Confusion.
A two-year old? I mean, could he be more of a pedophile? He might as well look at porn while he was at it. Quil was at an all-time low.
But still. When he saw her, her cute little face framed by a halo of fuzzy gold hair, the dimples in her arms, her chubby legs attempting to run, his heart filled and overflowed with joy and love and fierce devotion. Those damn steel cables made him sleepless at night, wondering if she was okay. Was she hungry? Too tired? Too full? Too cold? The endless questions regarding her safety and contentment never ended.
And he was confused because imprinting was supposed to be something rare. Sam was practically a one-time occurrence! And then along comes the cradle-robber.
Joy.
She was six, and her big blue eyes were fading into a pretty, stormy gray. Her hair was still that wild frizz of blonde, but how she had grown!
He felt completely perfect every time he saw her. Every time she shrieked "Qwil!" with delight, running towards him with her arms outstretched. She still stumbled around the sharp edges of his name, reverting to 'Qwil' only when she was thrilled. Angry, she would snap "Quil!" She was sleepy, and he became "Qwil" again. The always-laughter moments he spent with her stretched through endless days of shrieking and mud and play. His imprint.
Crushed.
She was eleven, and her questions were impossible to evade.
"Why do you always hang around me?"
"Do you not have any other friends?"
"Why do you not date any other girls your age?"
Those sleek gray eyes shot the questions at him like bullets. She was taming her hair with a grape-smelling gel, and her newly-pierced ears glinted in the rare sunlight. Clothes had already become more low-slung, tighter, showing off what she looked like – which wasn't much. Mascara and eyeliner, plastered thick onto her eyes, as it always is with girls who just started using makeup.
He answered them with his own.
"Do you not want me to hang around?"
"Of course I have friends. Embry, Jake, Sam, Leah…they're all my friends."
"I've tried dating. It doesn't work."
He got the idea she didn't like him as much as she used to. At night, he would sit and try not to cry about that.
Usually, he failed.
Fury.
She was sixteen and going on her first date with Ryan. He watched her drive away with that teenage boy in a red sedan, her long blonde hair straightened to fine silky lines, her makeup artfully applied to look natural, smelling of sweet apple blossoms. Her shirt and miniskirt clung to her full figure while her tanned skin perfectly balanced everything.
He couldn't deny the growing…male…feelings for her. She was gorgeous beyond his wildest dreams. Why should this pathetic kid get her?
But who was he to stop him? Claire wanted it, she really did. She'd gushed about this 'hot, gorgeous' guy for weeks, practically begged over text for him to ask her out, and her wish was granted. Quil only wanted her to be happy.
Later, she would come back with grass stains on her miniskirt and knees. Her lips would be red and chapped, her hair mussed, her shirt put on backwards. It would be two in the morning, and the gleam of joy and wild youth in her big eyes only served to force him to lose his temper. As he exploded into wolf form in the safety of the trees, he had to wonder how far she'd gotten with that jerk.
Tense.
She was still sixteen. Time seemed to go slower around her now, and he watched her from the safety of the forest outside her window.
Inside there was a low-set light. He saw Ryan enter and Claire rush to greet him. He saw him grab her, his imprint, and push her backwards onto the bed. Quil's shoulders tensed. But she giggled, reaching up to unbutton his shirt and fling it off. Ryan extended the same courtesy towards her pants.
Quil turned away when Claire, still giggling, pulled Ryan down on the bed with her. But he made sure to wait, ears pricked, making sure he didn't hurt her.
"I don't want to tonight," said Claire after a few seconds. Quil stiffened, muscles tensing again.
"You will," Ryan replied, and Quil's supernatural hearing picked up on a mumbled protest.
"Stop!" Claire managed after a second. "What…Ryan! Stop!"
There were sounds of definite struggle, and Quil whirled around, fully intended to scale the house, when all three heard Claire's parents pull in from a night out. Ryan pulled on his shirt, Claire pulled on her jeans. Both straightened their hair and faces and pulled out a game of cards.
Sympathy.
She was nineteen and she'd broken up with Ryan. Quil sat with her in her darkened room, rubbing her back as she sobbed into his shoulder.
"It isn't fair," she sobbed. His shoulder was soaking, but he didn't care. Instead he hugged her closer.
"He was a jerk."
Hiccupping sobs. He became aware of how good her hair smelled, like citrus.
"Understatement," Claire managed with a choking laugh. And suddenly, lunged upwards and pulled his head down, pressing her lips to his.
There was a lot more to follow that night.
Dreamland.
She was twenty-three and he was proposing. The way her face lit up with delight made him laugh as he swooped down on one knee and held up the box, containing a simple ring. Silver band with a single ruby.
She loved it.
She loved him more.
Neither could be happier, and when she squealed 'yes' and flung her arms around him, Quil could remember that day, long ago, when he felt like a freak for imprinting on her. Pulling away, he placed a tender kiss on her cheek and erased all those bad memories.
///hmmm…it's okay, I guess….it was fun to write. I really like Claire…although I didn't remember if she was blonde or not, so I made her that way. Review???///