A/N: So, this is about Leah. Yeah, she can be selfish and angry and a bitch, but who wouldn't be? Everything in her life that could have wrong went wrong, and she has absolutely no one to turn to. She's totally alone.

This is my take on being Leah Clearwater.


Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

– from "Solitude," by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

My legs pumped under me as I increased my speed, running so fast the forest around me blurred. This was as fast as I could go: fast enough to lose my thoughts in the rush of instinct and adrenaline, leaving my heart behind me, somewhere in the dirty faded mess of trees.

For once, I was alone.

Relief filled my mind. I had to relish this while it lasted, so I let my paws hit the earth and my mind go blank.

I don't know how long I ran like that – a few hours – but I eventually had to slow down. I put it off for as long as I could, knowing my thoughts would catch up with me. I was starting to get tired, though, so I slowed to a trot and admired the scenery. It didn't take long to realize I was farther north than I'd meant to be.

I didn't really care, except that it meant I was getting stronger. Last month I wouldn't have been able to run so far, and now I had an excuse to avoid my destination a little longer. I was taking the long way – the longest way I could think of – to get there anyway. A few more miles was fine by me.

I turned around, facing south again, and shook some of the rain off my fur. It was only drizzling, but my coat was collecting water quickly now that I'd slowed down. I let my mind drift for a moment, and it came back to my reason for being out here in the first place.

It had been a stupid promise to make, and I'd regretted it right away. They had ganged up on me, though. Mom by herself I could handle, and I had. Slam a door and she was gone. Sure, maybe that wasn't fair to her, but she'd hardly done anything to earn a pleasant chat. This time, though, she'd roped Seth into it and I'd fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. Poor kid, having to deal with Mom like that. She had ways to get what she wanted and when she was upset she could manipulate you like it was going out of style. I'm sure she'd guilt-tripped him into it.

I hoped she had, because otherwise it meant Seth'd done it voluntarily.

And together they'd guilt-tripped me into this. I smiled a bit at the irony, and discovered wolves can't pull off an ironic smile. This is one hell of a guilt trip, I thought.

What could I do, though? Mom and Seth had asked me to visit Dad's grave, and Seth had looked so pathetic... Talk about puppy-dog eyes. He'd looked almost like my baby brother again, the one I'd known before all these old legends came around to ruin our lives. He'd looked like the brother I'd walked to school with and played with and carried and watched over. Mom I could have said no to, but not Seth.

And he wondered why I was pissed at him? He could have taken my side. I'd stood up for him so many times and now, when I needed him, he was a fucking traitor.

Way to go, little bro.

I didn't want to see Dad's grave. It was just a hunk of rock with words carved into it. Harry Clearwater, Born, Died, Loving Husband and Father. It wasn't him. I had nothing to say to a tombstone.

Mom seemed to think it would give me closure or something. "How about this," I had told her when she'd first brought it up. "Dad was killed by a heart attack, brought on by the sudden transformation of his children. Case closed." Show's over, folks, nothing to see but a widow, a son, and a daughter who'd rather move on. But Mom keeps telling me to cry. "You have to mourn him," she'd say. I'd tell her I'd rather not. Dad wouldn't want me spending all my time weeping, which was apparently her way of remembering him. This wolf thing killed him and I couldn't kill it. So I would use it while I could. It's my inheritance, I thought bitterly.

Besides, what good would crying do? It's such a great idea when you share your head with eight obnoxious, arrogant teenage boys. They hated me enough already. They already thought I was weak. I know why, I know it's stupid of me, and believe me, I wish I could stop – but Jake does the same thing and they just shrug it off. I'm already too girly for them. If I started something as stereotypically feminine as crying?

Leah, you are the weakest link. Goodbye.

I broke into a run again.

.

I was nearly back to La Push when I felt Paul phase.

Leah? he asked, by way of greeting. He hadn't been expecting me.

Yeah. Now if you could leave me alone for another five minutes? I answered, surprising myself with the anger in my voice. I was actually – no. I had to wait. I registered Paul's shock at my tone as well.

Whatever. He phased back.

I was actually surprised it had taken this long for one of them to interrupt my solitude. Someone had probably told them to leave me alone. And would have been Seth... or Sam. Seth I would be proud of, if it had been him. Sam I would have growled at. He can stay the hell out of my life. I'll fight my own battles, thanks very much, without his help.

Emily doesn't need him doing things like that for me. But Seth is family.

I cut the next thought off as I phased back, just outside the rusting gates. "This is such a stupid promise," I muttered, and slipped my oversized sweatshirt on.

With one last groan, I entered the graveyard.

Dad's headstone was easy to find: it was the newest by far. I stood in front of it, starting at the words carved into the limestone. Exactly as I had expected. They were generic, store-bought words that had nothing to do with the Dad I'd known.

As if on cue, the drizzle turned into a downpour.

"Well?" I asked the the stone and the sky, upset that I was suddenly soaked. "What do you want me to do? I'm here, isn't that enough?"

I was shouting, now.

I glared at the clouds. I didn't get an answer – not that I was expecting one – but it only made me angrier. What was this supposed to do? Nothing. No rock could make up for my dad. No promise could make this life better.

"Am I supposed to say 'I miss you, Dad?' Because I won't, it won't change a thing!" I screamed. "Am I supposed to apologize? I'm sorry, Dad, if it weren't for me you wouldn't be dead! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry! I'm sorry for being a werewolf and a girl and alone, okay! Are you happy now?"

I was shaking all over, vibrating like hell and I would phase if I kept this up. I wanted to keep shouting at the rain but I knew I had to get hold of myself, with Paul, I couldn't phase now, I couldn't. I kicked furiously at the ground, sending a jagged rock at my father's featureless tombstone.

I growled, a low sound deep in my throat. I had to channel this somewhere, and this meaningless headstone was easiest.

I sat down with a hard thump and picked up the shard. I held it tight, pressing the sharp edge against the headstone. I hacked away at it, frustrated, carving harder and harder until my hands were bleeding and tears of exasperation ran down my face. I wasn't crying for my dad, I told myself, it was just – this was harder than it should have been. I wasn't crying for him. I kept going, carving desperately until there was a pawprint etched deep into the limestone.

I opened my hand, and fragments of rock fell onto the wet ground.

I stared at the rain running through the pawprint, mesmerized for a moment: I had done this. Then, instantly, my energy drained away. I was exhausted.

.

I curled up next to my father's grave and slept, while my blood and tears soaked into the earth.