CHAPTER 12: You May Be Right


I sat on the floor a long time after Jared stormed out, in a numb haze. All I could see was images of Jared, then of a dark brown furred wolf, the size of a baby elephant in his place. Huge, so brown his coat was almost black and the same shining eyes that I adored.

I somehow relocated to my bed, but I couldn't tell you when. All the feelings, the intense and powerful urges, had faded. Now I felt nothing.

No, scratch that. I felt something…and it wasn't something I particularly liked.

Guilt.

Horrible, debilitating guilt. And this burden of responsibility that, now having the knowledge of what drove Jared into my arms, and how he had no more free-will than a slave, if that much because he wanted to be like this, and I was just so confused.

So, while lying immobile on my bed was fun and all, the crushing weight in my stomach was not. I rolled over and pulled my notebook off my nightstand, and rooted up a pen. Turning to a blank page, I titled it:

WHAT I KNOW, and I made a list, coded, of everything that Jared shared.

I scanned my list over, pursed my lips and pondered the ramifications that I hadn't previously dwelled on for too long. They were extreme, enormous, and shook me.

The substance of legends and myths, of the arcane and magical, existed. Were literally running around in my backyard. I admit to indulging, as a child, to a belief in fairytales; hell, I remember being scared after hearing a particularly horrifying myth of the Cold Ones at a tribal bonfire—the fact that they, it, was real, was…

I trailed off in my own mind. The numbness, I think, was preventing me from having a complete breakdown. And why was I so eager to accept this? True, Jared had proven it to me and I had seen him as a wolf with my own eyes. What if I was seeing things? Or starting to have sympathy hallucinations? Maybe I was so in love with Jared that I was allowing his insanity to affect my own perceptions.

Or mayb—in love? Did I really think that? I admit to my previous infatuation. And, if I'm being completely honest with myself, I don't think it was ever about who Jared was, so much as what he represented. He showed me kindness at a time that I was desperate and hopeless, silently crying out for help. Even the smallest gesture, I took and treasured. Even if he never spared me another thought, he was there at a crucial time.

And he was safe. Safe to pine for and to wish to notice me. I could imagine all sorts of scenarios from the safety of my mind. Never having to worry about rejection or cruelty. Not ever truly believing that he would notice me or start to feel even close to the same way.

And now he was all mine. When he told me to consider him my "personal 24/7 service", he meant it literally.

That was the thought that broke the dam, and I leaped from my bed and made it to the bathroom right in time to toss all the meager contents in my stomach. I dry heaved when there was nothing left, and finally stopped, disgusted even more with myself.

Unsteadily I returned to my room, exhausted. I plugged my iPod into my stereo, and getting back into bed where I was lulled into a restless sleep to Billy Joel's comforting voice.

I slept the remainder of the day, emotionally drained. When I woke up on Sunday, with still nay a sign of Pat, I fed Elvis and spilled my guts to the little pig.

"I don't know what to do, he says he loves me but it's all too coincidental and perfect to be real, you know?" I petted Elvis on the side while he chewed contentedly on a stalk of broccoli.

He twitched. I took that to mean, "Yes, Kim, you're bullshit meter is impeccable."

"No need for sarcasm," I reproached him. "But, really, what should I do?"

Elvis chirped out a shrug and I rolled my eyes at his unhelpful attitude. Really, he was getting so spoiled and superior acting.

I sighed, shut his cage door and checked my phone for any missed messages that Pat may have left.

22 missed calls, was printed boldly, along with: 37 texts messages.

Uh, I don't think I've had this many calls and texts in my LIFE.

And damn me if they weren't all from…yes, you guessed right…Jared.

I tossed my phone back by my desk and flopped on my bed in a huff of indecision. I could call him back; I was going to have to see him eventually. This "imprinting" business didn't sound like it just went away if it wasn't reciprocated—and even if that were the case, I couldn't make the claim that his feelings weren't reciprocated. I was hesitant to admit anything at the moment, since I felt that my like/admiration/love was much more genuinely founded than Jared's. What if one day this magic wore off, ten years from now, and Jared woke up to discover he didn't love me anymore?

Did he even consider that? If imprinting only took a millisecond to happen, couldn't the same happen in reverse? And was it possible to imprint on more than one person? Did Jared ever stop being a…a…werewolf? And, if so, did that mean the love he felt from imprinting would go away?

My head felt even dizzier and I craved the answers to my questions. I knew that talking to Jared about it was pointless, since his apparent goal in life was to make me happy. Honestly, nothing would make me more happy than learning that all this was real and legitimate.

I needed to talk to someone else, an insider with outside perspective.

A name instantly came to mind.

Sam Uley.

Jared had mentioned him multiple times now. He was the first to transform and I was willing to bet he knew exactly what was going on. I also had an inkling that the Council knew too. All those tribal stories couldn't be for naught—I wasn't very comfortable talking to them, but if Sam didn't pan out, I would take a trip over to Billy Black's or Quil Ateara's.

Once decided on this course of action, I grabbed the La Push directory that everyone had, and found Sam's number.

The next moment, the phone was ringing.

Before I had a chance to chicken out and hang up, someone picked up.

"Hello?" a female voice answered.

"Uh, is Sam there?" I asked, feeling like an idiot. But after waking up and calmly going through the events of the afternoon, I felt I needed another person to assure me that I wasn't the crazy one.

"Is this Kim?"

I replied cautiously. "It is."

Some clanking wafted through from the other end and then the girl said, "I'm Emily Young, Sam's imprint."

Absolutely floored, I squawked, "What?" Definitely not a development I had anticipated or even considered. I hadn't thought that Sam could have imprinted too! How common was this occurrence?

"Jared forgot to mention that?" she tsked softly under her breath. "I'm guessing he didn't explain things very well."

"No, not so much," I murmured, shifting the phone to my other shoulder and taking a seat at the kitchen table. I briefly peaked outside, still didn't saw Pat's vehicle, and was glad I only had to deal with mythical beings and imprints.

Emily hummed, seeming to deliberate. "Why don't you come over here and we can talk? Unless you'd rather speak with Sam. He'll come by in a few hours. But in the meantime, I can probably shed some light on a few things."

Yes. That sounded like the most perfect thing I had ever heard in my entire life. Girl talk had never held this much appeal. "You have no idea how much I would appreciate that," I said with raw honesty.

She chuckled and gave me her address. La Push wasn't big by any means. "I can be there in fifteen minutes. Is that too soon?" I asked.

"No, that's perfect," I could hear her smile and warmth over the phone and it made me feel better. She hung up and I grabbed the house keys before locking the door and practically running to get to her house. It wasn't a very far walk at all.

I was going to get to the bottom of this.


I knocked lightly and presumably Emily opened the door, and greeted me with a huge smil—holy crap!

I knew it was impolite and very, very rude, but I couldn't help but stare at the red scares that marred her face.

And I was fairly certain of what had caused the horrible scarring.

"Did he—he hurt—crap, what the hell happened?" Normal pleasantries and first-time greetings were thrown out the window. I felt instantly protective of Emily Young for some inexplicable reason. Maybe it was her sweet demeanor, but how the HELL had she obtained those marks? If something rotten was going on with Sam Uley I would…well, I don't know, but I'd get her the hell out of here.

I would later feel awful for my uncensored unsubtle behavior, but I was so surprised I didn't filter.

Emily sighed and brought a small hand to her own cheek. "If you think this looks bad, you should've seen the other guy," she quipped lightly, stepping back and inviting me in.

Choked laughter escaped—was it okay to joke about this?—and I entered her small, but comfortable home.

"Do you live with Sam?" I asked, again with no thought for a 'how are you?' or 'so, you know Sam and Jared's huge secret like me?'.

I think I was going to have to accept myself for how I was: born with a defected brain-to-mouth motor.

"Yes, but no," she unhelpfully replied, taking a few steps to the kitchen—it was a small house—and grabbing a plate filled with the most delicious looking cinnamon scones I had ever seen. "Technically we don't. But Sam is either here, or at my place. We don't like to be apart for long," she commented, offering me a scone. And, yes, I may have taken two. They were amazing, like seriously professional level good.

I took a bite and pure unadulterated bliss.

"Wow," I gushed after swallowing, "this is delicious. You should market this as the solution to the world's problems. No joke, I don't even remember what I came to talk about in the first place," I rambled, taking another careful bite.

Emily threw her head back and laughed. "You are just as Jared described you," she declared. "We are going to be great friends. And thanks, I'm glad you like them. I bake pastries for a bakery in Port Angeles, and I'm always trying new recipes."

I focused on the first part of her sentence. "How did Jared describe me?"

With a dismissive wave, she redirected the conversation. "You can imagine, I'm sure. He's a little dramatic about the whole thing. He was here last night, crying and calling you and crying some more," she sighed in exasperation, like Jared crying wasn't the most heartbreaking and terrible thing to ever been said! I didn't feel so hungry anymore.

"Jared cried?" I asked pitifully.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Sam had to order him to stop, it was very dramatic."

My heart squeezed. I made myself comfortable because I could sense I would be here a while. "I'm sorry for being so rude. I'm Kim Wilson, by the way," and I stuck out my hand, to which Emily gamely shook. We giggled together, like preteen girls, and it felt really, really good. I don't know if I've ever felt as instantly at ease with a girl as I did with Emily.

"Emily Young," she introduced with a charming smile. Even though the right side of her face was pulled into a grimace-like expression, all her feelings were displayed clearly. And I could tell she was genuinely happy to talk with me.

"So I'm going to want to hear all about how you and Sam met, but I have to know: do you really believe this imprint stuff?" I leaned in to listen closely.

"Yes, and I think telling you how Sam and I met might shed more light on imprinting. You see, Sam was dating my cousin, Leah Clearwater…"

I listened raptly to her tale. If I thought my life was ever eventful, it was nothing compared to the Emily-Sam-Leah triangle and the story of how Emily got those scars.

An indeterminable amount of time later, she wound down with: "Imprinting is inescapable for them, Kim. They don't have a choice, and I know that doesn't seem romantic, that they are bound to us in a way that is unbreakable. I tried to deny my own connection with Sam, and this is what happened," she gestured to her face. "It was no one's fault. I said some terrible things to him that I still regret, that I knew would set him off. I obviously didn't knew how dangerous that was, and neither did Sam. Sam had nobody to guide him through the shifting process, no one to help control is emotions," here her voice went soft and emotional. "I ended up with some scars, yeah, but once I accepted what was happening and how I was part of this, I got the love of my life."

"Do you...hold what happened against Sam?" I probed.

Emily shook her head firmly. "Sam offered to hurl himself off a cliff after. Like, got in the car and started to drive away. So dramatic, those boys," she muttered the last part. "I don't question our love anymore, or what imprinting means. After all the struggles we went through, I can't deny either of us the gift we've been given. Because in all honesty, I think imprinting is a gift. It may be tough but it is so worth it," she finished dreamily.

Then she added, "The sex is beyond amazing too," with a wink.

My cheeks flamed. "I believe that. They really equip those boys with some damn fine bodies."

Chuckling, Emily nodded. "But don't forget," she cautioned, "that just because Sam and Jared look like one-man army's of steel, they are still only boys with the emotional depth of a teaspoon."

She was right, I realized. Jared was only a kid who had been thrust into a very demanding role of protector. And not to mention all the bodily changes afflicting him.

I looked at the clock and my eyes bugged out. "I can't believe we've been talking for hours!"

Emily stood, clearing the plates. "I'm surprised Sam hasn't come yet. He gets really antsy when he hasn't seen me in awhile."

"What's 'awhile'?"

"Twelve hours, on a good day. Six or less on a bad. Wolf boys are emotionally needy," Emily said, summarizing what had been slowly dawning on me all day. "I figured this out the hard way with Sam. They need reassurance and love almost constantly."

As if Sam had heard her words, her cell phone started to buzz. She smiled sweetly. "Like I said—hi honey. Yes, we're still talking. Yes. No, not like that. Tell him it's fine. No, not now! Seriously, tell him to wait. I'm sure. Thirty minutes sound too long? Okay, fifteen it is. See you soon. Yes, of course. I love you."

I had politely averted my gaze to give Emily a tad of privacy. But my ears weren't attached to my eyeballs and I gave her a disgusted look when she hung up. "You sound so sappy and in-love," I pursed my lips, now knowing how I probably seemed when I talked about Jared.

She gave me a Look.

I returned a Look.

We both stared.

And then dissolved into laughter.

Uncharacteristically, I reached over and gave her a hug. It was awkward, and fast, but I couldn't help the new connection I felt with this woman.

"Thanks," I whispered. "For explaining and helping me with this. I hope we can maybe hang out again?..." I floundered a little, unused to socializing outside of school and, now, Jared.

She gazed at me warmly. "I would love that, Kim."

We walked out the door together. I bid her farewell, and promised to call to set up a lunch date.

"Oh, and do me a favor?" she requested before I left.

"Yeah?"

"Talk to him please. It really isn't a pretty sight when a boy, who looks like a grown man, is hysterically crying about lost love. It's a little pathetic, actually."

I felt my color draining. "I will," I said, already in the process of mentally finding Jared and comforting him.

I deliberately decided to ignore Emily's tart, "Don't forget to wear a condom."

Hours later, and what I had learned for certain?

Emily was sassier and stronger than she looked.