Quil had heard much the same from his grandfather when he’d left home, returning some odd minutes before Quil had come here, steadfast on getting answers for the very many things in his life that no longer made sense. Why Jacob and Embry had cut contact with him, what his mother and grandfather whispered about at the kitchen table when they thought Quil couldn’t hear them. The list went on and on, and Quil had reached a breaking point that day, when his grandfather had come back and hung his raincoat by the door.
“Something’s going on with Embry and Jacob,” he had stated this, standing on the last stair, watching as his grandfather kicked off his boots and adjusted his thin wired glasses on the bridge of his nose. “You know about it.”
His grandfather had peered up at him, his eyes sharp in the way they scrutinized him, lined with wrinkles and crow’s feet, and for just the tiniest fraction of a second, Quil had seen it, the way he hesitated as if caught off guard. But then he was shrugging off his grandson’s comment, walking through the foyer as if Quil was not there at all. This had angered Quil more than the feigned ignorance, the way he had been ignored. And so he left the last stair he'd been standing on, following behind his grandfather and already speaking again.
“All the times you leave to meet with the Council,” he went on, thinking of the dates, how the night of his father’s death anniversary he’d come down stairs just in time to catch him leaving close to midnight, and how right after this, Jacob had stopped speaking to him save for a clipped phone call a week after the fact. How he’d left after breakfast the morning after Embry ran off into the night, how his mother and grandfather shared looks across the kitchen table they assumed Quil didn’t catch. Their hushed conversations as he tried to listen in at the top of the staircase, his mother’s shock and the confirmation it’d given him when he’d asked about Jacob’s supposed illness as they fought in the car on the way home from school. Her voice, broken with spilling tears, as she talked downstairs: Are you sure? The Council is sure?
“It’s about them, isn’t it?” Quil asked, though he didn’t need to. He knew.
He followed his grandfather into the kitchen, watched as he had poured himself a cup of plain black coffee, and all the while his temper rose, reaching a fever pitch. “Answer me!” he had nearly screamed, but he couldn’t have been bothered to care. Trust had been breached months ago, and by his own family, and so Quil hadn’t attempted to hold his tongue, pushing and pushing until the both of them were yelling at one another, the coffee sitting on the counter, forgotten and left to cool amidst their screaming.
“There’s nothing going on,” his grandfather had repeated this multiple times, refusing to meet Quil’s eyes, hunched over as if he were some small thing of prey, cowering to avoid capture. “You’ve jumped to conclusions.”
And Quil had grown quiet, his teeth clenched tightly together and face burning, as he answered in their native tongue. “You’re a liar.”
“Billy knows,” Quil spoke aloud, though he was really talking to himself, his voice a whisper against the rainfall. Bella watched him as he lifted his eyes to meet hers once more, anger and betrayal reflecting back at her, and yet something else, something like understanding. She found herself swallowing without meaning to, nervous and mouth going dry. “You know, don't you?”
She blinked a few times, willing herself to speak, and when she did her voice came out far quieter than she had wanted. “Know what?”
But Quil didn’t answer, his eyes searching hers, and she could see the wheels turning, the deep sense of knowing he was rapidly approaching. “You never returned my calls,” he mumbled, “because you know something. About Jake. About Embry. Sam’s gang got to them, and all of you know about it but me.”
“It’s got nothing to do with Sam,” she lied, hoping perhaps he would buy into this, but she could tell even as she uttered the words that he was resisting.
You’re a liar, his internal voice echoed, and he didn’t care to be lied to anymore. Especially not by her.
“I thought we were friends,” Quil said, shivering against the wind that met his back.
“We were, Quil,” Bella replied, fighting with herself. Part of her wanted, more than anything, to open the door fully, to let him inside and with his entrance, tell him everything she had only just recently discovered. But it was not her secret to tell, and more than that, she finally was coming to understand the pack’s view. Jacob had kept his distance, Embry too, from both of them. Out of a desire to keep them safe, and away from crossfire. Bella, for all her stubbornness, had forced the truth out anyway, but maybe she could save him from it. Maybe, this one time, she could keep a loved one out of harm's way.
“Were,” Quil repeated, as if mulling over the tense and all it embodied, “so what? You don’t want to be my friend anymore?”
Maybe Quil would be spared from ever shifting at all. He could live his own life, uninterrupted by the horrifying truth just behind the veil. He’d never know of vampires, nor war, and death’s cold fingers wouldn’t circle around his throat as it had her own many times. This was what Bella told herself, justifying her next words. The Cullens, their cruelty, had been for nothing. She was not like them, would not cut him down with a sharp blow. You don’t want me? Her voice echoed in her mind, bringing with it buried memories and a life that seemed so foreign to her, now. No, Edward’s voice answered, a stinging finality.
“That’s not it, Quil. Embry and Jake, they’re just…” she trailed off, glancing to the side, “there’s just things they’re dealing with, right now. And I think they just need time.”
“Away from me,” he finished her sentence before she could, “but not from you.”
Bella looked back at him guiltily, shaking her head, and all the while she hated the expression he wore, the way his shoulders slumped and his eyes went downcast, and she knew he was taking this to heart, internalizing it.
“No, Quil-” she started to argue, but he cut her off.
“You want nothing to do with me and you’re still too scared to just tell me that to my face,” he said, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. He blinked, letting them run tracks down his cheeks, and the lightning that came seconds after only illuminated them more so. A faint clap of thunder followed, and Bella shuddered, bit down hard on her lower lip to keep herself from breaking into tears of her own. What had he done to drive them all away? Why was it that everyone seemed to deem him untrustworthy, enough to keep him in the dark? He wasn’t the one keeping secrets, he told himself, but a snide voice reminded him otherwise. Maybe everyone knew, and hated him for it.
“That’s not true,” she told him, on the verge of crying, that familiar pinprick at her eyes and fractured tone of voice. For a moment, she considered telling him to come inside, wondering if she had made the right choice or if she had given him another wound he’d be nursing alone. Maybe I am a bad friend, that horrible voice in her head told her, I am just like them. She found herself opening the door wider, stepping back as she asked him to come inside, told him that he shouldn’t keep standing out in the cold, that he might get sick.
But Quil didn’t move as she beckoned him in, only turned his head to stare out at the trees. That doesn’t answer anything about Bry, his consciousness reminded him, unable to understand his behavior or why it was that he seemed unable to stay around him. If it were that they all simply knew the truth about him, and didn’t approve, then why was it that Embry had taken him home? Stayed the night, even? Why did his grandfather seem to leave each time one of his friends vanished from his everyday life, without explanation? And why, most of all, had they joined Sam’s circle?
“I don’t believe you,” Quil said after a beat, watching the sway of branches and leaves in the wind, listening to the creaks and snaps as some thin ones were broken away, soaring in the air and left to crash to the ground. Bella was about to respond, tell him she did want to be his friend, but he continued. “About Jake and Bry. I don’t believe you.”
She was at a loss for words, the cold air outside seeping into the Black’s house through the wide open door, and into her pale skin covered with goosebumps.
“There’s something you know that you’re not telling me,” he spoke quietly, as if resolute, “but I’m gonna find out what.”
Here one second, and then he was gone, turning and leaving the porch, running under the rain and out into the storm again. Bella stepped out from the house as he ran off, into the downpour herself, shielding her eyes with her hand and screaming for him to come back. Her heart thrummed erratically in her chest as she watched him leave the yard, and she called his name repeatedly as if he might turn around, as if she might keep him from danger just by that simple act alone.
But he did not look back, no longer even listened as he cut through the yard and into the treeline beyond.
Chapter 15: Power Over Me
Notes:
Yay!!!! I finally did it, I've FINALLY arrived at the halfway mark on this story!!! I'm SO excited to be posting this chapter, and I would love love LOVE to hear what you all think. I stayed up and wrote this for a full like 8 hours, and then spent even longer editing it. The dedication is REAL. Anyway, this chapter is a big one--it's actually the longest chapter I've written for this story (over 7,600 words). Consider it a nice treat lol. As always, thanks for the support and I hope you all enjoy! :)
Chapter Text
I wanna be king in your story
I wanna know who you are
I want your heart to be for me
Oh, I
Want you to sing to me softly
'Cause then I'm outrunning the dark
That's all that love ever taught me
Oh, I
Call and I'll rush out
All out of breath now
You've got that power over me
My, my
Everything I hold dear resides in those eyes
You've got that power over me
My, my
The only one I know, the only one on my mind
You've got that power over me
He knew this ground, had walked its winding paths and mapped its rich soil hundreds of times over the span of his short life, the familiarity like his own palm–the creases in the skin that intertwined or broke off into crossroads.
Sunlight shimmered above him, broke through the dense cedar and oak that dotted these forests, warm rays pouring down as if to illuminate where his bare feet might fall next. Birdsong and wildlife drew his attention, a squirrel dashing up the bark of a tree to his right, a goldfinch perched on a thin branch just ahead, its bright yellow feathers tinted almost amber under the low hanging sun. It leaned down, tilting its head ever so slightly to study the earth Quil walked over, and as he passed under the branch, it spread its wings and flew away, startled.
A slight breeze tousled his curled hair, the beaded jewelry hung around his neck swaying side to side over his chest. And he reached up absentmindedly, to hold the shell that adorned the handmade necklace like a pendant, steadying it as the wind subsided. He was close, now, to the Quillayute River, could hear the water before he saw it. If he followed along its side, he would reach its natural fork. The river was confirmation he had been traveling in the right direction, though he hadn’t needed such a thing, with all of the exploring he’d done in childhood forever etched in his mind. Though, he hadn’t been alone back then, as he was now. But he hoped, perhaps beyond reason, that he might find answers out here.
Following the opposite direction of the river’s running current, Quil considered he might be wasting yet another evening. For days, he’d been wandering around the reservation, through the woods and along different unmarked trails he knew by heart. When he had left Jacob’s that day, Bella screaming for him to come back, he’d unsurprisingly found nothing. He searched anyway, through the rainstorm and approaching nighttime, until his clothing was so drenched that the cold sunk its teeth deep into his flesh, and he was left shivering the entire walk home, shoes and jeans all caked in mud and t-shirt thoroughly dirtied from slipping while trying to make it up an incline. He had stayed out there until he could hardly see a few feet in front of his eyes, screaming their names and receiving no answer. The next day, and the one following were much the same, his voice hoarse and throat sore. Once home, he would be faced with his grandfather’s suspicious gaze, but neither spoke, and Quil refused to be the one to bridge that gap formed between them.
His mother noticed the tension, of course, but if she pried, she did not do so to him. School work had little attention in his mind, these days, his part-time shifts too a lesser priority compared to this search party of one.
He’d waited at the beach throughout the early morning hours, watching the sun break over the horizon and how it set the clouds stretched thin across the pale sky on fire in varying shades of orange and red. Playing with the necklace that Embry had left on his nightstand with one hand, the other sought out small, round stones to toss into the sea. They skipped over the skin of the water’s face, each one he threw reaching further out than the last, until he’d grown bored and weary. A couple hours after sunrise, still with no sign of anyone coming up or down the shoreline, Quil had eventually left. He had half believed that maybe Embry would show up there just as he had the night of his birthday, like if he wanted it badly enough he could make him appear. He had even built a terribly formed sandcastle as he rested there, tilting his head to the heavens to find the clouds had cleared away with hours since passed. Disheartened, he’d left the lapping waves and damp sand behind, watching the saltwater wash away his creation with each roll of the tide.
A change of scenery was needed, so he’d ventured into the trees by the day’s afternoon, covering unsearched ground. Time before this, he’d used to survey the trails around his own home, and then nearby the Call’s, and lastly the Black’s. Coming up empty had caused him to change course, walk along backroads he didn’t usually take, all in hopes he’d catch one of them out here. Doing what, he had no idea, but his mind was sure to summon horrifying images.
No matter how long he gave it thought, it just did not make sense to him. Why the sudden unexplained avoidance? And if it truly had to do with himself, why did Embry seem reluctant around him, as if he wasn’t allowed to talk to him. Why did Jacob duck his head and shift away at school, unable to look him in the eyes? When had Bella become comfortable lying to his face? And when, what was the exact moment his family had decided to breach his trust, specifically over friends he cared deeply about?
It’s got nothing to do with Sam, Bella’s words rang through his head like chimes in the wind, and he frowned, glaring down at the forest floor he walked over, careful to avoid anything potentially sharp. It’s got nothing to do with Sam, his own internal voice repeated, turning the sentence over this way and that as if to examine it deeper. No, it’s got everything to do with Sam. He was always watching us, before Bry ditched me and Jake. When he wasn’t running off into the woods with Jared and Paul… He swallowed, recalling the way he had looked at them, as if he had something planned for them that only he knew about. It had been uncomfortable, and more so frightening.
What’s he doing to them? he thought next, stepping up onto the length of a log. It was entirely blanketed in moss, and he walked along its surface like an acrobat across tightrope, one foot in front of the other, balancing as he went. The moss was soft, spongy and slightly damp against the soles of his feet, and he enjoyed just for a fleeting moment the tranquility it brought him. Hopping from the edge of the log, he continued along the river, hands in his hoodie pocket.
I dunno, but I’m gonna find out, he answered the question of his own consciousness, stepping over twigs here and sharp rocks there, and I’m gonna help them get away from whatever they’re caught up in.
He’d arrived at his destination finally, staring up at the ashen bark, its white mottled patterns and flaky texture. The flowers were in full bloom, four petaled blossoms standing against the backcloth of surrounding forest like opal set into jewelry beside jade and peridot. Behind him, twigs snapped, and Quil turned fast at the noise, eyes trailing along the trees in search of something, anything.
It’s not him, he told himself, probably a deer or something.
Quil took another long, last look up at the dogwood, admiring how tall it had grown, before he began to climb. Its bark peeled under his toes and fingers, chipping away and falling to the ground below to join the stray petals and leaves. These branches, he knew from experience, were sturdy enough to support his weight, enough to weather a terrible storm without breaking unlike the cedar, oak or pine that made up this land. Higher he dared to go, past the limb he’d chosen as his throne in childhood. Nearly at the top was where he’d halted, holding the trunk with one arm and legs swung over the branch so that he could sit and watch the forest. He’d done this many times as a boy, though never quite this high up. Quil had always been afraid of heights, but something about this tree made him feel braver, somehow, like it was gifting some of its resilience to him. And as he sat and watched the world turn around him, he felt almost happy again, hopeful even. The children grew up, but that did not mean they had to sacrifice the love they had once felt here.
Embry had remembered, after all, had even kept the blossom Quil had picked so many years ago. More than anything, seeing that parchment fall onto the sheets from the inside of the book, and reading the near perfect handwriting on the inside cover, had made Quil think that it was possible. Maybe, just maybe, Embry cared more for him than Quil allowed himself to believe. He had asked for a sign, hadn’t he? He could do nothing more than take that for one. The sunlight glittered through the blossoms and leaves that swayed with the wind like light over faceted gems, all golden and divine, creating kaleidoscope patterns across his chest and face. Almost lazily, he reached out before his eyes, picked a flower from where it hung amongst the leaves, pulled it close to twirl under the rays of light.
Soon, the sun would set on the horizon, and the forest would grow dark and wild with life. Quil plucked a petal free, watching it flutter in the air to join the wilted ones on the ground below, his head rested back against the scratchy bark.
“Loves me, loves me not,” he whispered, pulling each from its bud, before letting that go, too. He pressed his lips closed, glancing back out over the trees, studying the vibrant shades of green. Well, I love him, even if he doesn’t love me. Nothing’s gonna change that.
Minutes stretched on, and Quil blinked slowly, almost drowsy until rustling from above woke him up. Tilting his head up, he caught sight of the noise, a red-tailed hawk swooping through the leaves to join him at his vantagepoint. Honeyed eyes stared at him, sharp talons curled around the thin twig it perched on. “You gonna keep me company?” Quil asked aloud, marveling at the bird’s size and deep rust red coloring. He’d never been so close to one before. As if listening, the hawk leaned its head to the side before losing interest, studying the forest below instead, probably in search of its next meal, Quil figured.
The screech it let out as it swooped suddenly from the branch startled him, and he followed it with his eyes as it caught a young ground squirrel in its beak.
“Guess not,” he muttered, shifting on the branch he dangled his legs over. I should head home. He told himself not to feel letdown, that he had known coming here wouldn't make a difference, that there was little to zero chance he would find Embry out here. He’d allowed himself to hope anyhow, though, that maybe his gift he’d left Quil on his birthday meant something more, so as he made his way back down, it was hard to not feel frustrated.
Midway, that was how low he’d gotten on the dogwood, when he saw it. The movement had been so quick, and so sudden against the stillness around him, that he’d paused, hands holding firm to the tree’s trunk as he squinted his eyes, searching the distance.
It was almost like a shadow, moving inside the pine, but it had been such a bright, burning orange that caught his attention almost against his will.
We haven’t seen anything all day.
Jared’s complaining was beginning to grate on Paul’s nerves, and he angrily snapped out a shut the hell up, turning his head to bare his teeth at his packmate.
I’m tired, Jared’s voice whined in their minds, and hungry.
We’re all tired, idiot, Embry found himself replying, fatigue opening his thoughts more than he’d like to keep them. You can worry about food later.
I miss Kim, he went on, images of her beaming face crossing behind each wolf's eyes, the sound of her laughter and the feel of her small frame held protected in a pair of arms what came next.
Here we go again, Paul sneered, preparing for the onslaught of memories he’d rather not be forced to see for himself.
Kim, it appeared, caused a chain reaction. Moments later, Jacob was thinking of Bella, the two of them on the driftwood just after dawn at First Beach, the smooth feel of her arm as he ran his fingers over her skin, the sweet scent of her strawberry shampoo and her gorgeous brown eyes glistening with unshed tears in the forgiving morning light. The scar like a crescent embedded into the tender flesh of her wrist, and the anger it caused to boil in his chest, just barely contained.
What had come to them as a surprise were the images that trailed after these, revealed like a curtain pulled back from a theater stage, tumbling forth too quickly for Embry to catch them, to keep them hidden in the depths of his memory.
Yeah, well you’re the worst thing for me, Quil’s voice broke through like water from a dam, washing over them all, the recollection a cold shock that Embry forced each to feel, just as he had that night. Sometimes I wish we had never met.
Whatever they’d been thinking of prior was swept away with the current of remembrance, Bella and Kim and desired dinner all but forgotten in the heartache Embry was recalling. Quil, his lips pressed against a girl’s from school, the way she’d seemed to replace him both at his old desk and his spot on the log they’d designated their own at the beach. I’m sure your new girlfriend cares just as much. The gnawing jealousy, the stinging displeasure that’d been laced in his own voice when he’d said those words to Quil in the bookstore. What’s that supposed to mean? Quil’s irritable response, full of detest, and she isn’t my girlfriend.
Can’t you stay? The feel of Quil’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, his round eyes ringed red and shining, full to spilling with oncoming tears. Please, just stay. Pulling the quilt over his tired shoulders, his even, warm breaths against Embry’s face as he slept beside him. This was the last mental image they’d been given, before Embry was able to reign them back in, almost as fast as they’d been released but not quick enough.
Ooo, Jared sung, what was that, Embry? He swished his short furred tail back and forth, and though he couldn’t physically do so, Embry knew he would have been wearing the most insufferable grin had he had the ability to.
None of your damn business, Embry bit back, embarrassed and nervous all at once. He chanced a glance at Jacob beside him, and found his friend already staring at him. And though he said nothing, Embry knew Jacob, and he knew it wouldn’t be long now before he realized the truth, if he wasn’t already.
You just made it our business, Jared replied, his tone light and teasing. Looks to me like you’ve got a cr-
Oh, shut up, Jared, Paul intervened, sensing Embry’s hesitance and the way he tried to cover up the anxious shaking of his legs. It’s not like any of us want to see each other’s memories.
Are you all done? This was Sam, who had turned around to observe his pack, annoyance clear in his tone. From what Embry could tell, he didn’t seem to care about what he’d just witnessed. And for the record, Jared, I don’t think you really have room to talk when you’re constantly forcing all of us to think about your girlfriend. Lay off. Embry doesn’t have to tell us anything. It isn’t anything you need to worry about, is it?
Jared hung his head low, muzzle close to the ground amidst the leaves, as if such an act would keep Sam’s hardened stare away from him. We have ground to cover, and not a lot of daylight to do it.
As Sam continued on ahead, Paul and Jacob close behind, Jared turned to look at Embry, the humid air brushing his gray fur back and causing his blackened ears to flick with irritation. Look, I was just teasing, man, he said, and though he knew the rest of the pack could hear his words, he still spoke them softly, as if reserved only for Embry. He was met with an uncomfortable silence, so he added with a huff, and… I wanted to say sorry, for what I said a few days ago, about Quil. I shouldn’t have brought it up.
Thanks, Jared, Embry replied, keeping his eyes trained straight ahead, trying to ignore the way his limbs still trembled with anxiety. A heavy weight hung in the air, and a part of him had wanted to run away, seclude himself from everyone’s curious minds and eyes that he felt saw right through to the core of him. He hadn’t meant for them to see anything, was too tired to keep it in check. Maybe they were all repulsed by him and by the implications he’d let slip; the irrational side of his brain fed into this with ease.
I dunno what I saw, Jared kept talking, and you’re right, it’s not my business, but I’m not judging you or anything. I wish I had friends like you.
This stopped Embry’s thoughts altogether, and he paused in the steps he took, finally meeting Jared’s eyes. What?
Jared shook his head, the dark markings over his face like a mask a shade lighter in the brightness cascading from above. I’ve never really had friends like you, he confessed, you and Jacob and Quil. You guys grew up together, you know? Man, I’m not really good at this whole saying what I’m feeling, he sighed, growing frustrated, and Embry watched him, puzzled. What I wanted to say was, he tried again, that I wish we could be friends, too.
Embry was quiet, thinking it over, unsure of what to say. If he were being honest, he’d been so sure Jared didn’t like him, that he was out to get him even. Now he saw otherwise. I thought you didn’t like me, was what came out, as they continued walking once more.
Yeah? I thought you hated me, too, Jared replied with an airy chuckle. So? We cool?
Up and over a small hill they ventured, before Embry nodded his large head once. Yeah, we’re cool.
It happened when they had come close to the river’s edge. That dreaded, pungent smell that made them recoil in disgust, nauseous and dizzy with the sheer potence of it. Leech. They knew what it was, and what it meant, and were more than ready for the hunt, the chase, the kill.
What none of them had been ready for were the unfamiliar voices coming through their minds, panicked and screaming, shrill and so far away it came to them fractured, like broken shards of glass. A lone what is happening to me caught here, a cry for help from a younger sounding voice after. The wolves rushed toward one another, looking this way and that through the vast forest, unable to pinpoint the direction the speakers were coming from. They spoke to one another in frantic, tripping sentences, dozens of questions asked like rapidfire.
Leah! The name had been screamed so clearly, and with such terror it felt as if they’d been doused with frigid water. And the answering name, Seth, had caused even Sam’s eyes to dart around, frantic.
They phased, he said, in complete disbelief. And he would have continued to disbelieve, had he not heard their names spoken. Seth and Leah phased. His own voice sounded foreign to him, lost in the jumble of words invading his head.
Fuck! Paul yelled, we have to find them, Sam!
What about the bloodsucker? Jacob asked, he and Embry already intent on tracking its scent.
Leah and Seth are more important, Jared shot back, we can’t let them wander back around the rez, we need to find them and calm them down.
It’s not far, Embry said after, Jacob and I can catch it. It could be the one we’ve been looking for, Sam.
And Sam, for all his months of experience, for the first time felt truly at a loss, torn helplessly between two sides. He looked at Embry a moment, gaze flicking to Jacob and then back again. Emily had said he was what these kids needed, and he tried to calm his racing heart, ignore the thought of one of them getting hurt. He knew Embry and Jacob were the fastest in their pack, and that if anyone had the chance of catching Victoria, it was them. They couldn’t let the vampire wander unchecked, and they couldn’t leave the siblings to endure this shift alone. A second more he hesitated, until Paul and Jared were asking what to do with raised voices. He never broke eye contact with Embry.
Stay together, he told him, and be careful! You hear me?
I hear you.
Go, he ordered, watched his two newest members break off from the group and into the trees, out of sight. When they were gone, he turned to Jared and Paul, the trio prepared for a hunt of their own.
Quil had jumped the last couple of feet to the ground, his attention still on the tops of the trees in the distance. But in the dimming sun, he rubbed at his eyes, sure he was just tired. Even still, each noise around him was a startle. Something in the air had shifted; the wildlife had grown quiet, and a pit like foreboding had sunk heavy in his chest like anchors at sea.
It was warm and humid still, and yet his arms were tracked with gooseflesh. An incessant chill clawed at the back of his neck, ran down the length of his spine. He turned away from the trees, wanting very badly now to go home when he had found a sliver of contentment only minutes ago. There’s nothing out here; you know these woods. There’s nothing to be scared of.
But when he turned to head back home, that was when he saw her.
The sight of someone else out here, and only a few feet from him, had caused him to jump backward in surprise. Quil stumbled to the ground, surrounded by the leaves and tiny sticks that littered the floor, sharp rocks digging into one of his palms from where he’d landed. He had screamed, he thought, but he couldn’t have been sure. And from the ground, he gaped up at her, only now realizing something wasn’t quite right about the way she appeared. Her skin, which shone like glitter in the beams of sunlight that hit her under her layered clothing, and hair wild and unkempt, blazing like a bonfire. The most unusual of all, he’d realized, were her eyes. Set into her white skin like two rubies, they zeroed in on him, and Quil shuddered involuntarily.
He was prey eying the snare.
When he blinked, she was gone, reappearing at his side half a second later, so fast she was merely a blur of color against the foliage.
“What’s this?” When she spoke, it was like the soft tinkling of bells, and when she reached to grab him, her skin on his was so cold it almost burned. “Did someone get separated from the pack?”
Quil had heard the legends his tribe told through smoke and ember, had been raised on them, what he had believed as just myth. Just stories to frighten the kids so that they would stay out of unnecessary trouble, now becoming something tangible. Monsters, sickeningly pale and inhumanly quick, that feasted on humans to quench an insatiable thirst. He even listened to his grandfather tell some tales as a boy, sat diligently by his side as he spoke of tribal guardians who were tasked with this land and its inhabitant’s protection.
And he’d never believed any of it, not until he was staring death in the face.
Through the terror that seized his heart, he found his senses, scrambling from the ground and away from her fingers that had ghosted just under his jaw. As he moved, she went to grab for him again, catching the necklace he wore. And she pulled against its length, threads snapping apart and beads spilling onto the leaves under her boots. Victoria glared at the strand in her fingers, tossing the broken jewelry to her feet and hissing as Quil tried to run, bare feet kicking up leaves and dirt as he darted through the woods. He didn’t even care that he was scraping his skin across stones and pine cones, his mind screaming for him to just run, as fast as you can. Along the river’s side he sprinted, his breaths coming quick and uneven, his feet flashing brown under the dirt.
She caught him with ease. One moment, it’d been a clear path before him, the promise of a well-known journey home, the sound of the rushing water and his unsteady heartbeat pulsing in his ears. The next, she was there, had stopped him dead in his tracks by the throat. He let out a noise like choking as she lifted him clean off the ground, and Quil’s hands inflicted with gashes had come up to hold her wrist, to try and pry her fingers away. The grip she had on him was impossible, so strong he hadn’t managed to budge even one finger.
“You’re not one of them,” she noted to herself, almost without care, tightening her hold, cutting off the air he was desperately trying to breathe. Her scarlet eyes flicked to the blood seeping from his palms. The look they contained was like hunger, and Quil’s own eyes widened as she revealed to him sharp teeth, white like whale bone.
I’m gonna die, was what he thought, was all he could hope to think, and he probably would have had it not been for what he saw behind her shoulder. At first, Quil thought it was a bear or perhaps some other wildlife, didn’t care to get a closer look as she dropped him suddenly, almost lifeless in a heap to the ground. He gasped for breath, his throat a searing pain, and raised his head to find she was no longer paying him any attention.
He didn’t waste time, rushing to his feet again and past one of the animals, its thick fur shining copper and own teeth bared. And he realized through his black spotted vision, as he ran by, that it was not a bear at all. No, it was a wolf, massive, larger than any animal he had ever seen. The sight of such a creature had him stumbling over his own feet, the growls it emitted so loud in the quiet that he could have sworn he felt it ripple through him and the ground he fell back against. But the wolf didn’t lunge for him as he’d expected it to, and he looked up again to find it wasn’t the only one. It moved so fast, leaping up and over him as he ducked his head to the soil, snarling as it skidded to a stop beside the other, debris flying through the air. Fearful, Quil raised his head, his hands shaking and eyes unblinking. The other wolf had its ears back, mouth agape and jaws snapping with anticipation. Slowly, the two circled around the monster, growling in warning.
The auburn one lunged for her first, teeth biting down where her arm had been only a second before. So fast, she had moved, too quick for Quil to see with his limited vision and human eyes. She must have struck it though, as the wolf had been shoved roughly back into a tree, the weight of the collision snapping the thick cedar trunk in two. Quil watched in disbelief as the top half of the tree came down, crashing to the floor in a pile of leaves and a thunderous quake. And then she was gone, an untraceable shadow Quil tried and failed to follow with his vision.
Embry! Jacob was yelling in his mind, we’ll lose her! He had recovered quickly, already standing.
Embry turned his head, his mouth closed and muzzle softening, to look at the person they’d saved. Quil was still kneeling in the dirt, a red ring around his neck and eyes staring right back at him, in shock or horror he didn’t know.
Embry, come on!
And Embry let out a whine, a high pitched, pained thing. And Quil searched those large, dark eyes, the way they were set ablaze like charcoal, finding something about them so oddly familiar. He’d seen that look before, he was sure of it, at school surrounded by screaming classmates when Embry had held him by the shoulders and searched him for injuries.
I’m coming, Embry replied, everything within him wanting to stay, to ensure Quil was safe. But he couldn’t. Quil watched the wolf turn away, and stayed even long after the two of them chased after whatever it was that had nearly killed him.
The cold ones, he knew the name they’d given them, mind reeling as he struggled through the forest. Relief found him only when his house came into view, the lights off and making it appear as nothing but a silhouette against the inky sky. Stars hid away along with the new moon’s face, as he ran through the yard and up the front steps, yanking open the front door and latching it shut once inside.
“Mom?” he called, sliding his back against the door, trying to catch his breath, the rise and fall of his chest volatile. The house was eerily silent, as he cried out for her again. Her car hadn’t been in the driveway, and neither had his grandfather’s, yet he said their names anyway, not realizing he was crying and trembling all the while. “Abá?”
He turned the lights on in each room, afraid of what might be lurking in the darkness. Nothing was there, though he had expected it to be, unable to get those red eyes out of his head. Up the stairs he went, turning the faucet in the bathroom and taking a look at the damage done. Quil probably wouldn’t have believed what he’d experienced was even real, had he not had the injury to prove it. The ring around his neck had morphed from red to a mix of purple and blue, and a sickly yellow around the edges. His throat felt swollen when he swallowed, and his voice when he’d spoken was raspy and broken.
He had cleaned his hands, willed them to stop shaking under the stream of tap water. In the bathroom closet, he’d found first aid, bandaging one of his palms with gauze he wrapped round and round the gash. In the mirror, he caught sight of his eyes, bloodshot and puffy. Multiple hours ticked by, and still no one had returned home. He’d spent little time in the shower, too jumpy to remain in one place, and spent the remainder pacing over the carpet of his room once he’d checked every lock was secure. Every noise, every creak and groan of the house had him whipping his head around, envisioning a pale, bloodthirsty demon crawling in through his window, which he’d made sure to latch as well.
Not that it’ll help, his mind bitterly reminded him. What was that thing? He felt like he was losing his mind in the yellow glow of his room, recounting the events he’d barely lived through over and over as if continuing his scrutiny might reveal something he’d missed in his panic. And those wolves? He dared to question, the elder members of their tribe’s scary stories materializing, taking on a life of their own. No longer were they simple shadows on the wall, escaping the corner of a frightened child’s vision, nor were they monsters under the bed that a mother could chase away with a simple glance underneath. This was real, this was true. They used to talk about wolves, he recalled, thinking back to the many nights sat beside his grandfather, soaking up each new tale much like the fantasies he read in his books. Wolves who could turn into men.
Thumping from downstairs made him go rigid. His breathing was shallow as he waited, listening. Again, the noise came, and Quil found himself venturing out of his room, into the hall and down the staircase. He gripped the railing tight, knuckles almost white as the knocking came once more. And he peered over the steps, able to look through the living room and into the kitchen, where it was coming from.
The back door.
Slowly, he drifted through the empty house. He pushed the curtain that hung over the small window on the door aside, staring out into the night beyond.
“Quil,” someone said behind the wood, knocking again, “it’s me, let me in.”
Quil didn’t know whether he felt more or less relieved to hear his voice. He unlocked the door anyway, holding it open just a crack. From the light spilling through the space, Embry was illuminated, dressed in a baggy shirt and shorts, long hair a tangled mess.
“Embry?” Quil spoke his name in confusion, unable to keep his eyes from venturing off into the treeline, that horrible feeling like being watched enveloping him.
“Can I come in?” Embry asked, taking uneasy glances over his shoulder as well, as if he knew of what lurked out there, of what Quil had come face to face with.
Maybe he does. Quil considered questioning him some more, now that he’d practically manifested on his back doorstep, but the pleading in Embry’s eyes made him decide against this. He only nodded, stepping aside to let him in, before hurriedly closing and locking the door again.
“Why are you here?” Quil asked next, cutting through the silence of the kitchen and the tension that swelled between them.
“I just,” Embry took a long look at him, irises flickering over the reddened whites of his eyes and the rapidly forming bruises on his neck, “I just wanted to check on you.” There was more he was reluctant to say, Quil could sense it.
“I looked for you all day,” Quil told him, “and now you just show up here like,” he paused, searching for words, “like you know what happened.”
Embry was quiet, looking down at the floor, his bare feet dusty and the few cuts and bruises he’d gotten chasing Victoria already healed. He wanted to tell him the truth, he really did, but it was Sam’s order against his own wish. He doesn’t even know I’m here, he thought, but in truth, no one in the pack knew he was here besides Jacob. They’d hunted the leech for nearly an hour, but she’d evaded them again, all the while Embry couldn’t think of anything but how Quil had almost been another victim. Jacob had promised to cover for him, even urged him to go and make sure Quil was alright, safe.
“Embry,” Quil’s voice beckoned to him, “I feel like I’m going crazy. I saw things today that don’t make sense.” And Embry had lifted his gaze from the floor, unable to mask the knowing that lingered there.
“Can we go upstairs?” Quil had half expected something else, but he obliged, not wanting his mother or grandfather to come home and interrupt a conversation he was dead set on having. Up the staircase they went, and Quil had locked his bedroom door out of habit once they entered, turning to face Embry who was nervously walking back and forth.
“Bry, please tell me what’s going on,” Quil pleaded, could hear the desperation in his own voice. But he would be damned if he let Embry leave again, with still no explanation. “You show up unannounced because you want to check on me? I’m not stupid, Bry. Everyone keeps lying to me, and all of you think I don’t realize. Please, just tell me the truth, because none of this is making sense anymore!”
“I can’t,” Embry told him, tone almost urgent, wanting him to understand. It was an order he could not violate, a secret he was forbidden from telling, and a truth he wished Quil had never gotten involved with in the first place. Of course, he knew Quil was likely to phase, at least according to Sam. But there was a chance, still, he rationalized, that he was wrong. After all, he hadn’t known Embry himself would phase, and he’d never thought Leah and Seth would.
“Why?” Quil could feel his eyes burning as he made his way to the bed, watching Embry pace like a caged animal.
“Sam,” he answered quickly, “he won’t allow it.”
“So it is about Sam?” Quil asked, though he’d had this suspicion for a while. “What did he do to you and Jake?”
Embry stopped moving, running a hand over his face in exhaustion. “Nothing, this isn’t Sam’s fault. It’s theirs,” he said the last word through gritted teeth, anger evident in the set of his jaw, or the flame in his narrowing eyes. First Bella, now Quil, barely caught in time before… he didn’t want to think about what would have happened had he and Jacob been slower, either time.
Quil listened to his words, thinking of the woman he’d encountered in the woods. If you could even call it that. It’s not even human, is it? The cold ones… As a boy, he’d envisioned skinny creatures with sagging skin that hung loose from the bone and rows of sharp teeth like a shark, not beings that looked almost human, strange enough only to give one a sense that something was terribly wrong.
“The legends,” Quil spoke up, still standing by the bedside, “the cold ones,” he dared to say the name aloud, “they’re real, aren’t they?” Embry did not reply, but it was scrawled on his face like the passages of a book Quil might read. And he understood that maybe Embry couldn’t tell him verbally, but there were other ways to speak. “I saw one today.”
The flash of hurt was back in Embry’s gaze as Quil spoke of the creature, hating the memories that came to him like a waking night terror.
“And I saw something else,” Quil paused, searching the depths of Embry’s eyes for any indication, “Abá used to talk about shifters, wolves who could turn into men. I know we used to think it was just a story, but I saw them, too.” And Embry was looking at him, in an almost patient manner, as if he were waiting for something more.
It’s the same eyes. Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you?
Something shifted in Quil’s heart, to be the focus of that gaze, and he let out a breath, said these next words almost like wind through trees, as they blew through him.
“It’s you, isn’t it?”
Embry’s demeanor, tense with anticipation, softened quickly. He blinked slow, long eyelashes creating shadows over his high cheekbones in the dimmed yellow light.
“It was you,” Quil stated again, more certain this time, for Embry hadn’t brushed off his assumptions nor made him feel crazy for saying any of this the way others had, “you were protecting me. You’ve been protecting me this whole time.”
It was a relief, to say it, and even more so to hear Embry’s affirmation. Quil didn’t need him to speak certain words, he would understand regardless.
“I’m sorry,” were the words Embry spoke after, crossing the space between them. He didn’t care about his own disheveled appearance or of Sam’s orders, whether the pack would find out where he was, or even if his mother would raise hell when he came home tomorrow. Reaching up to thumb the sensitive skin of Quil’s throat without even thinking about it, he spoke again. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get to you faster.”
Vaguely, Quil felt like this apology was for more than just the day’s horrific occurrence. Perhaps it also blanketed the fight at school, or the months of radio silence between them.
“It’s okay,” Quil told him, reaching his unbandaged hand up to close around one of Embry’s wrists. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Embry argued, gaze lingering on the deep marks like fingers that had been circled around Quil’s throat, just under his jaw. Behind his eyes, Embry could still see it, was still haunted. That monster squeezing the life out of him, and she could have, she could have.
Had I been any slower, he told himself. Just a few more seconds and-
“I am,” Quil assured, but when Embry lifted his eyes to meet his own, his breath still hitched like he’d been caught in a lie.
“This is my fault,” Embry said, memories coming to greet him: of a fight at school, of broken bones and screaming, of Quil’s dejected nature and rightful drunken anger, and his eyes, bloodshot from crying. But worst of all was the pain he remembered held within them, and the knowledge that he had caused it. “All of it. If I hadn’t-“
“No,” Quil interrupted, “no, you’re not gonna do that. This isn’t on you, Bry, okay? It’s not your fault. It isn’t. And I’m fine, see? I am.”
Quil was vaguely aware of the mattress pressing into the back of his knees, Embry’s fingers gently hovering over the bruises that had formed around his neck. He stared up at him, heart pounding, confused at the heavy set of Embry’s dark eyes, the way they flickered with anger, with sadness, and something foreign. If he were braver, maybe he would describe it as longing.
“Embry?”
Embry could feel the breath shared between them, warm fleeting puffs. He knew he should have retracted his hand by now, Quil’s pulse beating along his finger pads in a heavy drumming. He knew he should have backed away, but something in the way Quil looked up at him, like he wanted him just as badly—this gave him pause.
Until it did not.
Until Embry leaned forward, closing that gap that existed between their chests. It was like diving from the highest cliff not long after he’d phased the first time, the way he had panicked as he found himself surrounded by air alone, rapidly falling to the water. Their mouths collided, clumsy and unsure and frenzied and so quick one might miss it if they blinked.
And then just like that it was over, because then Embry was lurching backward, buzzing with anxiety, with unabridged fear.
There was a beat of dreadful silence, Quil’s round eyes blown wide and mouth slightly parted, and then Embry was taking one, two steps backward, letting out a shaky breath.
“I’m-” he started, face turning a steady shade darker with blush, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”
Quil watched him, a bit grateful for the bed pressing against his legs, for he feared he might fall over otherwise. Out of all the truths revealed this evening, the last thing he had expected was for one to be disclosed in a kiss.
“I don’t know what came over me, I just-” he breathed out, “can we just forget about it?”
Quil wanted to say something, anything, but the words were lodged in his throat. He blinked a few times, mind running, heart hammering away in his chest, blood rushing to his ears so loud he was surprised the sound of its beating didn’t fill the whole room. And before he could think against it, he stepped forward, fingers reaching out to hold Embry’s jaw on either side.
“I don’t want to forget about it,” Quil whispered, his eyelids sliding shut to kiss him again, properly this time. All of the words unspoken, the times missed and the love he felt for his best friend, he poured into the motion of his lips, felt it returned with a rivaling intensity he’d never experienced before.
Embry’s lips were surprisingly soft against his, warm like the heat radiating from his skin, and they shared a breath, his arms around Embry’s neck and one of Embry’s palms coming up to hold the middle of his back. Quil wasn’t sure if Embry had pushed him over the edge of the bed, or if he’d pulled him down, but either way they were falling, the world tilting on its axis. And when they pulled apart, Quil had just enough time to see Embry hovering over him, crowned by the overhead light and eyes serenely closed.
Quil hadn’t felt the tears leaking from the corner of his eyes until Embry was brushing them away with his thumb.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, his voice soft like Quil had never heard it.
Quil let out a breath, bringing a hang up to brush Embry’s hair back where it hung in his face. “I just never thought I’d get to kiss you,” he whispered, “I’ve wanted to for a long time.”
He could have told him more, of all the nights he spent alone, left to dreaming, because that was the closest he might get to this. How wrong and deficient the world had made him feel—the internalization, the hatred, the shame. But there didn’t seem to be words large enough, to convey such a specific type of violence.
“You have?”
Quil nodded against the bedding, thought about the kisses he had shared with Kaya, how devoid and stiff they’d been, just going through motions.
Embry was smiling above him, eyes glossy with unspent tears, and despite the bruises and the pain, Quil thought in that moment that he’d never felt more alive.
“Kiss me again.”
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