I have much love for everyone who left me reviews for the last chapter – so much love, in fact, that I managed to harass my beta into finishing up early. Woohoo! :) So this early release goes out to Lena Tyrins, Izzy Rose, tsebehtsiellivllams, butterskew, fireylight, Margaret, angel-cake, judyootori, eeyore-ft-tigger, Gryffindor Gurl2, Eleanor J, choco1154, and xxLayInDayxx: thank you for reviewing! (And thanks for sharing your pet peeves, as well – it's good to know I'm not the only one nitpicking out there.)

6. Trattenuto

xxx

Tuesday, January 24th

Distracting.

That's a word I've often used to describe the boy-who-must-not-be-named before (especially during those all-too-important pre-exam revision sessions), but well… not to this extent.

You know what? NEVER to this extent.

Right as I'm writing this, trying to pretend that I'm actually taking down notes on why Orsino is a love-obsessed asshat (looking up at the teacher and nodding every now and then – trust me, I've got this skill down pat), a certain boy-who-is-supposed-to-be-dozing-off is staring at me.

I'm not kidding. He's still doing it. He's been doing it ever since class started.

At first, I thought he'd caught sight of something interesting in the window, like a bear on a unicycle juggling plates. Checked the window. Nothing.

Then I figured that if he wasn't staring at a talented circus bear, it had to be something on my face. Or in my teeth. Or in my hair. Either way, it couldn't be very good. I mean, the boy was flat-out staring. For all I knew, there was a bird perched atop my head.

The paranoia slowly built up along the course of the lesson, snowballing into one gigantic mass of fearful anxiety, until I finally cracked and had a good long stare into my bookbag (the last time someone in the back row pulled out a compact during Lit, it got stomped on and soundly broken in half – we all take precautions, now).

And… yeah. Nothing's wrong. There is no bird on my head. In fact, I think I look a lot better now that the stitches are gone and the bruises have faded somewhat. Maybe it's the lighting, I don't know. Maybe I still look like a trainwreck from where Jared's sitting, and he's decided to let me know by not averting his gaze for the last forty minutes.

… Please, bell. I need you to ring. I need you to ring so I can run to the bathroom and hide in there forever.

HE'S STILL LOOKING.

Someone shoot me now.

xxx

Tuesday, January 24th, later

"Kim, you're being ridiculous."

"I am not!"

"You're going to have to come out eventually."

"I don't think you're in a position to call me crazy, Jamie."

"Oh? At least I haven't locked myself into a bathroom stall. You need to come out of there."

"You can't make me."

An aggravated sigh. I was half-expecting Jamie to kick the door down (she can be quite aggressive when properly riled up), but I guess it was too early in the week to warrant that sort of ire. Instead, I received a very rude under-the-breath swear for my efforts, which was followed by the loud clomping of her boots as she exited the bathroom.

"I heard that!" I called out after her, before resettling onto the cool lid of the toiletbowl.

The thing is, I actually don't feel too good. Not in a "I'm about to pass out from fever" kind of way, but more of a "I spent the entirety of last night crying my eyes out" kind of way. Heartache, as I found out first-hand, is a bit like having someone tap dance on your insides with golf cleats on. It's unnecessarily excruciating, drawn-out, and sends you spiralling off into a pit of misery.

I can't operate under such high levels of stress. I just… can't.

Oh my god. He's knocking on the bathroom door.

Shit. What do I do? What on earth is he doing? ("Kim? Are you in there?") Crap crap crap shit I need to get out of here –

I'm going to climb out of the window.

xxx

Tuesday, January 24th, later later

Well. That was… different.

As it turns out, awkward silences tend to follow when you tumble out of the first-floor girls' bathroom window into someone's arms.

To Paul's credit, he didn't even look that fazed by it. Like catching random girls leaping out of windows was a thing he just did. His only response to the shell-shocked expression etched on my face was an amused smirk.

"Paul," I finally managed to choke out, after he'd righted me on my somewhat wobbly feet and hung back a little, hands tucked into his pockets. Meanwhile, the mortification started kicking in, full-gear. "What a… what a coincidence."

He shot me a roguish grin. "Jumping out of windows now, eh?" The laughter was evident in his voice. "Trouble in paradise?"

Huh? I gave him an uncertain smile. "Sorry, what?"

His grin only widened further as he slung a heavy arm over my shoulders, giving me a conspiratonal wink as he led us around the corner. I was dimly aware of the searing heat he emanated through all the layers of clothes I had on, but I guess I was more concerned about the all-too-familiar way he was pressed up against my side.

It took a while for me to realize that I was being propelled away from the school building… which was definitely something to worry about. I mean, Paul is scary. He's got the whole "bad boy" persona down pat, and even before he hit his crazy growth spurt, he was known for always getting into fights and stuff. He's even got a motorcycle, which just screams "death trap" (but for some completely inane reason, the girls on the reservation go crazy over it. Go figure). And being alone with him… would be a bad thing.

A very bad thing.

I could feel my fear escalating as Paul all but propelled me along a deserted side path I'd ever seen before. I tried digging in my heels, but it was fruitless – like pitting a house cat against a mountain lion.

The sound of his voice in my ear made me jump. "Relax, sweetheart," he drawled. "I just want to have a little talk with you. You can go back to class after."

God, that sounded ominous. It sounded like I'd be returning to class in pieces.

Danny. Benji. Anyone. I'm too young to die –

I think Paul must've picked up the panicked vibe I was emitting (the short, anxious breaths and the wide, fearful eyes might've been a bit of a giveaway, I reckon), because the next thing I knew, he threw his head back and laughed.

"Relax," he repeated, rolling his eyes and chuckling. He also released his hold on my shoulders, and for a moment, we simply stared at each other, the wind buffeting my already messy hair. I was utterly bewildered at his sudden change in demeanor – was he or was he not taking me to somewhere secluded to carry out unspeakable acts of torture, before scattering my remains in a giant bonfire?

"Erm," I said, my voice small and more than a little tremulous. "Are you going to kill me?"

He laughed again. It was a short, barking laugh that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and it did absolutely nothing for my nerves.

I balled my hands into fists. "I'll fight you," I said, hoping desperately that a flurry of arrows would rain down upon my would-be-assailant so I wouldn't have to get my ass handed to me in one-on-one combat. Pssh. Combat. More like a massacre…

Focus! Inner Kim commanded. Aim for the groin. And run.

Just when I was about to follow though with the groin-kicking, Paul held up his palms in what I guess was supposed to be a conciliatory gesture. I paused mid-stance, staring up at him with wide eyes.

"Whoa there." He was grinning widely. "I'm not going to hurt you or anything, alright? I just thought the both of us could have a chat."

"A chat?" I repeated suspiciously. "You're not going to kill me?"

"I'm not going to kill you."

I took several calming breaths, before reluctantly unfurling my clenched fingers. I regarded him cautiously, doubt lacing my voice as I took in our surroundings – a pebbled, leaf-strewn path lined by overhanging fir trees; the scent of the sea all around us. "Where are you taking me?"

He cocked an eyebrow in response. "Where do you think?"

I paused. "… the beach?"

"Right in one." He shoved his hands back into his pockets, gesturing me forward with a nod. "Ladies first."

My anxiety gradually ebbed away as I reluctantly took the lead, sticking close to the edge of the narrow path so I could grab at branches in case I slipped on any wet leaves. If Paul was annoyed by the snail-like pace we were keeping, he didn't show it.

It wasn't the most pleasant experience – I'm not a huge nature fan, and I can think of a billion things I'd rather be doing than hiking down a deserted pathway, Quileute bad boy in tow. It was the unsettling feeling of having Paul loping behind me that kept me moving down the uneven path, soil gradually fading to sand as we finally emerged from the overgrowth of trees.

Without ceremony, I flopped onto the nearest bit of clear sand I could find (Don't judge me. Hiking is hard work).

Paul moved to sit beside me, his long limbs stretching out as he tried to get comfortable. Watching him settle in, I was increasingly aware of the uncanny similararites Jared now shared with him – the lean, tall build, the cropped hair, the sharp features.

And the warmth.

Maybe it's some whacked out Quileute metabolism thing.

We watched the waves hitting the shore for a while. The hulking presence next to mine was oddly comforting, not entirely unlike the easy familiarity I felt with Jared. With Paul, it felt a little different. It was like coming home to find that all the furniture had been rearranged. Similar… but not, somehow.

He spoke first, his deep voice cutting sharply across the biting wind. "What do you think of Jared?"

The sudden question caught me completely off-guard. I blinked rapidly in succession to clear my head before sputtering out an articulate, "What?"

He didn't reply or turn to face me, instead gazing at the gloomy clouds in the distance. There was an expectant air about him, though – an unspoken tension in his shoulders gave me the impression that he wanted a proper answer.

I ducked my head into my knees, feeling the grains of sand shift in my shoes as I fought down my blush. "I don't know," I ended up mumbling. "He's nice, I guess."

"Nice." His voice was flat.

My palms were starting to sweat. I can't believe he dragged me all the way down here to ask me about Jared… Is this about the gay thing? Oh my god, it's about the gay thing. He knows that I know. Or maybe he just suspects that I know and he's trying to find out if I really know. Okay, Kim. Be cool. Pretend you don't know. Pretend you don't know that he knows you know. But if he finds out that you know and that you're pretending not to know –

I clutched at my head and groaned. "Ow."

I felt Paul tense slightly next to me. "What's wrong?"

"Migraine," I said weakly, waving it off with a wince. "Give me a sec."

We sat there in silence, a still-tense Paul casting glances in my direction every few minutes. "You sure you're okay?"

On a particularly icy gust of wind, I sneezed. "I'm fine," I croaked. My nose was numb. My lips felt like ice blocks. And my lids were getting heavy, a definite sign that I needed to a nice, toasty bed to lie down in. Maybe a cup of hot chocolate, as well…

"Whoa, whoa." I heard Paul saying. "Don't fall asleep on me here." A nudge, followed by a stronger, more insistent palm shaking my shoulder. "Wake up!"

I raised my head slightly, enough to glare at him through thinned eyes. "I'm awake."

He snorted. "Not from where I was standing."

"You're sitting," I mumbled.

I practically heard the roll of his eyes. "Yeah, smartass. Now answer the question."

"What question?"

I felt him twitch, biting back a smile as I pressed my now-frozen forehead against my knees. Baiting Paul was pretty fun, all things considered – somehow, I didn't think he was one for punching out uncooperative teenage girls, so I was probably in the clear.

His reply was short. "About Jared."

"What about him?"

Was he counting under his breath? Oh, this was priceless. Wait till I told Jamie –

"– do you like him?"

And just like that, I was fully awake. My head shot up so quickly that it was as if someone had zapped me with a cattle prod. I stared at Paul.

He exhaled, running a shaky hand through his cropped hair. "Well?" he asked tonelessly. "Do you?"

"Uh… Paul." My icy fingers threaded together. Please don't kill me. Or at least make my death a quick and painless one. I shifted so that I was facing him, cross-legged. I steeled myself. And in the most serious tone I could muster up: "I know."

It was his turn to look confused. Losing the grim demeanor entirely, Paul's eyebrows were slightly furrowed as he stared back at me blankly. "You know… what, exactly?"

"You know." I intoned. When he continued to stare dumbly at me, I went on to elaborate. "About you. And Jared. And Sam."

Paul visibly reeled at my admission, a stunned look gracing his features. It was just one of those moments that you berate yourself for not taking a camera with you for (which, in retrospect, would've been totally inappropriate) because, hey – that's one expression you'll want to set as your desktop wallpaper for life. It was just that satisfying.

"When did you… when did you find out?"

"The other day, at Sam's house," I told him. Silence. It looked like Paul was still trying to take it all in. "Don't worry," I blurted out, making him stare at me, wide-eyed. "I won't tell anyone about it, I swear. I understand if you want to keep it a secret –"

His response was immediate. He all but exploded at that point, deep, ragged breaths punctuating each word. It was… alarming. "Of course we're keeping it a fucking secret!"

"Right," I said weakly. "A secret."

He got up and started pacing, practically scorching a trail of fire in the sand with his intensity.

I was beginning to feel a little agitated, myself – you know what they say about emotional contagion. That it's… you know. Contagious. "It's a lifestyle choice," I finally muttered, at a loss for anything else to say. "And, uh, not to judge or anything, but… does Emily know?"

No response. Or rather, he simply continued his frenetic pacing.

I babbled on. "I mean, not that I'm in any position to be saying anything – but, you know… in the long-term, it might be problematic. With you guys having orgies behind her back and everything –" Oh my god stop talking stop talking stop talking " – things might get a little weird when she finds out. So maybe you guys should tell her now so it won't get too awkward after the wedding –" I clamped my frozen hands over my mouth before I lost it entirely.

Paul had stopped in his tracks. His mouth was hanging open slightly. A tense silence permeated the air. And then – "What did you say?"

"Nothing!" I squeaked. I held my arms up over my head protectively. "Please don't kill me!"

His voice held a trace of incredulity in it. "Did you just say… orgies?"

"No!" Oh my god, he heard. He actually heard. And now he knows that I know. "I take it back! I didn't say anything!"

I nearly had a heart attack then and there when I felt his scorching hands press against my wrists, pulling my arms down firmly so he could crouch down and look me in the eye.

"Kim Connweller," he began, an amused glint in his eye. "I repeat: Did you say orgies?"

I didn't really see what he had to be amused about, unless he was just a sadistic bastard that liked playing around with his prey before he punted them into the ocean. A sinking feeling in the pit of stomach told me that yes, he was a sadistic bastard. And yes, I was about to become a human cannonball. A dead human cannonball.

Oh, hell. "I know about Sam's secret sex harem," I said pathetically, tears pricking at my eyes as I looked up beeseechingly at my would-be-murderer. "But I swear, Paul, I really won't tell a soul –"

He burst out laughing.

I stared at him, bewildered. The legendary Quileute bad boy was laughing so hard that he'd released my shoulders only to clutch helplessly at his sides, toppling over onto the sand as he did so.

Oookay. Am I missing something here?

"What?" I finally asked, a little miffed. He was still rolling around in his mirth, his chuckles a muffled rumble as he visibly tried to regain some control. "Am I wrong? Are you guys not gay?"

That only set him off again. It was a while before he managed to right himself, wiping the tears from his eyes as he did so. "Oh my god," he grinned. "That was good. Really good. I like you, kid."

"Kim," I corrected him, aggrieved. "I'm only a year younger than you are."

A wide grin stretched across his face. I watched as Paul stood up suddenly, a smooth, fluid action that did interesting things to his muscles, and held out a large hand.

Hesitantly, I reached up, clasping my own cold hand in his callused, burning one. He hauled me to my feet easily, a small smile still playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Kimmy," he grinned, and I felt my eyebrows furrow at the nickname – "I think we're going to be great friends. The very best of friends, in fact. You know what? I think the three of us should get together sometime. Just you, me, and Jared. How does that sound?"

It sounds terrible, I wanted to say. I'd rather jab my eyes out with a fork. But instead, all I got out was an unsteady,"Um. Alright."

...I should've just let him punt me into the ocean.

"Excellent." Paul was in high spirits, that I could tell. He draped his arm around me again and started enthusiatically steering me back towards the way we'd come, and he was just so warm that I couldn't protest.

It was a brief trot back to the school grounds from there. It was a lot easier climbing uphill with Paul practically propelling me along the way, so I guess he has his uses.

"Wait a sec," I finally said, twisting a little in his grip to look at him when the familiar brick building came into view. "So you guys are really gay?"

"'Fraid so, sweetheart." The grin was back in full force again, only this time it was positively wicked. "We're really, really gay."

Thanks for reading! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated :)

xxx

Malice Cat

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