…Twilight is not mine. Neither is "Here In My Room" by Incubus.

If the world would fall apart
In a fiction-worthy wind,
I wouldn't change a thing now that you're here.

- Incubus "Here In My Room"

I gradually became aware of my surroundings as I slowly pulled myself from the sleeping state that had possessed my mind and body for the last few hours, or the last few months if I am being honest. The realization that I was in my bed was startling, but not something new, because he knew that my room was my safe place. It didn't matter where I feel asleep, he would always make sure that I woke up in my room, unless I woke up someplace different, but always with him and never alone.

I could feel the sun warming my bare back as it streamed in through the windows, it took me a moment to process the fact that the sun was out because it was a bit of a rare occurrence in La Push. I arched my back slightly so that I could further bask in the warmth that was providing an odd sense of comfort. Possibly the comfort came from the parallels I drew between Paul and the sun. Both light up my life and bring me warmth, although I would say that Paul is the center of my universe, not the sun.

I didn't think that I could have ever anticipated how necessary a person could become to me, and I would have denied it if anyone would have said that Paul Prade would be that person. I would have said that my mother was the one person above all others that I needed most in my life. This all changed the night that she died.

To be completely honest I think I died a little bit that night, and slowly fell apart as no one was there to catch me. My father pulled himself from his grief-stricken state just long enough to completely uproot my life and send me to live with my grandparents in La Push. It didn't seem to matter to him that I was 21 years old, he deemed it his right as my father.

Truthfully, it has been for the better. The whispers and consolations, as if people telling me how sorry they are, but at least I was able to graduate. Did they realize how little that matters in comparison to losing a mother? A best friend? Yes I had an education, but I lost the biggest part of myself that night, seeing my mother flying through the air as a car struck her. Yes, it was that night that tore our small family apart, leaving my father and I helpless and lifeless as the best part of both of our lives was suddenly gone.

I had gone months of just functioning, no feelings or emotions, just doing what I had to in order to get through a day. This didn't pattern didn't change, even after I had moved to La Push. Meeting Paul is what started the transformation that was entirely unexpected. I think my grandmother planned it so that we would casually meet, but it was clearly planned out as a way to snap me out of the never-ending lifeless cycle I was in. It wasn't until much later that I realized that she had in fact planned it, even calling it Get Ash a Man. I could only laugh because my mother had a plan of the same name that she intended to put into effect after my graduation. I think that she would be pleased that my grandmother continued this unwittingly.

The funny thing is my grandmother sent us both to the store for the same thing, how was she able to do this you ask, well she is practically a surrogate grandmother to Paul. All Gram had to do was tell us both to pick up some milk for dinner, which I didn't know he would be attending, and it was here that it began. All it took was one look was to shock me out of the lifeless state that I had been in for months. It wasn't a perfect fix, just the recognition deep inside me that was enough to spark a small conversation between the both of us. A small thing, but something I had not willingly done since I shut down as a defense against the whispers and consolations.

It was the patience that he displayed that made the difference, it was the willingness to be there no matter what I tried to say. I was broken inside, but when he came around he helped fill the hole. My grandparents helped to fill the hole as well, just being able to grieve together in a healthy way helped, for she was their daughter.

As I mentioned before, my grandmother was like a grandmother to Paul as well, and of course she had the plan. Both of these things combined had Paul over at the house multiple times a week, and after a particularly bad incident which involved me shutting myself in my room for days on end, was when he slowly started becoming necessary. I don't know how it happened but he would just sit on my bed, holding my hand or wrapping me up tightly into a hug, sharing his warmth, quietly helping me fight the demons that raged inside of me.

The quiet, calming presence that Paul provided healed my soul much faster than I thought would ever be possible. The willingness to listen or to fill in the silence if he thought I was stuck inside my head.

What I liked best was that he was upfront about the werewolf thing, I had been told the legends ever since I was a child, but I didn't exactly remember them. I considered them part of my therapy as Paul would tell them to me as he tried to coax me back into the real world. I will never forget the expression on his face when I asked if they were real. I had figured it out for myself, but needed the verbal confirmation. He shook his head once, told me he imprinted on me, and asked when exactly I had figured it all out. It was during the time we spent in my room, the looks that Paul would give me as we sat together, especially the look in his eyes as he told the story about the Third Wife. Like he was subconsciously begging me to put it all together. He was surprised that I so casually accepted it, but by this point he was one of the most important people in my life. I knew that I would only have one chance, that fate had intervened and had given me another best friend and another chance at living a great life.

It wasn't a surprise to my grandmother a few months later when I told her that I was moving in with Paul, it was a hell of a surprise for my father when I called to tell him. He confessed that he still saw me with pigtails and he couldn't imagine me with a serious boyfriend. I laughed at the word boyfriend, because imprint was the only way to describe what we had. However, my father was not one of the tribe, coming from Ireland, hence the reason I am named Aisling, or Ash for short. Talking on the phone with him was the first normal conversation that we had since she passed. He still was having a hard time, my mother and he were almost like imprints, and he said he would have a hole in his heart for as long as he lived. I cried after I hung up the phone, knowing that if I ever lost Paul it would be 100 times worse than losing my mother, and that was the most pain I had ever felt in my life.

However, I wouldn't change a thing now that Paul was in my life.

I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I did not hear him come in until a warm hand ran up the length of my spine.

"Ash" One word was all I needed, my body having moved towards him at the sound of his voice.

This was a normal occurrence for us, I would be in bed, more often than not asleep or just waiting for the time to pass until he got home. I made myself do my work, I'm a graphic designer, whenever he was gone in the mornings. It was the afternoons that I cherished. That was designated as our time, Paul having worked it out with Jake that he wouldn't have to patrol in the afternoons unless absolutely necessary.

He slid into bed after slipping out of his clothes, cuddling me close, knowing the effect his warm skin has upon me. It was at this time where the quiet conversations took place, even now the dreams, wants, desires, shared only between the two of us as we were here up in our room.

......

So this was an unexpected one-shot, my other Paul story is giving me a few problems, so a completely different and a bit of a darker story is the result.

The link to the Incubus song is on my blog, which you can access on my profile if you are interested.

Please let me know what you think.