The paper bags rustled a little as he transferred them both to his left arm.
He held them in the crook of his elbow, pressing them against his chest for stability but he shifted them again, knowing that he was close to crushing them and fucking up the contents. He tried to concave his chest a little, to arch his back to compensate but it was awkward and uncomfortable.
Oh well.
Awkward and uncomfortable weren't exactly the worst he'd dealt with recently.
He didn't mind if the grease and oil dotting the bag seeped through into his tee, he didn't care that he looked like a drunk, bristling cat but he'd be pissed with himself if he crushed the food he was carrying. He'd managed to get it this far without damaging it, he'd be damned if he fucked it up now.
Paul grimaced a little.
Jesus.
"The fuck kinda world am I living in?" he muttered to himself, snapping his lips shut with a terse sort of wince.
Talking to himself on top of everything else?
Great.
Here he was, shifting his body, balancing bags, knowing that he'd be pissed with himself if messed up the contents? Thinking that he'd be damned if the food inside got a little beat up?
Fucking muttering to himself?
Who even was he?
He didn't know anymore.
Before now, consideration like that hadn't really been part of his vocabulary or his mentality and here he was, actively thinking about how he presented food?
It was such a bad joke.
He didn't like the change in himself, he didn't like being thoughtful, considerate, or kind.
He grimaced again.
Lugging bags of food around like a desperate pack mule, trying to balance them and protect them and keep everything inside all nice and upright and not smashed to fuck.
Who the hell did that?
Not him, that was for sure. He would bring food however the fuck it was brought, he'd throw it onto the couch or lob it at the guys like a star pitcher at a baseball match. They didn't care, so long as they got fed. He didn't care either, he was bringing the food, that was enough...except now he did.
Now he did fucking care.
He cared a lot.
He cared about the food, he cared about its quality and he cared about the goddamned presentation.
Paul knew he looked as pathetic as he felt. Not just then, in that moment, either. Ever since she'd come to town, he'd turned into a pathetic lump of shit.
There was no denying it.
He really was a pathetic little fucker...but what could he do?
He was changing.
Big time.
He was trying his best to roll with it, to just deal with it all but the truth was: he was fucking drowning. Here he was; the carefree wild card of the pack, the one who was always laughing, the one who was literally the life and soul of the group...standing in front of a door, fucking fretting about the food in his arms, unable to smile, hating himself and getting lost in his thoughts.
...he wasn't himself.
"Jesus..." he groaned.
He once again looked down at the bags and clenched his jaw, frustration washing over him.
It was always like this.
Every night he'd stand in the same place, psyching himself up or psyching himself the hell out.
He took a breath, taking pains to inhale deeply and calmly, trying not to think about how stupid it was, how stupid it all was.
As if it couldn't get any worse: he was a vampire utilizing mortal breathing exercises to try and soothe himself.
At least he was alone. At least there wasn't an audience to his sad little show.
He'd given a quick and admittedly sullen greeting to his pack mates before he'd headed out but otherwise, they were giving him the space he'd asked them for. It sucked being away from them but hey. What was it people said? Needs must? He hated that he was turning into this whipped, confused little puppy. Really, sincerely, he fucking hated it. Seeing the change in himself was bad enough, he didn't want to see it in their eyes, too.
He hated that, their looks of concern and sympathy.
He couldn't imagine what he would have done if they were with him at that moment, watching him silently fuss and panic in front of the locked door, still clutching the ever important food like a church-going woman clutches at her pearls when she hears a cuss.
They probably would have grimaced themselves and turned away from the scene.
They definitely wouldn't have been able to watch.
Having a mate was supposed to be this big, kickass celebratory thing. It was supposed to be a fucking party; welcoming a mate, a new addition to the pack. Instead, it felt like every day was a damn funeral.
It wasn't like that at the start.
It had been fun, sort of exciting.
Paul had been eager, naturally, but the guys had been, too.
Even when it became apparent that his mate wasn't going to throw herself into his arms, he'd turned to them for advice but it had been a laugh. She wasn't interested in him. Not at all. He'd never really been rejected before so that was new territory for him but yeah, it had been kind of funny. Sort of a, "ha-ha, you really gotta work for you mate" kind of joke and he had spent nights with his brothers, the four of them scattered around the cave, or around a bonfire at the beach, just sort of shooting the shit, drinking and coming up bullshit with ways to catch his girl.
It really had been sort of fun.
Suggestions of bumping into her on the boardwalk, giving her some flowers, sending her a drink when she was eating, a boom box on the shoulder as he serenaded her hotel window.
Lame, corny but harmless ideas, stupid jokes…but she fucking hated him.
She seemed to hate his guts.
"Mother fucker" he growled to himself, rolling his eyes.
So, this was going to be one of the nights were he psyched himself out.
Why was he thinking about this? What good was remembering all this shit?
He dropped his head against the door silently and slowly, resisting the urge to drum his fingers on it, not wanting to further break the eerie silence of the dim, dingy little space.
He missed himself.
He missed his pack, too.
His friends, his brothers.
He couldn't help himself as rueful, bitter smirk broke out onto his face.
What a mess they were. At least he wasn't entirely alone.
A mate really was new territory for all of them.
He didn't know what to do. He'd never had to fight for a girl in his life - mortal or vampire. Girls fell for him left, right and center. It was the same for his brothers…but this one? The girl he wanted, the girl he needed?
Stone cold.
Unbreakable, impenetrable and very much not interested.
The laughs, the fun atmosphere from the beginning was very short lived. The joke had worn thin and so Paul had gotten a bit more serious about it.
He'd pinned down the guys in turn and he'd laid it out flat. The game was dragging on too much, he was really craving his mate: what the fuck was he supposed to do to get her?
Dwayne had been steadfast in his insistence that the only way forward was romance. His advice was to go slow, to go steady and to show the girl what it meant to be a mate. According to the brunette, words were cheap, he had to actually show her. Show her how much he loved her, how much he needed her. The fucker was pretty damn emphatic on that point.
Respect her boundaries but love her, woo her.
For someone who killed as brutally as he did, the stoic man had a sensitive side that made Paul want to puke. His advice was all well and good but the problem was that Dwayne just didn't seem to get that the pull was so damn strong and the rejection so damn firm.
He had a mate and that feral, rabid vampire inside of him wanted her.
She didn't want anything to do with him. She made that pretty damn clear so even if he'd had the patience for it, there was no fucking chance to woo her.
Besides, he had tried! Dwayne had been there, he'd seen it. Every single approach: shot down. She wasn't gonna let it happen. As far as he was concerned, his hands had been tied but no. Dwayne had been unflappable, insisting that his way was the only way to go about it.
There was no changing his mind: romance, romance, romance. That's what it came down it.
Fucking hell, who had the time for that? He sure as hell didn't. He had a mate, he wanted her and he was being denied. Time after time, rejection after rejection.
It was brutal.
How can you woo someone who doesn't want to be fucking wooed? Pretty damn hard to court and romance and fuckin' date someone who hates the very sight of you.
So that was that. Dwayne was out and good fucking riddance.
Romance. Christ on a stick.
Next up was the Boss Man.
Paul had been sure he'd get something good from him and OK, he'd come through. David had been dismissively firm in his suggestion: just change her and be done with it. Like Dwayne, there was no changing David's mind nor room for further discussion. His opinion on the matter just wasn't going to change: turn her and go from there.
He was such a cunning fucker; it wasn't a surprise that there was a cold sort of brutality in his advice. David didn't have time for Dwayne's ideas, he'd snorted pretty damn derisively at them despite their close friendship. He'd seen Paul get shot down over and over and so, for David, it was simple: turn the girl and start from there, instead. He didn't have the patience for anything else and he certainly didn't share Dwayne's slow, seductive ways. David could be seductive as hell, Paul knew it, everyone knew it but his advice had been stark - take her.
David understood the seriousness of the pull, he got the need he was feeling and Paul figured it was actually good advice. Hell, he had fucking wanted to do that, he had wanted to do exactly what David had said. The vampire inside of him was almost screaming at him to do it, to claim her and make her his...but the killer thing was, he couldn't do it.
Yeah, he wanted his mate, yeah, he fucking needed her but the idea of just turning her, forcing her to be a vampire and then trying to convince her it's what she wanted too...that was wrong.
It didn't sit well with him.
He wanted his mate but he wanted her to want it, too.
So that was David and Dwayne, his two buds showering him with advice that was fucking useless for his situation.
Thanks for the chat, fuckers.
Annoyingly, frustratingly, disappointingly Marko had been even worse.
Paul hadn't thought it was possible. Three outta three couldn't all be bad, there had to be something useful but no.
His best friend, his man, his brother...Christ, he'd kinda regretted turning to him.
Marko didn't talk about seduction, romance or turning her, no, that dark little fuck had told him to take her, to make her realize that it was him and nothing else.
Lock her up, let her know that he was her only option.
Wear the girl down.
Don't hurt her, just let her wait it out.
As far as Marko was concerned, given a little time, his mate would realize it was Paul or nothing and that nothing was bad.
He'd given his advice with a shrug and a smile, simple and sweet and all kinds of fucked up.
So, torn between three very conflicting ideas: seduction, claiming by force or flat-out mental torture, Paul had kind of just winged it.
Turned out, his idea of winging it was mixing the ideas of his pack mates into a slapdash, act now, think later kind of deal.
He had approached her, tried to make a connection like a mortal would but she'd made it clear that he needed to stay the hell away from her. It had killed him but he'd sort of lived for it, too. It was like a game, like a sexy little hunt but it got old and it got old fast. She wouldn't let him date her; she wouldn't let him even get close to her. He'd approach her and get shot down, there was just no gettin' past her barriers and Christ alive did she have barriers.
He gave her some space. He did try Dwayne's way.
He did.
He gave her the space and just watched silently from afar and then after a few days, she had just totally stopped coming by the boardwalk.
That's when he knew he didn't have a chance to get it done the 'normal' way; Dwayne's way.
She was desperate for a job, desperate for money so to avoid the one place that was always hiring? She'd literally rather starve in Santa Carla than risk getting asked out by him.
The romantic way was out and it had felt fucking great.
Not a kick in the nuts at all, not a blow to his ego, not a punch to his gut.
No, no not at all...it was fine, peachy.
Just fucking rosy.
Not.
It was around then that he'd told the guys to back off. Their advice was shit, none of it applied to him, none of it was fucking helping and the whole situation was killing him.
By that point, it hadn't been an exaggeration either.
It had been fucking killing him.
Christ, it still was.
He had never know pain or frustration like it and he hoped he never would again.
She was a run away, escaping a bad life back in a shitty little small town, that much he'd gleaned. It was an old story, tale as old as time.
Santa Carla's lifeblood were people like her.
He had been watching her, stalking her since she'd first stepped into their territory, since the moment her scent and presence had almost crushed him.
He had been hunting her, absorbing every shred of information that he could.
She'd been moving from town to town, city to city for half a year, looking for a place to call home but not having any luck with it.
She was tired, she was run down.
Hurt. Aching.
There was a fire inside of her but it was dwindling. Town after town, city after city, the same emptiness...
Her heart was breaking.
She was trying hard, she was fighting the world, looking for her future, searching for happiness.
He wished she could see that she'd found it with him. He wished he could have shown her that he was her salvation. He was the answer to all of her problems and he was right there.
She was alone, which was good. She could drop of the map and nobody would know because she'd set it up like that. It was almost like she'd created the perfect scenario. She could die, she could be with him, she could be a vampire and be his mate and there would be nobody worrying after her, no parents slappin' up damn missing posters or cops lazily scanning the area for girls matching her description.
It was perfect...if she would have just given him a chance...but she didn't.
She hadn't.
And that's why she was now his fucking prisoner, and he was a sad sack lugging her warm and greasy food in the early night, standing in front of her door, his thoughts racing and jumbled, almost too scared to go inside and face the woman he loved, craved and needed.
It was fucked up.
He didn't want her to be his damn prisoner.
Who the fuck wants a mate locked away? Well, aside from Marko. That's what Marko had told him to do and he'd been very much not into it but Christ there was nothing else left for him to try.
He hadn't wanted to do it but he'd been pushed to.
She had decided that Santa Carla wasn't it for her, she had been gearing up to move on and move away, to head out to a town a little less seedy, a little less rough and fuck it, probably with a little less him.
In the end, she had forced his hand and he'd done what he had to.
He had taken her away, as per Marko's advice, been blunt about who he was and what they were as per David's and then, as Dwayne had suggested, he'd tried to show her how much he would love her if she would just allow him to.
It hadn't really worked out too well.
He guessed it was his own fault, he'd done it all in the wrong order but, well, it was what it was.
He had panicked but there was no point trying to defend himself.
Fact of the matter was, he'd kidnapped her.
If she hadn't hated him before, he'd certainly pushed her to hate him now.
She had fought against him, screaming and crying, clawing, punching, wriggling and struggling.
It had been admirable, really. A real good fight.
Admirable but twisted.
The first time his body had been against his mate and she had been terrified.
He wasn't surprised. It was grim but he had expected it.
After that, there were all the requisite reactions that he figured came with a kidnapping: crying, begging and then imploring. Fighting him, then grasping onto him, weeping, lying and swearing to him that she wouldn't tell anyone if he let her go.
It had been OK.
In the earlier days, it had been OK.
He'd been hopeful.
It had been easy when she cried because he could coo over her, promise her it was alright, swear that he wasn't gonna hurt her.
He meant it, too.
Totally and fully.
He'd sooner throw himself into a font of a holy water than hurt her and that realization had smacked into him like a ton of bricks. It was pretty humbling. He'd only ever cared about his pack before then.
When she begged him, he could assure her that he was giving her everything she ever wanted, he could actually respond to her. She wanted to be let go, he'd take her wherever she wanted so long as it was with him.
She wanted a new life, a new home and he was giving it to her. He would do anything for her.
He could reason with her.
When she implored, he implored her right back.
And then it had fallen apart.
Then she'd simply stopped.
She'd stopped crying, stopped begging and stopped imploring.
She'd stopped talking.
Silence.
Total silence; a brick wall, a mannequin of a woman, a marionette doll with limp strings.
What could he do with that?
He'd wanted her to know that he wasn't some psycho, that it wasn't some kind of jacked up game he was playing. He'd figured that's what the silent treatment was about and he kinda got it. After all, how could she accept the situation, embrace being a mate if she thought it was a lie or a game?
He'd understood it.
Until she saw it, until she saw the proof of what he was saying she would always believe him to be a liar.
So, he'd told her that he was gonna be honest with her and he had been. Slowly, gently, he'd reiterated to her what he was.
"I'm a vampire, you're my mate"
Yeah, once again he had told her what she was to him: he'd regurgitated the words, repeated them kindly and gave her the low down once more and well...then he'd showed her...
Seeing is believing and after she saw, he'd figured she would trust him.
The girl had handled it...eerily well.
He didn't know what else to say other than that.
Eerily well. That about summed it up.
He knew his vamped out face was scary; he wasn't stupid. He knew what he was. He hadn't seen his own reflection in a long, long time but he'd seen his brothers faces almost every night for years and years. He knew they were jacked up, that he was jacked up. All red eyes and fangs and shit.
He hadn't wanted to scare her, he'd just wanted to show her that it was all true.
He was a vampire, she was his mate, they were meant to be.
He'd thought that she'd be frightened but then come to understand. He'd figured it was a kinda necessary unpleasantry.
He had turned while keeping his head away from her and then warned her gently as he moved to face her, to show her.
He had been expecting her to scream, to throw herself away, to hit him.
The thing was...she hadn't screamed, she hadn't been scared and she hadn't been frightened.
She'd just kind of looked at him with wide eyes, her breath hitching for a moment, her pulse thudding.
She had trembled, the muscles of her calves had twitched relentlessly, her fingers had tensed and then without so much as a whimper, she had just curled into herself.
It had been worse than just the silent treatment.
When she started to tremble, he'd thought she would piss herself, faint, maybe hurt herself in her fear and he'd reached out his hand to steady her if it came down to it.
But no.
It was almost like a logical fog had clouded her thoughts.
Almost as though she knew he wouldn't hurt her, that he would have done it already if that was his intention. He'd guessed she was kinda thinking, 'vampires equal blood and death but I'm still alive so he wasn't lying so this all this adds up to some kind of safe or at least not the slow death I was expecting as the prisoner of a psycho'...though he'd figured she was a bit more eloquent with her thoughts.
She seemed like an eloquent, well-spoken kind of girl.
Not with him and not now but before, when he'd been watching her.
She seemed like she was someone special. If they were living in the real world, she'd have been outta his league no doubt.
He wasn't so arrogant that he couldn't admit it.
But anyway.
She had studied his face with those wide, glassy eyes but it was rational, almost, her resignation, her acceptance.
Then there were the trembles and twitches, the racing pulse and then the slow curl inwards and that had been it.
It had been weird as all fuck.
Most people, even in the midst of an attack, even when dying, seemed to try to deny the vampire in front of them.
How many times had he been feeding, killing, slaughtering and the victim frantically was screaming how it couldn't be real?
People were desperate to deny what he was, what the pack was.
But his girl...she had just kind of taken it in.
Accepted it.
He'd supposed that there was nothing else for her to do.
Fangs and red eyes and a jacked-up face was staring at her but not diggin' into her, she had to get with the program, she couldn't deny it but still.
It had unsettled him.
From them on, she'd just kind of withdrawn into herself.
No talking, no moving.
She was just existing and he'd just kept on going on.
Doing what he could.
He was bringing her food, books, drinks.
Toiletries, clothes.
Whatever she needed or he thought she wanted.
It was the same routine, over and over and the same unrelenting nothingness from her.
His mate.
It had been just a couple of weeks but it felt like a year already.
The guys were feelin' sorry for him, pitying him. He was feelin' sorry for himself and more than that, he was starting to not fucking recognize himself and yet it was just a never-ending circle.
Over and over.
How much longer could he do it?
Over and over and over.
And now, here he was, bringing her food again, gettin' ready for their little routine of silent, non-interaction.
The same damn thing.
He was gonna be watching her staring at her food, watching as she refused to even lift a finger with him in the room with her.
Over and over and over and over.
It was so defeating.
She was a victim. He understood that, of course he did. She was a victim, there was no denying it but he wished she could see, he wished she could understand that she was his mate.
That he loved her.
He was trying his best.
He was a victim, too.
He didn't want this shit.
He was doing his best. He was tryin' to be nice even though he didn't want to be nice.
He wasn't nice, for fucks sake!
That wasn't him. He wasn't nice or kind or considerate!
But for her? He'd do anything, he'd be anything.
He was losing himself.
When was the last time he laughed?
He didn't even know.
He rolled his eyes, looking down at the bags in his arm. The fading warmth of the food was still seeping into his chest and he shrugged.
"Bullshit" he muttered to himself, shaking his head.
Every damn night the same thoughts, the same arguments and ideas coursing through his brain.
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and then over some fucking more.
...but it was what it was.
He couldn't change it, he'd tried.
No point in laboring over the point in his head.
Be patient.
Be nice. Be considerate. Be all the things he never usually was.
That's all he could do.
Try not to destroy the food he'd bought but if it happened, what the hell.
He was trying.
He scoffed at his thoughts.
How long had he been stood in front of the door, letting himself get lost in his racing, rambling mind?
Shit like that was happening way too much.
He'd been considering the food in his arms and it had spiraled into a crazy, hazy trip down memory lane.
"Fuck it to fucking hell" he muttered to himself again, deciding then and there to stop thinking about it.
To stop thinking full stop.
It was like he couldn't help but beat himself up.
Everything triggered his thoughts, his memories.
He couldn't escape.
He didn't want a mate; he was pretty fucking happy with his undead life as it was.
He didn't need the stress.
He didn't want it.
...except he did.
The second he'd seen her; he'd known that he would never have been able to live without her.
It's just the way it was.
She could fight it, he could try to fight it but the outcome wouldn't change.
She needed to get with the program. She needed to embrace it, like he had.
Why fight the impossible?
And why the fuck was he still standing before the door?
He used his free hand to unlatch it, to shift the heavy bolt before steeling himself.
It was a weak set up, really.
If she had really thrown all her energy into trying to get out of the room, she probably could have. The bolt was hefty but the door and frame were pretty brittle.
Old. Pretty smashable.
It wasn't like the guys had renovated the house.
She wouldn't have gotten much reward for her effort though, the door leading out of the basement itself was rock solid.
He pushed the door open.
"Hey. I brought you some dinner..." he said by way of announcing his presence, just in case he'd been too soft with the door.
He was unsure of everything.
Should he say 'hello', 'howdy', 'evening', 'hi'?
Should he have knocked?
Opened it with vigor?
Too hard, too soft, too loud, too quiet. Like a virgin trying to get the right rhythm.
Sad fucking story.
"Uh, there's that burger I know you liked and a couple 'a sandwiches. One egg mayo, a BLT and um, I got you a tuna one 'cause I didn't get you one of those before...uh, a salad and I got some fries.."
He kicked the door shut with his foot, looking at her as she sat on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees and legs pressed against her chest.
She didn't say anything and he shrugged, approaching her little nest.
It wasn't new.
The same old thing over and over, right?
The only new thing seemed to be his increasing need to babble, his inability to be smooth or cool.
He was changing into a bumbling moron.
Yet another reason to hate himself.
The thick and warm duvet he'd kitted her out with was wrapped around her lower body and he couldn't help but think she'd originally wrapped it around her shoulders, cocooning her as she sat.
It was a cute image but knowing how depressed she was, it just made him feel sad.
There was an empty two liter water bottle next to her and another one, three quarters full resting next to it.
That was good, at least.
Hydration was important.
She wasn't letting herself starve, either.
He knew she would eat the food when he left.
She used the shower daily, too, and he was sure that she had used the bathtub when she realized there wouldn't be any surprise calls from him during the day. He didn't go in the bathroom to check, though. He wouldn't insult her like that. He didn't even sit on her bed, he stayed seated on the floor in front of her. The armchair in the room was always free but it felt weirdly rude to sit on that without invitation.
Funny, huh? There was still a strange sense of social convention despite how fucked up it all was.
Sometimes he couldn't help but let his mind wander, to think about what she did during those daylight hours.
Her room was pretty well sized. It had been rented out, before, when the house was occupied. There had been a mini kitchenette in the room, too, but that had been gutted by the old woman's family after she'd passed. Marko got the house before they managed to take out the bathroom, too. Lucky, really, though they hadn't known it at the time. They didn't keep prisoners, they didn't play with their food like that and who would have thought one of them would need to keep a mate locked up?
He thought about changin' the clock once.
Dwayne had told him to give her one, to let her keep a sense of time and routine and he'd been annoyed with himself for not thinking about it himself. A few days into her withdrawal, he'd seriously considered moving back the hour hand a bit so he could see what she got up to. He had figured that she wouldn't have actually known, there wasn't any natural light in the room but he knew that he couldn't betray her like that.
Even if he really had wanted to sneak in on her, to see what she did with herself when he wasn't there, he couldn't have done it.
He couldn't disrespect her like that.
He wanted to laugh for a second.
He had fucking kidnapped her! How much more disrespect could he show?
"I got you what I'd wanna eat" he told her, mostly because if he didn't speak, he'd be stuck with just his thoughts. His stupid, stupid thoughts, "I know you like the burger but the other stuff is just variety, you know?"
She didn't flinch or move or give any reaction as he moved towards her, leaning over her frozen body. He dropped one of the bags beside her, the one containing the burger and fries, by the sound it made.
"Don't eat what you don't want, don't force yourself, I mean. Uh, if you want anythin' you can write it down? I know I eat like shit. If you want somethin' but you don't wanna speak to me..." he said, tripping over his words, "I mean, I only eat for pleasure and yeah, like I said, I eat shit so...like...if you want an apple or..?"
He trailed off, knowing how lame he sounded.
He hated it.
He now had the personality a timid puppy.
He wondered if he would start to hate her, too.
Holding in his frustration, knowing it was his own and aimed at himself rather than her, he put the other bag next to her.
Knowing from experience that she wasn't going to make the move of her own accord, he began to rip the paper and reveal the contents.
The burger was wrapped neatly and most of the fries had stayed in their container.
He'd done a good job in getting them to her and he instinctively made to smile at the girl, feeling proud of himself...but she was looking steadfastly at the floor, her nose now pressed against her knees.
Silently collapsing in on herself.
It was such bullshit.
He knew it wasn't her fault, he knew she was the victim here but he couldn't help feel a shift in his frustration.
He didn't exactly love the situation either.
This wasn't his idea of fun.
He wanted to be outside with her, outside in the fresh air, outside with the stars and the boardwalk and the pack.
She didn't belong all cooped up but fuck it, neither did he.
He took a few steps back with a thoughtful frown on his face.
Jesus.
Couldn't she see?
He was trying to love her.
If she stopped playing the victim, if she could try, try to embrace him-
-he jerked his body as the feeling of something spongy yet solid, warm and wet all but splatted against his chest.
As the burger - now in pieces - dropped to the floor, he looked down at himself.
Special sauce, mayo, ketchup and some pickles were dripping thickly down his tee, the bun and patty having dragged more oil and sauce down his trousers on their way to the simple and old wooden floor.
Taking a moment to process what had happened, he slowly looked up.
How the fuck had the burger splatted against his chest?
What?-
-had she?-
-huh?
He couldn't believe it.
Days and days of inaction, days and days of absolutely nothing and now?
He couldn't process it.
Had she really thrown it at him?
She was there, still sat weakly and silently on the bed but her right hand was glistening with food and oil and there was a gleam in her eyes.
Not fury, not rage but a sort of desperate, dedicated anger.
A low burning anger, simmering away...close to boiling over.
It was there, plain as day.
Beneath the fear and the sadness and the fragile uncertainty there was anger...for the first time since he'd taken her, for the first time since she'd shut down. She looked decisive, too, as if she was going to channel that anger into something bigger but was frightened of it, scared to act.
He glanced down at himself again, surprised that she had it in her.
Kind of proud that she had it in her, actually.
It had been such a long time of stoic, scared silence, he still almost couldn't comprehend that he would actually lob the food back at him.
He hadn't thought-
-he winced as a load of still warm fries as well as their container smacked into his face.
Before he could really consider the fact that she had now thrown a second food item at him, she had launched herself off the bed.
Guess she wasn't so scared to act, after all.
Sloppily, clumsily due to the way her legs had been tucked up against her body, she fled through the small room.
As she stumbled towards the door, Paul had to admit that lack of grace aside, she'd made a pretty solid attempt at an escape.
There was the attack, the dash.
She hadn't wasted time trying to hurt him.
It was a smart move.
She had used his surprise and shock to her advantage.
Hell, he was there still standing numb and dumb and shocked and she was out of the door.
Girl was gone.
Well, going.
How long had she been planning this?
Fretting over it? Thinking about it?
Was that what she spent her days doing?
Wondering about the layout of the quiet basement, wondering how to get out, what her move would be?
He was proud of her but she was shit out of luck.
He kinda felt bad.
Bad and stunned.
It was weird.
It was like his brain couldn't quite comprehend it; days and days of inaction and suddenly this?
Jesus, he was losing his touch.
The old him would have been out the door in a flash, his arms wrapped around her in seconds.
Thankfully it didn't matter too much. Old him, new him. He could stand there stupidly for hours and she wouldn't get anywhere.
The basement was a shit heap, really, but it was secure.
There was a second room, filled with shit and crap from years and years of changing owners, of being used as a storage room while the previous owner's family tried to figure out how to sell. It was left dusty with neglect, there was nothing to help her in there. Hell, the guys had barely taken a cursory glance into it when the house fall into their possession.
All he knew was there were no windows, no doors, no magical portals.
No windows, no phone, no electricity.
Even the floor was bare concrete, no wood or carpet ever having been laid.
The shelves made narrow corridors, he couldn't remember but he thought maybe they made four or five rows?
Aside from that room and the room she called her own, there was a rickety flight of stairs leading up to a heavily bolted door.
That was it.
If she'd been imagining a vast space, she was going to be sorely disappointed.
He was glad that she had the strength to do something but kind of sad for her because nothing could come of it.
She moaned loudly and he frowned over at the door.
Yeah, there wasn't much in the way of freedom or comfort out there.
She'd probably been waiting, hoping for this moment and now she was seeing how fucked she really was.
That sucked for her.
It was-
-she screamed and he jerked, blinking stupidly at the sound.
"...fuck" he tilted his head, stepping forward before stopping.
Was he really the guy that stood there, gormlessly and stupid just thinking to himself?
His mate had run off and he'd just stood there with his thoughts?
Who the fuck was he?!
He didn't know what he was supposed to do now.
Had she gotten to the basement door and found it locked?
Or had she made her way into the other room?
Junk and lack of electricity aside, it was a creepy ass storage room with lots of cobwebs. Probably roaches, too. Rats. Who the fuck even knew? It had come with the house and nobody had bothered the clear it up. Why would they? They never used the damn place and they sure as hell didn't fucking clean. They had a bunch of houses and safe places but they never used them.
They were emergency digs, nothing more.
He hoped she was clawing at the substantial basement door but as a crash met his ears, he knew his question had been answered.
She'd gone and gotten lost in the junk room, running around and banging into things like a moth against a lightbulb.
Right then, in that moment, he hated that he loved her.
He loved her and he didn't know how the hell he was supposed to help her, what the hell he was supposed to do for her.
He knew that he was the last person she wanted to see but she was going to hurt herself if she didn't calm down.
She cried out again.
"Hold still would you, girl?" he called, hopping over the mess she'd made with the food he'd brought her.
He wasn't running but he wasn't walking either.
Again, it was new territory for him.
He was trying to help, not hunt.
Support, not instill panic.
He didn't know what the fuck to do.
How could he reassure her?
Could he?
Should he?
Should he just leave her to it?
He didn't want to see her defeated, he didn't want to further upset her.
He didn't know what the hell he was doing.
Her pulse was raging, her breathing ragged and desperate and he tried to calm himself down as he stepped inside her new prison.
He could see that the room was filled with glass jars and big old boxes filled with fuck knew what. He opened his mouth like a stupid, gaping fish before closing it.
He didn't know what to say to her, so he sort of stupidly warned her that she was, "gonna hurt yourself if you don't-"
-there was a little bang, a crashing sound and a whimper of pain.
He clenched his fist.
She'd gone and broken something - glass or a mirror? - just as he'd predicted she would.
He had never tried to help someone before.
It was hard. He just wanted to swoop in a sweet her off her feet, to cradle her close to him, to keep her safe...but he knew that would be the last thing she wanted. And yeah, he understood it.
He did.
Really, he did...but that didn't stop it from fucking sucking.
He loved her, he hated himself, he hated that he was in this situation but he was getting annoyed with her, too.
He didn't want to be - he didn't want a mate locked up, he didn't want a mate he was annoyed at - but he couldn't help it.
She was whimpering and sobbing.
She was being silly and it was annoying.
He wanted to help her.
Something else fell from the shelves.
"Jesus, yeah, OK. I'll just talk to myself" he said sarcastically as another thud and yelp met his ears.
She cried out, he could hear her stumble.
He wasn't angry with her, he wasn't frustrated.
He was just annoyed.
Not about her running, he was proud of her for it but just-the fuck?
He was a hunter not a helper but he wanted to help her and it was so damn weird.
It was like he was fighting against his instincts but sort of not fighting against them because his instincts seemed all messed up when it came to her and-
-there was a thud and a grunt and he hopped further into the room, her actions spurring him into action.
She was fucking hurting herself.
"Stop!" he called to her, "you're going to hurt yourself!"
That was a line he wasn't OK with her crossing.
"Stay away from me!"
"Stop hurting yourself!"
"Stay the hell away from me!" there was another cry and another smash.
She could try to hurt him, she could shower him with food, hell she could even try to bash his head in with whatever was on the shelves - he didn't care.
But hurting herself?
Unforgivable.
He'd been so diligent in making sure she was safe and healthy and here she was, running around in a pitch-black room, blind as a bat and bashing herself to shit.
She was bashing her body to shit, he was bashing his brain to shit.
All she had to do was give him a chance, give their relationship a shot. He knew that it was unpleasant for her but he didn't have a goddamned choice.
He had been happy with his freedom but now that he had her he knew he'd never be able to live without her...and he knew she'd feel the same.
She just had to give it a damn chance.
It was gonna eat her up, otherwise.
Somethings you just couldn't fight.
He knew.
Fuck, he knew.
"Let me go!" she cried out in desperation, her voice musical despite being so hoarse, "just let me go!"
"I didn't send you in there!" he replied, a little terser than he intended, striding towards her.
Shit, the room was creepy.
His fucking reaction was creepy, too.
She had run from him and it hadn't even sparked that need to hunt.
He just wanted her to be safe.
He didn't recognize himself.
He didn't fucking recognize himself.
As he glanced at a stained, headless mannequin, wondering why it was even there in the first place, there was another bang.
It was dull but quite deep and he imagined it was hip against wood.
"Stay away from me!" she screamed, her footsteps now padding heavily over the floor as she tried to navigate her way around.
She was frantically panting and he could practically feel the pulse of her heartbeat pounding through the room.
"You want out of here or you want me to stay away?" he asked in mild exasperation. Trying not to snap, he told her, "I'm getting mixed signals"
He had waited for so long to speak with her, for her to interact with him and this was what he'd waited for?
This?
She was flapping around quite desperately and it was pissing him off how endearing he found it despite his annoyance.
If she wasn't hurting herself, he probably would have waited for her to tire herself out.
"Why are you doing this to me?" she wailed before crying out sharply and suddenly.
He could smell blood and immediately he knew she'd doubled back and had stomped over the glass she had smashed.
This was ridiculous.
Clenching his fists and then extending his fingers, he gave a frustrated, silent kind of growl, rounding the corner of a particularly stuffed row of shelves.
How the hell she'd even managed to get there in the darkness was impressive but he was past annoyed now.
She'd actually hurt herself.
She had gone too far.
He could see her limping. He couldn't even enjoy observing her in the dark.
She was clearly in pain.
He gave another silent but stressed shake of his hands as he watched her turn twice, almost like she was fighting the darkness, and then step back towards the glass she had already trodden through. The crunch of his boots on said shattered glass caused her to jump and scream but he had wrapped his arms around her waist, pinning her own by her sides before she could react.
"No! Let me go!" she screamed, trying to flail as he hauled her back and up into the air.
She kicked out as best she could and again, the smell of her blood wafted thickly through the air.
He squeezed her a little, effortlessly carrying her back through the maze of tall shelves.
"And let you hurt yourself again?" he snapped at her; this time unable to help himself.
If she knew the effect the smell of her blood was having on him, he guessed she would have frozen, maybe curled her toes inwards to try and stem the bleeding.
He could smell her tears before the sound of her crying came and he gave a sort of tutting growl. It fucking killed him when she cried and he wanted to comfort her but he knew she wouldn't allow him to.
He hated that feeling of impotence, that feeling of being totally powerless to help.
All he could say was, "don't cry"
His tone was kind, softer than before but it still sounded harsh.
He supposed words like that always would. When someone was crying, telling them to stop was pretty hurtful.
"Le-let me go" she sobbed in response, going a bit limper in his arms.
"Go where?" He asked her, banging his arm against a corner unit as he passed, taking the hit himself while protecting her body, "we both know you can't go home, there ain't nothin' for you there but you got a future right here with-"
"-I didn't ask for this!" she shouted, her voice cracking at the sudden explosion of words.
Her body had tensed, too, and he couldn't help himself.
He exploded right back.
"Yes, you did!" he almost shouted at her, stopping for a second as she kicked out again in anger, her foot catching against the mildew covered mannequin, spreading blood over its torso, "you did ask! I fucking heard you ask, OK?! Every damn night hoping and praying for your future, for someone to save you!"
"I didn't want to be saved! I don't need you-I-I didn't need you!" she told him, her voice shaking and rough, her body trembling. He could hear her heart thudding and he knew that he'd hit home, "you don't know what-"
"-yes, I do!" he replied, his voice still louder than hers. He knew. He knew it all, "of course I do! I could hear everything, it was killing me knowing you were so miserable when I could help you, when I fucking wanted to help you. I needed to help you!"
"You're-"
He didn't know what she was going to say.
Was she going to call him crazy? Insane? Clueless? Psychotic?
He didn't care.
She was letting it out so he was gonna do it, too.
"-I needed to help you. Fuck it, I need to help you. You don't get that feelin', I ain't nothin' to you, not yet, so you don't know how fuckin' hard it hurts. I didn't ask for you to come into my life, OK? But you're in it and I can't let you leave it and you fuckin' fighting it is such fucking bullshit!"
He had practically roared the last words and he clenched his mouth so hard, he thought he might crack some teeth.
He hadn't meant to shout at her.
She was limp again in his arms and though she wasn't overly heavy, if he was a mortal, it would have been a struggle to carry her. Her foot caught against the concrete ground and he stumbled, trying to avoid kicking it or stepping on it while trying to raise her body higher.
He felt clumsy and weak, thanks to both his actions and the words that had come tumbling out of his mouth.
He felt like a little boy, naked and vulnerable.
It sucked.
He didn't even realize that he'd started walking again though he knew the side of her foot had been grazed.
Again, he could smell the cut.
It wasn't deep or big but he knew it would be sore later and, in that moment, he was furious with her for injuring herself yet again and furious at David for suggesting such a shit hole as an emergency hideout, furious at Marko for securing it.
Couldn't they get a damned place with a smooth floor?
Fucking hell.
Fucking. Hell.
He almost stopped walking.
He was stunned.
What the hell was he doing?
He shook his head.
This couldn't go on.
It couldn't.
What was the next step?
Shouting matches forever?
Was this love going to turn to hate?
She was his mate, he needed her but...they couldn't go on like this.
Screaming at each other? Hating himself?
It was eating him up.
He felt like he'd die without her but what the hell?
Neither of them were living, as it was.
Could-
-she gave a very loud sort of yelping squeak and Paul only realized he was falling when his butt hit the ground, followed by his head.
It was a very heavy, thudding fall.
A mortal would have been concussed at best but as his head cracked into the floor, he felt dazed more than anything. Instinctively, he had wrapped his arms tighter around her, once again using his body to protect hers.
While still processing the blow to his head, the back of hers smashed into his nose.
A double whammy.
She gave a sort of shocked cry, a loud and musical wail but he was too stunned to react. He knew that a mortal would have had some serious medical problems from a nose bash that hard and while he could feel blood streaming from his, it was otherwise fine.
It had happened so fast but despite her cry, he knew she hadn't been hurt.
He knew he wasn't hurt, either. That much was a given.
Feeling the wet burger smushed up under his boot and up his calf as well as the cold floor against the white fabric of his trousers, he knew he was grounded.
No more danger.
She was safe in his arms.
He had been a most excellent pillow.
Her breathing was ragged and he opened his arms slowly, still processing everything. She scrambled away from him instantly, her bloodied foot catching him inside his thigh, torturously close to his nuts and without being able to stop himself, he began to laugh.
For the first time in what felt like forever, he began to laugh hard.
Slipping on the damned burger? A reluctant mate being kept prisoner? The foot to the balls? Hating David for getting a safe house with a shit basement? Hating himself? Weeks and weeks of this bullshit with no end in sight?
Sitting in a half-raised position, he threw his head back and laughed so hard that his abs quivered and his shoulders shook.
This was his life now.
This.
It was a manic, cleansing laugh.
He could feel her eyes on him and while he couldn't seem to stem the laughter - he didn't even want to try - he did risk a glance over at her.
She was sat with her back against the bed, her legs sort of splayed out before her. Her foot was dirty and shining with blood and special sauce. Her eyes were wide, her eyebrows drawn together in a curious sort of way. She was breathing heavily still and her lips were parted, her hair askew.
"I...I didn't..." she stuttered, looking at him as if he was an alien with five heads, "..you're laughing..."
"I'm fuckin' trapped with a mate who don't want me, I just ate the fuckin' floor and I busted my ass to-" he laughed again, shaking his head, "-I busted my fuckin' ass to get this burger to you and now it's decorating my ass"
The fuck? What life was he living?
He continued to laugh at himself, at the situation he found himself in and he felt lighter.
He felt like himself.
Chuckling, he shook his head and looked her over.
God, she was pretty.
What the fuck was he doing?
He shook his head, slapping his knees as he sat up a little straighter, "I'll take you to the bus station"
"What?"
He was laughing a little here and there still, his chuckles softly dying down.
It was strangely bittersweet.
Her words were sort of shocked and he laughed once more, "I'm lettin' you go, girl. You was headin' in that direction before, I'll take you back there now"
He felt like his heart was breaking but his mind was clearing.
It was all sorts of painful relief.
"But..." she trailed off and he gave a nod and murmur of understanding as he grinned, wiping the special sauce off his fingers and into his trousers. They were ruined anyway, "I'll give you cash s'ok. Get you wherever you wanna go. You had a plan, right?"
He couldn't leave her high and dry.
He loved her.
He'd look after her and make sure she left with enough to see herself wherever she wanted to go, to set herself up in a nice place for a few months.
She was strong.
If she had some stability, he knew she'd be able to get her life in order.
He figured she knew where she wanted to go next and he thought if she had enough cash to get herself sorted, she could settle down somewhere.
She could find happiness.
He didn't know how he could live without her but he had to try.
He had to try and find his happiness again, too.
"You said-you said I-I-I'm your...mate?
It took her a long time to get the word out and he shrugged, laughing a little.
It was sad but there was no denying that he felt lighter, "yeah but look at us. Fucking look at us. Both of us fucking miserable. This ain't no way for either of us to live"
Giving a sputtering chuckle again, his laughter dying down for real, he tapped his chest looking for his smokes, "just don't go tellin' no one, 'kay? I ain't gonna hurt you but a wanderin' lost chick goes tellin' stories about vampires and kidnappin's an shit, that's a one-way ticket to the head hospital and it ain't easy to get out once you're in"
It was true.
The world was a bitch but it'd keep him and his pack safe.
One word about vampires and the only people who'd take her seriously were the doctors in white coats.
He found his lighter and still feeling sad but also happy, still weirdly bittersweet, he began to try and light his smoke.
It had been too long.
Too fucking long since he felt like he could just be himself.
He needed his mate and he didn't know what to do from here on out but who was he kidding?
This whole situation sucked and it wasn't gonna get any better.
He took a long and deep drag of his cigarette, one of the mortal habits he'd brought with him. He knew the tobacco did shit to his body but he felt it in his soul.
It just comforted him.
"...I don't like cigarettes" she told him quietly, sounding small and unsure.
He looked at her, eyebrows raised.
This was the most she'd said to him outside of begging and pleading for freedom.
He held the smoke out before him and gave a little laugh as he exhaled, shaking his head.
He nodded once and ground it out onto the floor beside him.
What was one more concession for her?
"...thank you?..." she said, tentatively, the statement sounding more like a quiet question.
He nodded.
"You can take whatever" he told her, once again slapping his knees but this time hauling himself up to his feet.
He bounced a little on the spot.
He'd bought her an obscene amount of clothes and toiletries and shit and he wanted her to leave with them. She didn't have much in Santa Carla, she definitely lived a poor life and it pissed him off because she deserved so much more.
"I can get you more if you want it? Guess you're gonna need it, anyways"
He hoped she'd take him up on it but in that moment, she was just kind of staring up at him stupidly.
He began to wonder if she did actually hurt herself when he fell down but before he could consider it, she blinked up at him and said, "you're really...that's it?"
He nodded.
"After..after all this?"
He nodded again.
Yes, after all of that.
After everything.
The saying went that misery loved company but what sort of company were they?
Both miserable, both hurt, upset.
Both of them victims in their own ways.
He'd kept begging, wishing, fuckin' praying for an answer but it was there all along.
He had to let her go.
That was it, that was the answer.
"Who the fuck was I kidding?" he said with a shake of his head and a grin, "I didn't want it to be like this, you know? You didn't want anything to do with me and then you were leaving and..." he shrugged, opening his hands and gesturing to the room at large, "...I did what I had to...but it was never supposed to be like this..."
"I..I thought you...I didn't know ab-about...vamp..." she shivered, "I just-I thought...I thought you were a creep...just some...some...trashy guy that hit on an-anything with a-a pulse"
Her voice was a little hoarse and she sounded nervous, as if she was worried about his reaction and he laughed.
She wasn't far off.
"Kinda accurate to be honest" she frowned and he shrugged, not willing to apologize for his past. It was what it was, "but not anymore"
That wasn't a lie.
He couldn't see himself playing around ever again.
It was her or nothing and he was choosing nothing.
"Be..because of me?"
Amazing.
The most they'd ever spoken.
Her voice was rough from disuse and then screaming but it sounded pretty sexy all the same.
He wished she wouldn't hesitate so much. The stutter, the fumbling over her words, he knew that was due to uncertainty.
To fear.
He nodded again. Simply put but certainly apt.
All because of her.
"Yeah"
"...you kidnapped me"
He nodded again, unsure what to say, "I did. You were gonna leave, I had to do it"
He knew how ridiculous his words sounded.
Had to kidnap?
Bullshit, he knew it was bullshit but is was so true, too.
"You...you kept me here..."
He nodded again.
She was just stating facts now and her voice was a mixture of slow accusation and pure confusion.
"...and now...now that's...you'll let me go? No tricks?"
"No tricks"
"Just like that?"
He shrugged, looking down at his burger stained clothes and nodded, "just like that"
"Why?"
"I love you" he replied frankly, "...and I'm going crazy...neither of us can live like this. You can't stay here forever and I can't-I'm...I'm losing myself...I've lost you..." he shrugged again, nothing left to say, "this ain't no way to live. I don't know, I can't say more than that"
She nodded as if processing his words. He offered her his hand, wiping them once again on his pants before he did.
With wide, unsure eyes, she hesitated for a short second before accepting his gesture.
As her fingers slid against his palm, her thin and delicate digits wrapping around his wrist, he gripped hers in return, easily pulling her to her feet. She was quite light, her movement certainly not graceful but almost delicate and he grinned tightly, ruefully, his lips pursed.
It was nice to interact with her like this.
She was holding onto him of her own free will, talking with him.
Trusting him.
And he had to let her go.
"...my foot hurts"
He nodded, "yeah you sliced it open pretty bad, huh?" he eased his grip and she did the same. He gestured to the bed, "I can fix it up for you"
She watched him, her eyebrows furrowed deeply, her eyes dancing over his face.
He let her, watching her patiently in return.
This was new territory for him.
"...alright"
"I can't stich it or anything"
"OK"
"I can slap a band aid on it...wrap it or whatever...I-" he was going to tell her that it didn't smell like a deep, gushing cut but he managed to swallow the words and instead told her, "-I don't think it's so deep"
She nodded and he nodded in return.
"I don't...I don't know what to say" she murmured and he nodded again, feeling like a stupid bobble head, "me too. Lot of firsts for me"
"What do you mean?"
He shrugged, kneeling before her as she sat stiffly on the edge of the bed.
The duvet was ruined with the blood and specks of sauce.
"First time I've felt like I was losing my mind. First time I felt like a fuckin' bumbling moron-"
"-you mean you're usually articulate?"
He froze, her foot in his hand.
Was that a joke?
Was she joking with him?
Amazing.
Unbelievable.
Almost totally inconceivable.
She swallowed, looking down.
She had been joking.
The comment had fallen out of her mouth, unintentional and unplanned.
She was just as confused and unsure as he was.
Did she feel it, too?
Their connection, their bond?
Did she know they were mates, could she feel it in her heart?
"...do you wanna start over?"
She frowned, looking up at him, her head snapping almost violently.
He understood her reaction but the words had tumbled out of his mouth, much like the joke had hers.
"You kidnapped me. How can we start over?"
"Like...wipe the slate clean" he said, blinking at the venom and power in her voice.
"How?"
Her voice was hard and Paul ran his thumb over the sole of her foot.
She jerked it back.
Her blood covered his hand.
"...I could take you on a date tomorrow?"
"You said you were letting me go now"
"Would you let me?"
"What?"
"I..." he stopped, thinking about Dwayne's words, "...would you let me take you out on a date? Please?"
"...I don't have a choice, I-"
Paul looked at her, "-yeah, you do. I swear. I-yes or no, whatever your answer is...I'll honor it" and he meant it, "I swear. I'll get you a place tonight and I'll-I'll give you cash and all your stuff and...if you wanna leave, you can. I'll let you. I won't stop you...I can't stop you...daylight is kinda..."
He shook his head, hating how she had reduced him to an inarticulate moron.
"I won't chase you" he promised, his heart feeling heavy but light at the same time.
"..now"
"What?"
She trembled, her eyes wide as she shook her head, "take me on a date now"
"Now?"
She was bleeding and shaking, her voice still unsure but it was firm.
For the first time, she was speaking firmly.
It was no accident, the words hadn't fallen out of her mouth.
He had been silent for too long, spurring her into more conversation.
"I-I don't think..."
"-your courage will hold up until tomorrow?"
She nodded stiffly, a jerk of her head but an affirmative one all the same.
"...where do you wanna go?" he asked her and she shook her head, "I don't know"
"Got any allergies?"
"No"
"Dislikes?" she frowned up at him and he swallowed his smile, "forced captivity aside"
"That's not funny"
"Sorry..." he looked down at her still bleeding foot.
Tentatively, she stretched it back towards him.
Taking it in his hand, thumb brushing over the freely bleeding cut, he gave her a small apologetic smile, "I don't actually got any bandages here. How's a date at the emergency room?"
"...unacceptable"
He grinned up at her.
Her eyebrows were furrowed, there was a confused, angry, ghost of a smile on her face but her eyes.
There was a hint of promise in them.
He thought that perhaps she did feel it.
"There's a first aid box in the bathroom"
"There is?"
She nodded.
He couldn't remember buying one but he'd bought things like a lunatic, just scooping everything from shelves that first night.
"Did I put it there?"
"Well I certainly didn't"
"Huh"
He pushed himself up, walked towards the closed door that opened to her small but clean bathroom.
He resisted the urge to look over his shoulders.
He wasn't sure, not one hundred percent, but he could feel her eyes boring into the back of his skull and while he didn't dare to hope...he thought if he did risk a glance, he would a weak, burgeoning smile on her face.
He was sure she felt it, too.
She had a mate.
A/N: just some Paul fluffy stuff that I wrote.