AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apparently, I can't seem to get enough of these secondary-character-runs-off-to-find-adventure-and-self-actualization stories, so here's another one :). All of it is going to be pretty AU, so apologies for any canon inconsistencies, and yes. Here we go.

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In case you were wondering, here is a short list of things that are considered unacceptable behavior at a wedding: screaming. Sobbing uncontrollably. Throwing champagne glasses. Getting in a violent slap-fight with the bride. Strangling the groom.

Don't worry, I didn't do any of these things. I'm not a total bitch, I'm not going to ruin someone's wedding day. Even though, if you want to get technical, it actually should have been my wedding day. Seeing as the man I loved was up at the altar, the man who had looked me in the eyes and told me every day for years that he loved me and would rather die without me—well, if that man was at the altar, doesn't it just make sense that I would be the one standing across from him?

Yeah, I wish. Things don't always work so logically in our freaky-deaky world. Hooray for being a werewolf, right? Look at these cool claws and teeth I got! Look how fast I can run! Look at this great opportunity to support and protect the human race! Well, guess what I had to give up in return? In exchange for all these fabulous impossibilities, I had to give up Sam.

Let me tell you, it was not a good trade.

I only shift into werewolf form when Sam expressly commands me to. I like being a wolf, and I have no desire to deny what I am, it's just that, for me—there are issues. The biggest of which is the whole thought-sharing thing. Just try to imagine it—the love of your life leaves you for your cousin, and if that isn't bad enough, he also gets to hear every single thought in your head. Every time you catch yourself watching him, every time you remember the day you went hiking in the cliffs and he pulled you up from the ledge and you grabbed onto him to keep yourself from falling and your faces were suddenly too close, and he pulled you just that last bit closer and kissed you. He gets it all. He gets to know when you think about him, and how pathetically not over him you really are.

It sucks. No, it worse than sucks. At least when I'm in human form, I can watch him without him knowing—the way he looks in a tuxedo, the clean lines of the black against his burnt-caramel skin. His smile, so absolutely perfectly happy as he looks at her—at least when I'm human, he can't know how much I hate that he's happy. That I hate that he can be as happy with her as he ever was with me. That he can be happier.

Seriously, you have no idea how much it sucks. The weight of it has crushed me over the years, like that Japanese execution where they put a heavy stone on your chest and it slowly breaks your ribs, flattens your lungs. I have twisted out of shape. I used to be nice. No, don't act so surprised, I used to be. I used to be fun and cute and pleasant—the kind of girl that Sam would fall in love with.

These days, I'm reduced to being the bitter ex sitting at the back table in the corner, frowning tightly and drinking champagne by the bottle. I looked in the mirror the other day, and guess what? I'm starting to get frown lines. Seriously. Frown lines at nineteen. Sam, on the other hand, is starting to get feathery little smile lines at the edges of his eyes. Lines from smiling at her so much, and so happily.

I'd been doing a great job of avoiding killing anyone tonight, but when Jacob came up behind me, I swear I nearly jumped him. I don't like people sneaking up on me.

"Having fun?"

"Jeez, Jacob!" I slugged him in the shoulder—maybe a little hard, but he was lucky he wasn't getting worse. "You scared me to death!"

"Sorry," Jacob said, entirely unapologetic. "I guess you were concentrating a little hard. In fact, it kind of looked like you were trying to shoot lasers from your eyes. Any particular target?"

Of course there was. He knew that. Everybody knew that, because everybody was freakin' in my head. I swear, you don't really appreciate privacy until it's gone. "Oh, I can think of a few people," I said as lightly as I could. "Better watch out or you'll be getting some lasers of your own, Jacob Black."

"Yeah, way to drive away the only person who's talked to you all night." He said it in a teasing tone, but it stung a little because, ugh, it was true. Hate that.

"They just feel awkward talking to me," I said, "because I'm the awkward ex-girlfriend that no one really wants here. I'm the embarrassing past." I could see Jacob squirming as I said it. This was one of my favorite tricks—bringing up uncomfortable truths. Never, ever letting anyone forget the things that they wanted to forget. Heck, I figured the more time they spent squirming, the less time they were eavesdropping on my dead remnants of my love life.

"Okay, then," he said quietly. Not many people still made the effort to try to with me anymore—Jacob was one of the few who did, but even he had his limits. No one wanted to hang around a bitter, angry buzzkill. "You have a good night, Leah."

"Not going to happen, Jacob," I sent after him as he walked away. Really? A good night? I was watching my cousin marry the man I loved. I was suffocating. I was choking on my own anger and it tasted like copper, like smoke and blood.

I put my head on the table, trying to fight a headache and homicidal thoughts. Why had I come here? Was I crazy? Why did I come to Sam's wedding? Oh yeah. Because he'd asked me. He didn't love me, didn't even like to look at me—but still he could ask me to jump off a building and oh, I would do it. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

I felt a hand lightly tap my shoulder, and I groaned. Couldn't they just leave me to die? Really, I was okay with being ignored. I really was. "Jacob, go away!" I snapped, turning on him—only it wasn't Jacob. "Sam." I breathed his name like a lovesick preteen, practically swooning at his touch. God, why could he do this to me? Quickly, I injected a double dose of sarcasm and venom into voice, just in case he was getting the impression that I was in love with him, or something. "What the hell do you want?"

"Well," he said, in that careful neutral voice that he always used with me. The Leah Voice. The one that said he couldn't care less about me, that every feeling for me had been erased and replaced by a freak bit of werewolf genetics—but that he did feel a little sorry about that. "I wanted to ask you to dance."

"Oh." It was like when someone punches you—you didn't expect and you're kind of stunned, and all you can do is try to react. "Okay."

He took my hand and pulled me through the round tables onto the floor, and I tried to keep myself from shaking uncontrollably or passing out. That could be embarrassing. See, this was why I got so angry all the time. Because I was stupid. I had stupid emotions and stupid emotions and it made me mad. I did not like to be out of control of myself. I didn't like to look like an idiot. So when I got stupid and fluttery, I reacted even harder in the other direction, trying to obliterate my own weakness with a flash flood of anger. So I ended up angry a lot. Very bad for the blood pressure.

"How are you?" he asked as he pulled me into a waltz step. When had Sam learned to waltz?

"Fine," I lied. He smelled like soap and woodsmoke. I remembered. "How are you? You and Emily look—nice."

"Doesn't she look gorgeous?" Ah, the utter obliviousness of the imprinted. The instant I mentioned his darling beloved, there went all his sensitivity, right out the window. "I swear, Leah, this is the happiest day of my life. I mean, people say that all the time, but you have no idea."

"No, Sam. No I don't."

"It's unbelievable," Sam gushed. Completely oblivious. "It's like—being blind and then suddenly getting your sight back. It's like being in pieces and suddenly you're just…whole. She's just so beautiful and smart, Leah, she's so perfect. This is the best day of my life."

Pain: noun. Physical suffering or distress, as in injury or illness. Example: listening to your ex-boyfriend go on and on endlessly about how wonderful another girl is. When people experience pain, their actions often become erratic and irrational, as their body tries to figure out how to stop the pain through any means possible. This is really the only explanation I can think of for why I said what I said next. "Listen, Sam, I wanted to tell you something."

He broke from his Emily-induced trance, paying a little bit of attention to me for once. "What is it?"

Yeah, Leah, what is it? What do you think you're doing, Leah? What, exactly, do you plan on saying now? "I'm moving."

That got his attention. "You're what?"

Too late to stop now. Lies were like runaway trains—at some point, you have to stop trying to control them and just get out of the way. "I'm moving. To England." I felt lightheaded—how much champagne had I drank, anyway?

"You are?" Surprise, and—did I detect a little bit of relief? Here came the anger.

"As a matter of fact, I am," I snapped. "I—wanted to go see the werewolves that we heard about. You know—the real ones. My mom said someone should try to make contact with them—"

"She said nothing of the kind. Leah, for all we know they could be dangerous! We don't know anything about them!"

"Well, how do you think we're going to learn?" I said briskly. I had to extract myself from this situation now, before he gave me any of those Alpha commands he'd been throwing around lately. Technically this wasn't detrimental to the pack, and probably it would be very good for me. Get out of the country, go somewhere—good Lord, what was I saying? I'd never been out of La Push in my life! What was I getting myself into? "I'm um—leaving tomorrow morning. Congratulations on your marriage!"

I pulled myself out of the waltz before he could give me an order, or look at me with those damnably pretty eyes. It was a crazy idea but maybe it was a good one. If I was in a place where I couldn't look him in the eyes without melting, maybe I needed to leave. I just—really couldn't be that girl.

I passed my mother on the way out, chatting easily with Billy Black, smiling the way I used to smile. Happy. Uncomplicated. "Honey?" she said, turning as I blew by her. "Where are you going?"

I paused long enough to look back at her, but I didn't stop. Momentum was very important for me right now—I already felt a hangover coming on, and also there was a good chance I was going to cry. This, as you'll recall, was on the list of unacceptable wedding behaviors. "Um," I said. "Europe. I'm going to Europe, Mom."

"I'm sorry. You're what?"

"I'm going to Europe," I repeated. "It's…kind of hard to explain."