I'm back! Sorry that I've literally been away for about two years. I don't know what happened, or why I left you guys with such a cliffhanger. I just hope that people are still interested in this and I can make it up to you. Thanks for all the reviews and favourites I still get, literally makes my day every time and that's why I'm back, because I know that people get invested in these stories and I let you all down horribly. Forgive me, please! I just got back into FanFiction and realised what a boob I was and so here you go...

Well I buggered that up and now she hates me.

I'm out of the door before Q can try and stop me. I don't know what's wrong with me: why I'm so mad, why I'm shaking, why I feel so betrayed, why I even believed him in the first place. Q, a werewolf, in love with me? There was no way. If it was anyone else I would've just assumed they were telling some crap joke. But it wasn't someone else, it was Q, and there was something in his eyes when he said it, something so terrified and desperate and hopeful, that I knew he was telling the truth.

This couldn't be happening.

Werewolves don't exist, they're from films and books. They can't exist. This is La Push, this is the twenty first century, surely there couldn't be werewolves running around on the rez without anyone knowing. This makes no sense, I can't even comprehend what he's told me.

Bless Q, he didn't do a great job of it. Of all the ways he could've broken the news to me that he was a mythical creature who imprinted on me, whatever that means, he chose my eighteenth birthday at the crack of dawn. He didn't sugar coat it, but I appreciated that. He sat me down and told me and I ran away. But a little warning, or build up, or leading into it would've been greatly appreciated.

The rain beats down heavily against my back; I can hardly see there's so much rain, mixed with the tears which just wouldn't stop. I don't know where I was going, I just can't go back. I'm drenched and frozen and all I really want is Q to turn up and say 'Only joking!' so we can just go back to normal. He can give me one of his massive, almost painful hugs and warm me up and we can pretend it never happened.

But it had happened, and apparently it had been happening for Q for the last sixteen years.

For sixteen years, Q had stayed with me because he had no choice and because he had been forced to love me.

To love me.

Q loves me.

Q had watched me grow up, he'd been there for me through everything. He'd given me anything I'd ever wanted, been whatever I'd wanted. He'd given me more than I'd ever deserved, not because he loved me because of me, of who I was, but because he had to. I'd been some never ending chore to him, a daily problem he could never get rid of. And Q, sweet, nicest-guy- on –the- planet, cannot-live-without, Q, had waited for sixteen years to tell me so he could finally be free.

And it hits me.

Like a massive blow in my stomach – I feel sick and as if my legs are about to collapse underneath me. I stop walking and fall to the ground, hugging my arms around my legs. 'Nonononononono,' I mutter to myself.

The worst part, I realise, is that I am in love with him.

I am so in love with him, it hurts to think about. I am just completely in love with Q. I love him, I love him, I love him.

I'm embarrassed and mortified. All this time, I had slowly been falling in love with him, as he treated me with love and respect, when really he was just waiting until his odious task could be over.

What an arsehole, I tried to tell myself. What a twat. He lied to me and made me feel like he actually cared about me, and the whole time he was just doing his duty. I do my homework, and I hate it. Is that how he feels about me? I clean my room, and it's a bloody pain. Is that what I am to him? I have athletics lessons, and have to run the fifteen hundred metres and it's tedious and long and unpleasant and all I ever want is for it to be over. Am I Q's running, never-ending track?

And in my head it goes on and on and on, stupid, pathetic analogies running on and on through my mind. On and on and on until I can't bear it anymore.

My whole life, Q has been my whole life. He's more than my best friend, he's a piece of me and I don't know who I would be without him.

But to him I was just... what? Work? I didn't understand the whole imprinting thing, but obviously it was a wolf thing. So did every wolf go through this? Did every wolf have an imprint they had to look after until... when? Until the imprint let them go?

Well I would let Q go. I had taken his life for the past sixteen years and I hated myself for it. He'd had to devote himself to me through sixteen self obsessed, selfish, self centred years and I'd happily let him.

I'd never questioned it. I'd never really thought about our friendship that deeply, I'd never really cared why Q and I were friends; I was more concerned with remaining that way. I was an idiot.

A buzzing in the pocket of my jeans snaps me out of it.

I look around blearily. I laugh to myself – I'm at the beach. Of course I'm at the beach. Where else to sit and cry over Q, than the place we met, and spent most of our time together.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone.

Emily is calling me. I remember what Q said, about Emily being an imprint. Suddenly, everything falls into place. Her scars must have come from Sam, Uncle Sam, who wouldn't hurt a fly but scared the crap out of me when I was younger and even sometimes now. And the rest of them – Lot and Kim and Rachel, and they've all been lying to me too. Or did they not know? Did they know themselves about this wolf business, or this imprint stuff, or did they think their other halves actually cared too?

Emily keeps calling.

And then my heart stops. Because this time, when I glance at my phone as it buzzes and flashes, Quil's name comes up. I stare at the inoffensive phone, mouth open, for a minute, before bursting into tears.

He calls again.

And again.

Over and over again, so I switch my phone off. I don't want to talk to her; I don't want to talk to anyone. I just want this whole situation to be over, or to have never happened.

And so I sit and bury my head in my hands and wait for the rain to stop and for my life to sort itself out. I'm half expecting to see Q walking towards me any moment, so we can make up. But I know he's not coming and there's no point hoping – he doesn't really care, and he isn't coming.

So I cry and cry, weeping on the beach because I can't go home and I can't go anywhere else and I have no money and no car and no one to call, because normally I'd call Q, but now I can't and nothing makes any sense.

And so I stay on the beach, sobbing, until it begins to grow dark and I realise that now I'm really stuck and bloody freezing too.

I just want Q, the way it was, and that would be enough. I've realised I love him, but it hurts. It's painful when I think about it, and I wished I'd figured it out sooner, before this bombshell, so I could've found out he didn't love me back before this. But another part is glad I was so stupid and ignorant and foolish, because at least this way he'll never know that I'm in love with him.

Q will never know.

Eventually I'll get up, get my things and leave him alone forever.

Q will finally have peace and it will be the strongest thing I've ever done, and the best thing I ever do for him. And the last.

I will leave Q, so he can get his life back, even if mine is ruined ever after.

I'm out of my mind crazy worried. Where the hell is she?