Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Stephanie Meyer.
Author's Note: This is the final chapter. It's been nice writing about these two. (Allow me to add my frustration at deciding to follow the trend I started in the earlier chapters by continuing to not using their names. That was a bad idea, especially when I had to write about people other than the two of them. I need to stop doing that.) Maybe someday I'll do something more in-depth, if a good idea comes upon me, but I'm by no means making any promises--good ideas are few and far between for me, to be honest. We'll see. Until then, enjoy this product of my inability to write anything plot-driven.
"So that's it, then?"
She is crying, and her voice is thick with emotion—anger and sadness and so many other things. He is patient and calm, though he cannot deny the pain that is creeping into his heart. As much as it kills him to tell her, she must know. He could not bear keeping her in the dark.
"You have to love me? You have no choice. None at all! What kind of a relationship would that be?"
"I was made for you," he whispers.
"Stop that."
"I am yours, regardless of whether or not you are mine, and I will always be yours. I will always be what you need me to be…"
"Stop it, Quil!"
"…be it a brother, or a friend, or a lover, or nothing at all."
"But it isn't love!" she yells, all control lost, her frustration taking over as she shoves him.
He doesn't move an inch; he simply watches her, calm and collected as always. She hates him for that—for his accepting nature, his unwillingness to fight back. God, it frustrates her. He would never hit her, yell at her out of anger, try to hurt her just for the sake of hurting. It's something she should be thankful for, but it isn't natural and it isn't right and it isn't fair and God, she will never be able to stand it.
"Not really, anyway," she adds, voice softened. "Not the type of love that everyone else experiences."
"It is love. Just… different. Why should it have to be like everyone else's?"
He smiles, and it's a lopsided and silly grin, but his eyes remain locked onto hers in a way that is undeniably everything that is love.
Despite everything—how wrong it is, how unfair it is, how everything is telling her to turn heel and run and forget—she stumbles into him and wraps her arms around him, welcoming the warmth.
Because this is love; it has always been love.
And somehow, she feels that she was made for him, too.
It's a bit of a frustrating end, but that's it, y'all. Thanks for reading, and thanks also to those of you that have reviewed and given me constructive criticism and support. It means a lot, and always helps in shaping the way I write as well as my desire to keep it up. I hope you all enjoyed it!