Chapter Eleven
"Jared seems happy," Emily said absentmindedly as she scrubbed a pan at the sink.
"Yeah. He's really adjusting well to the imprint," Sam said, a newspaper in hand.
"I'm glad to hear that."
Sam opened his mouth to respond, but didn't know what else to say. So he shut it again, and continued pretending to read the newspaper.
"Kim seems like a very nice girl," Emily added.
"I've only met her a few times, but she seems so, yeah," Sam said.
It was strange, watching someone else imprint. Jared had never been a very chatty guy. He was calm, quiet, serene almost. It was funny to think that he and Paul had been friends before they both changed, and hadn't been shoved together by the pack. But suddenly, Jared's mind was everywhere at once. Sam felt like a tennis audience, his head turning as the ball changed direction each time. And what those thoughts would change to… God I miss her. What is she doing right now? I want to kiss her so bad again. Does she miss me too? I wonder what she looks like without her shirt on. I'm picking her up before school tomorrow, right?
The images that ran long with the thoughts weren't exactly PG either.
And Kim was such a nerd too. He'd rather not think of nice, quiet Kim… ugh.
Come to think of it… what kind of obsession did the act of imprinting have with nerdy girls? Emily, Kim… Annie from the rez gift shop might just be joining the family soon, by the look of things. Sam suddenly saw Paul handing Annie a bouquet of roses and almost laughed. But he hadn't laughed in a while. He was just too busy.
On top of Jared's changing, the pack had Leah, Seth, and Quil to train. Seth had phased days after Leah, and Quil had finally changed a week ago. And because training three new werewolves while trying to coach Jared's thought process wasn't hard enough… there was always Leah.
"I'm glad. Jared's such a good guy."
"Yeah."
The pain that came with each of these meaningless, distracted conversations began to rise up in his chest again, but he suppressed it. He couldn't afford to feel that, not with Leah having full-access of his thoughts whenever they had to phase. He didn't want her to know just how much she was getting to him. To Emily.
Because his weakness was just what she wanted. She was a full believer in persistent and unrelenting torment. Whoever said, "The first cut is the deepest" had never met Leah.
Sam could have dealt with her if she exclusively tortured him. It would be hard, seeing those memories of him holding Emily, blood-soaked and screaming, in his arms, reliving the first time he'd seen her bandaged, but at least it would only be him. He could deal with Leah's memories of their falling out, she crying over his note, fleeting images of what they used to have. But she didn't stop with Sam. She was intent on hitting him from every angle.
She wouldn't let the identity of Embry's father rest. Her mind was like a machine, continuous thoughts etching into paper like a heart beat. Even when they weren't in wolf form, Leah would suddenly laugh.
"Embry, that face you made… I swore you looked just like Billy Black!"
And the things she said to Emily…
"Emily, the blue in your shirt really helps to tone down the red in your scars."
And Emily's face would heat up, Sam could just feel it do so, and her eyes would fall across the floor, and her hair would fall across her face, to hide the scars. And, ever so brightly, Leah would turn to him.
"Don't you think so, Sam?"
He would never answer her, because he thought that it would help. But she never really needed him to answer. She just needed to watch Emily look at him, want him to defend her, and smugly watch as he changed the subject.
Smugly watch as Emily withdrew into herself.
Emily began wearing long sleeves, longer than necessary, to cover her arm and the back of her hand. She rifled through her winter clothes and brought out any sweaters she owned. It was the beginning of summer, yet she roamed the house wrapped up in thick turtleneck sweaters. Sam didn't have to guess what she was doing. He knew. But he couldn't say anything about it, couldn't reassure Emily that she was so beautiful and amazing and completely perfect. That he wanted no one in the world but her. That Leah didn't matter. Because, in some way, Leah was always present. There were no secrets.
Sam bent the paper for a moment to watch Emily. She had paused at the sink, her arm pushing a strand of hair from her face. She was wearing a dark turtleneck sweater that was inappropriate for the beginning of the summer. Her hair, which she normally tied back, hung in front of her face. In front of her scars.
The hint of pain again. And again he pushed it back down.
Emily succeeded in brushing the strand of hair away and began rinsing whatever she had been washing earlier. Her sleeves were wet, but she refused to push them up. He could tell the wet fabric bothered her, lapping uncomfortably around her wrists whenever she moved, but it was so much better than showing those blood red lines that ran down her arm.
Sam hated when she hid her scars. Seeing them reminded him of her forgiveness. Hiding them meant she was ashamed, and his shame and guilt of what he did returned. That, coupled with Leah's constant reminders of the past, the pack's low morale, the stress that came with three new werewolves, and the failure to capture the female vampire before she most suddenly disappeared, beat down on Sam until he was stretched so thin that breaking was a when, not an if.
He envied Jared. His distraction was so whole and complete. He didn't have to hide from it.
"I wish she would go," Emily suddenly said.
Sam let the newspaper fall onto the table. How strange that though he felt so far away from her, they had been thinking the same thing.
"She can't. Now more than ever is when we should stick together as a pack," he said carefully. His answer felt rehearsed. Sam looked at her, bent over the sink, her knuckles white around the edge.
"But she's ripping the pack apart, Sam!" Emily said, whipping around to face him. Her gaze was pleading. Her voice was quieter.
"I can't take this anymore. I don't know what to do."
"Don't let her get to you," Sam said, standing from the table and walking to her.
"Maybe you should try a little of your medicine, Sam Uley," Emily spat. Sam stopped in front of her, his arms falling to his sides.
"What do you mean by that?" he said, suddenly angry. So much he had kept deep down, hidden. It had been waiting to explode like a geyser this entire time.
"No, I'm sorry. That was unfair," she said, reaching for him. He ripped himself away from her.
"What do you want me to do, Emily? Tell her to join some other werewolf pack on some other rez? Tell her to stop phasing and go back to just being human? Okay, I'll do that."
"I don't know, Sam." Emily's voice was so low.
"Don't you think I know what she's doing? What can I do about it? You have any ideas?"
He was yelling now. Emily was terrified.
"No."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. I have to deal with you at home, with the pack out there. I can't be pack leader and some happy fucking mediator!"
"You… deal with me at home?"
They met each other's eyes, and Sam's gaze relentlessly bore into hers until she looked down to the floor. He didn't answer. He was too angry.
"So please, when you know how to fix all of this, let me know. Don't start something you can't finish, Emily." He was so angry. She could see him shaking. Tears were brimming at her eyelids.
"Sam…"
"I think I'm staying at my place tonight."
Emily's eyes grew wide. "Wait, no, Sam!"
But Sam couldn't see straight, he was so angry. He went to the door, and it slammed behind him. Had he shut it so hard?
Sam's car had always stayed in Emily's driveway for appearances. It had been so long since he had driven it… he could barely remember the last time he had sat behind the wheel. He opened the door a little too hard, twisted the key a little too fast. The engine roared to life, and he screeched out of the tiny driveway. It was only when he was driving far too fast down the thin dirt road did he realize what he was doing.
…
Sam slammed the door and was gone. The engine, the tires, then silence. Emily waited, silent, for him to turn back. But he didn't. She couldn't move. She was frozen on the spot.
Their first fight. She thought she might die from the pain. Her knees gave way and she fell to the floor. Her hands palm-down pressed against the cheap, pealing linoleum on the floor. Tears and more tears, crashing down her face like an avalanche.
The thought of being without him for an entire night seemed like agony: the mere suggestion of it seemed to shred her soul into millions of tattered pieces. She kept looking to the door, waiting for him to return. But he didn't. The minutes felt like centuries as she waited. He wasn't coming. Her heart fell out of her chest and rolled away from her across the floor.
Emily was finally able to summon enough strength to stand. She crawled up the stairs and into her bedroom. Emily collapsed on her bed. It was barely a full-sized mattress, but it seemed disturbingly vast without him there beside her. She shivered. It was so cold.
Something caught her eye as she pulled the covers up over her cold body. One of his shirts, abandoned from that morning, lay thrown across the foot of the bed. One tentative hand reached for it. Suddenly she was crazed, tearing off her turtleneck. She needed to feel him against her. How else would she survive? The plaid flannel smelled almost exactly like him, and impossibly still held some of his warmth. She wrapped it around her so tightly, trying to imitate the way his arms felt around her. She kissed the fabric. What a poor substitution.
Then she heard the door open and close, and someone come leaping up the stairs. And Sam was there in her doorway.
"Emily…" he said, crossing the room in two strides.
She took him into her arms, saying his name over and over to make sure he was there. Relief dulled the pain until it was no longer there: she could feel her soul reattaching itself with his. He whispered unintelligible things between his apologies in her ear as he ran his hands through her hair over and over.
"Don't ever leave me," she whispered. She grabbed at the back of his head, bringing his mouth to hers almost violently. She desperately needed to remember what this felt like.
His hands, one on the small of her back and the other behind her neck, pressed her toward him so strongly that she thought she might break. But she reveled in the pressure. Her legs slid around his waist, squeezing him closer.
Then his hands met at the back of her neck, and took hold of his shirt's collar. He pulled, and it fell back, leaving her shoulders and upper arms bare. Then his arms were at her waist, slowly traveling up the sides of her bare torso until they touched the offensive fabric over her chest. He wrapped his arms underneath his shirt and abandoned her mouth, dropping hungry kisses down her jaw, neck, and collarbone.
And then he was on his back, and she hovered above him so beautifully. Her hair was in his face, her fingertips were still wet from the sink, leaving cold trails across his skin, making his hair stand on end. He had to stop this soon. Before it went too far.
Because right then she drew her fingertips over the waistband of his jeans. He hissed against her skin.
"What are you doing?" he gasped. She kissed down the side of his face, ending at his lips.
"I don't care anymore. It doesn't matter."
"Emily, I…"
But she was already unbuttoning, unzipping the fly, freeing him. He couldn't think straight.
"You…"
"Sam, I'm going to marry you. It doesn't matter anymore."
Did she know she was rocking against him? Did she know how intoxicating her fingers felt against his skin?
"But…"
Her fingers were traveling dangerously low. He grabbed at her hands.
"Emily."
"I love you. That's all that matters."
He couldn't think straight. And she was using all his old arguments. The most beautiful girl in the world was perched half-naked in his lap, and he wanted to stop. What was wrong with him?
"You'll regret not waiting," he tried.
"I won't."
She bent to kiss him again. He caught her face in one hand and touched her lips with his thumb.
"Emily, please. Think about this."
He was her protector. He would protect her even against himself.
"Just a little while longer," he whispered.
"Why?" she whispered.
"Just, trust me Emily."
"Its Leah, isn't it?" she asked, sitting up, away from him. He shot up, winding his arms around her.
Sam pulled her close again.
"I feel like I should be saying the same for you."
Sam's large hands held each side of her head, smoothing the long, straight black hair that hung down on both sides. He took in her entire face, her wrinkled brow, her inverted lips, her eyes shut tight. He kissed her forehead, willing beyond anything that she would understand. And with a sigh, Emily released her tension, pressing her face into his large hand.
"We're going to have to talk about this," Sam said.
"Okay."
She leaned back into him, her arms against his chest, and kissed him again. They were slow now, cautious. His fingers wound into her hair, moving against her scalp and tugging lightly on the locks. He loved the feel of her gasp against his lips.
Finally Sam twisted and lay her down on the bed. He touched her legs and untwisted them from his waist. Then he sat up, touched the first buttons of the old flannel shirt she was wearing, slowly twisting the buttons one by one, traveling upwards, placing a kiss on each patch a skin before covering it for the night. Then he lay beside her, pulled her close, and kissed her hair.
She fell asleep quickly. It had been an emotionally draining day, and Sam could feel his eyelids grow heavier and heavier in each passing moment. But one thought echoed in his mind as he drifted into sleep.
He wouldn't let that happen again. He would not let Leah win.
…
Sam considered himself a good boyfriend when he was with Leah. He knew Leah's, birthday, favorite color favorite food, and favorite kind of cake. He knew the stores she liked in case he had to get her a gift. He knew what movies she liked, what songs she liked. She knew the people she hated. He had always thought that was all he needed to know.
He woke up far before Emily had, the slightest bit of dawn shining into his hypersensitive eyes from her bedroom window and waking him up. Emily said that he always looked perturbed or unhappy when she caught him sleeping. He wondered why.
Because Emily looked completely and totally content in her sleep. A perfect angel lying next to him. Yet, as he stared at her, he realized that he did not know her favorite color, her favorite movie, her favorite stores. If he didn't know these things, what kind of a fiancé was he?
Emily stirred in his arms.
"What time is it?" she asked, her eyes still closed, her words slightly slurred in sleep.
"Nine. I've got the morning off. It's a Saturday, remember?"
"Oh. Good," she said, her eyes finally opening.
"How long have you been up?" Emily asked.
Since dawn. "I don't know," Sam answered.
"Hmm."
"Emily, what's your favorite color?"
Her scrunched her brow and closed her eyes again. "I don't know. Light purple, maybe. Like lavender."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
Sam nodded. "Okay. Mine's orange."
"I know," Emily said, leaning against his room. Sam frowned.
"You know? How?"
"You said it. The day I painted the flower box you looked at it and you said that I picked a good color because orange was your favorite."
Sam seemed to slump into his pillow.
"Oh…. What about your favorite food?"
Emily sighed. "You sure are chatty the morning after." A sly grin slid across her face at her unclean joke.
"I'm serious."
"Ugh. I guess… Chocolate cake."
"Do you know mine?"
"Of course. Its…" She opened her eyes and sat up. "Oh. I don't know."
"Steak," Sam offered.
"Well I feel stupid. That was an easy guess. Sam, what's wrong?"
"We really don't know that much about each other, do we?" Sam observed, his fingers running down Emily's bare arm.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know your favorite band or what store you like just in case I need to get you a gift at the last minute…."
"You know I don't need gifts like that," Emily said softly.
"Its just that we should know these things. It's weird that we don't. I'm usually good with these things."
"Well, when you are training an entire werewolf pack all day and all of the night, chasing after hungry vampires bent on killing you and your pack, and keeping watch of one terribly accident-prone girl all at once, knowing someone's favorite color seems a little arbitrary."
"When you put it that way…" Sam muttered.
"But I guess you're right. We never really… dated, did we?" Emily said with a slight smirk. Sam straightened up against the headboard.
"Yeah we did."
"Name one date we've gone on, Sam."
Emily sat up and watched him think.
"Well, there was that one time… No, wait. I… Does that one bonfire where everyone left for a little while and we were alone count?"
"Sam, we were out in the woods searching for fire wood while the werewolves went off thinking they'd seen a spot of red."
"I guess that's a no."
"You'd be right."
"Well, damn… I guess we never did."
"Just like an old married couple from the start," Emily mused. She lay back down, next to her fiancé, and lay her head gently against his bare chest.
"Well? Emily?"
"Yes, Sam?"
"You… want to go on a date with me?"
Emily sat up again, and suddenly had to fight the urge to laugh at the nervous expression on Sam's face. She took his hand gently, with mock-regret on her face.
"I don't know. I have this fiancé who would get a little jealous."
"No, seriously. Let's go see a movie tonight. And dinner. Dinner and a movie, the old classic."
"Can we afford that?" she asked in a low voice.
"It would be like, fifty tops. Twenty for the movie tickets, thirty for dinner."
"Where are you going to take me? Pizza Hut?" Emily laughed. Sam didn't get it.
"Don't you like pizza?" he asked, puzzled.
"You are so romantic," she said, kissing him lightly.
"Fine. What about Applebee's?"
He was trying so hard. Then again, maybe she'd seen too many romantic movies. Not everyone could afford to go to those black-tie places.
"Sounds great."
"You sure? I mean, we could go somewhere else. Though anything really fancy probably wouldn't work… I don't think I own a dress shirt that fits anymore."
"Sam, Applebee's would be lovely."
He smiled. "Good. Their cheesy fries are awesome."
Emily burst into laughter. "You sound like Jacob," she said.
"Quiet…" he said, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her back down to his chest. Emily giggled for a moment, until his lips found hers and she forgot what exactly had been so funny.
"What movie do you want to see?"
Emily took a moment to regain control of her senses. She knew Sam could tell he'd dazed her, and he had a cocky smile on his face.
"You might not want to go see any of those movies."
"I could sit through one."
"You'd sleep through it, Sam."
"Well, there is this new movie out that I really wanted to see."
"What's it about?"
"A dirty cop. And an undercover cop. And they are working to find each other out the entire time. And Jack Nicholson plays the mob boss."
"Sounds good."
He raised his eyebrows. "You sure? I thought you hated Jack Nicholson because he's creepy."
"He is creepy, but as long as you're there, I'm sure it will be great," Emily pledged. She leaned into him again, pressing her lips to his slowly, deeply. He sighed into the kiss, pulling her closer to him. She loved these easy moments, in the morning with the sun lightly meandering in from the window above her bed, both of them still partly asleep, but so very aware of the other. These were her happiest moments.
"Pick me up at six," she said coyly before pulling away completely. It was Sam's turn to be dazed as she glided out the room.
As soon as she was out of his sight, she clapped her hands in front of her mouth to hide her laugh again. How had she managed to actually glide like that? She had actually been coy.
A few minutes later, as Emily poured herself a cup of coffee, she heard Sam from upstairs. "Hey Emily? Do you think I need to call Applebee's for a reservation?"
"I think we'll be okay," she said, fighting the laughter back down. He really was trying.
…
Butterflies were tearing her stomach apart as she followed Sam into the restaurant. It was Applebee's, for crying out loud! At least, that was what she kept telling herself. But the realization that the love of her life was taking her on her first, real date sent another batch of shivers down her spine. She felt too dressed up, too made up, and too riled up. She needed to calm down.
It was Applebee's, for crying out loud!
"Table for two," Sam said, gesturing at the same time. His peace sign was lost on the hostess, who was busily scribbling down on something.
"Yes sir," she said, still not looking up but bending down, to grab two menus. Finally she looked up. "Follow me, please."
But the 'please' came out rather choked, because that was when she saw Emily. Rather, that was when she saw those hot red wounds that wound down her face, neck, and bare shoulder, down to the back of her hand. Emily's face flushed with heat.
"Is there a problem?" Sam's cool eyes had narrowed into slits. Emily squeezed his hand, but he didn't approve of the 'It's not worth it' shaking of her head. Emily regretted not bringing a sweater. This dress was far too… bare.
Sam continued to glare, and the hostess looked unnerved. Sam could be very intimidating when he wanted to be.
"Not at all, sir. Right this way."
She led them to a back table, the glass lamp baring pears and apples in garish reds and greens. Sam nodded shortly to her, and with one last glance at Emily, the hostess disappeared.
It had been so long since Emily had ventured into the public eye. When she first got out of the hospital, she rarely went grocery shopping, though when she did she often bought the store out to lengthen the time before her next journey. The relationship between her and the rest of the community had progressed now to a mutual shyness of each other. Everyone knew she and Sam, the Sam Uley, were together. They respected her enough to not stare. Her boys didn't talk about it. She'd grown so used to those scars that they seemed normal to her, a part of her face, a part of her. She forgot that not everyone was used to those scars. After that morning, Emily thought that she had conquered Leah's attempted sabotage. Had she been so base as to think that Leah would be the only one calling attention to those burning red lines streaking down her face?
"Emily? Are you okay?"
She looked at Sam for a moment. She didn't answer.
A waitress approached their table and asked for their drink order. Emily could tell she was making a point not to stare. That was even worse. She took their order and then left.
"Emily?"
"I'm fine. This is fine. Really nice."
"We don't have to stay."
"I want to. I do." She gave a short smile. "Really."
Sam didn't look convinced, but let it go. Emily hated lying, but she wanted this to work. She desperately wanted to pretend, just for a moment, that she and Sam were normal when they were anything but.
Emily and Sam tried to make conversation, somehow her topics delivered only a few lines of dialogue before it pattered out into awkwardness. She was distracted by the feeling of eyes on her face, on her back. Little children a table down the row gawked at her unabashedly. Their mother scolded them from time to time, but as she spoke her eyes glanced to Emily to get a look for herself.
What a stupid, horrible idea this all was. She was happy in La Push. She didn't need to come down to the boardwalk, go on stupid dates. Who needed dates? Who had time for them? She'd selfishly torn Sam away from the pack… what if something bad happened that night, and Sam wasn't there? How would they explain that? Sorry, but we wanted to catch a movie? We thought out supernatural enemies could hold off for a night while we went to dinner?
Then the worst thought of all crossed her mind. If she had stayed away from La Push last summer, if she had kept away from Sam, if she hadn't gone down to meet him that night… she could be a completely different person leading a totally different life. She would be whole, and whatever guy she was with would be normal, and this night would be normal.
She wanted to cover her face in shame for the thought. To think that she wanted someone else than Sam. She may have been unmarred, but she would be hollow without him. She reached out and grabbed his hand, and he looked back at her.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm so sorry."
"Its not you. It's these people. Can't mind their own business."
Sam, protecting her until the end. Sam, her soul-mate. She couldn't live without him if she tried. What a horrible person she was, wishing for someone besides him. Who could ever love her better than he did? She had had to pay for that love, but he had too. What kind of easy, happy, normal life was worth anything if Sam wasn't there? He didn't know what she was apologizing for, not really. She wouldn't tell him either. Not ever.
When their food came, Sam asked for the check immediately. They left as soon as Emily finished her last swig of soda. The second tour through the crowd of staring eyes was just as bad.
"The movie theater will be better," Sam said, squeezing her hand.
Because I'll be hidden in the dark. No one will see the freak, Emily thought. She pushed back the tears. She was glad Sam didn't turn around, didn't see her so upset.
When they got to the theater, Sam bought tickets to the romantic comedy playing despite Emily's protests. They headed into the theater early and sat in the back. No one seemed to look at Emily there, though she wasn't comfortable until the seats were blanketed in darkness and the previews began to play. Sam had shoved the cup-holder back and pulled her as close to him as possible. She melted into his chest, and suddenly, she was back home, sitting on that lumpy old couch and watching a movie in her tiny living room. It was just her and Sam: everyone else disappeared.
A year ago, Emily thought she wanted one of those frightfully romantic guys. The ones with all the lines, the ones that bought you eleven real roses and one fake one and said things like, "I'll love you until the last rose dies." The ones that took her for night walks on the beach and carved endearments with his toes in the sand. The ones that would show up beneath her window and steal her heart away after some long, romantic speech about how they couldn't live a day without her.
Instead she got a guy who thought a good date began at Applebee's, who fell asleep at the mere thought of poetry. Sam had no lines, no fake roses. Instead he ran off with his friends all the time, was always late, was never home, and didn't have enough money to spend on anything they did not strictly need. And to be frank, he spent half his time as a freakishly huge, glossy black wolf in the middle of the woods. He wasn't what she wanted at all.
But when he held her like this, and kissed her hair whenever something particularly romantic happened on screen, even though she knew he thought it was cheesy… she knew he was exactly what she needed.
"Did you like the movie?" Sam asked as the lights came up. She shrugged.
"It was okay. Let's go back home," she said. Sam smiled.
"Sounds good to me."
…
…
…
A/N: Sorry it took so long! I thought I'd write you a sickly sweet, fluffy mess of Sam/Emily-ness to compensate. Thanks and please review!