A/N: A guest commented that they imagined Malcolm as Penn Badgley which is EXACTLY who I pictured Malcolm to be lol I love it! So there's my visual for ya. Anyways, sorry again for the late update. I have been interviewing all week for a new job so things have been a little crazy. Enjoy!

Paul.

Four days.

Four of the longest fucking days in my entire life.

I wanted to go back over that night and apologize but my pride wouldn't let me. I was so pissed off she questioned my character like that, but can I blame her? I lied right to her face. Of course she'd question me. She probably started questioning everything I've ever said after I stormed off, and she's probably questioning it even more now that I haven't come back.

She's spent the last four days in the window again – just like she used to.

It makes me sick to my stomach. Does she think I'm not looking out for her anymore? Does she think I'm mad enough that I wouldn't make sure she's safe and protected?

I've barely let her out of my sight.

One fight doesn't change the fact that she's the most important person in my entire world. I feel like shit that I've made her doubt that.

I can't function without her. I can't think. I can't sleep. I can barely even eat, and that's saying a lot for me. But for some stupid reason, I can't just grow a pair and go apologize to her for lying and being a total dick.

It wasn't her fault I reacted that way. How was she supposed to know she'd strike a nerve calling me out like that? The whole thing has gotten messier and messier and I know I need to clean it up but I'm terrified she'll just turn me away.

It would kill me.

I sigh through my nose and shake out my pelt. I feel like I'm gathering dust sitting out here like this, watching her.

She got out of the shower fifteen minutes ago and has been shivering in the window for the last ten. It makes my stomach churn. All she's got on is a little tank top and no sweater or long sleeves to help with the cold.

I could help with the cold…

My heart starts slamming against my ribcage.

I'm fucking nervous.

Just get it over with!

I snarl at Brady and a laughing Collin and grab my shorts in my mouth. Nosey ass kids.

When I break through the trees, Indie sits up a little straighter when she sees me. At least she doesn't look pissed anymore… Just tired.

I walk over to the house and we stare at each other for a minute before she slowly reaches over and unlocks the window, pushing it open halfway.

I think that's her inviting me in.

I drop my shorts and phase back, pulling them on before jumping and pulling myself up onto the awning. Her scent carries on the warm air sneaking outside. I rest my hands on the windowsill and try to be subtle when I inhale it.

Fuck.

I haven't been this close to her in days. I missed the soft pink of her cheeks, the swell of her lips, her pretty green eyes.

In the second she reaches for my hand, all is forgiven and forgotten.

I slide my thumb over the back of her hand. They're cold, but soft. "I know I fucked up," I tell her quietly. "I'm sorry I lied to you, and I'm sorry I got mad and stormed off. And I'm sorry I didn't come back."

She looks down at our hands. "I'm sorry I pushed you," she replies. "Physically and mentally…"

I try and stop my chuckle, remembering when she shoved me, but it slips out. "Don't apologize to me. I deserved all of that."

"No you didn't," she whispers.

She opens the window the rest of the way and I crawl through, trying my best to not get dirt on her bed. Her body is still shivering, clad in that thin tank top and a pair of underwear. I immediately wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her neck, pressing my nose into the soft skin above her pulse.

"Paul, he… he saw you in my dreams."

The leech.

I can feel the snarl at the base of my throat, but I swallow it down. Veda came to Sam immediately after the bonfire to pass along the information of the leech's special super power. Josie confirmed. It sounds relatively lame compared to some of the others'. I hate Edward Cullen as much as the next guy does, but reading minds and no one reading yours is pretty awesome.

"It's okay," I assure her. "You're safe. I'm safe."

She swallows and a shiver runs through her body. "I didn't want him to see your face… not your real face."

I'm not sure what she means by that.

My arms tighten around her. "It's okay," I repeat. I don't tell her that I want him to know my face. I want him to know my face so he knows to come after me first, so I get to be the first person to take a bite out of him.

Her body starts to tremble and I feel fucking horrible. I left her alone for four days – four days where I wasn't there to reassure her that she's safe. Four days where she fought sleep so that asshole couldn't torment her. Four days she probably spent feeling way more terrified than her pretty little face let on.

I pull away from her and cup the back of her neck with my hands. Her fingers curl around my wrists and she leans in and presses her mouth to mine, that cute whimper vibrating against my lips. Holding her as gently as possible, I try to pour as much passion as I can into the kiss, but keep it short. There's no such thing as just kissing between us lately, and I need to make things right and tell her the truth first.

That and I can hear Embry downstairs laughing at the TV. Total mood ruiner.

"I never should've left you alone," I say, resting my forehead against hers. "I can't even explain how sorry I am."

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry about what I said… and for saying it before letting you try to explain."

I pull her into my arms again, tucking my face into her neck. "It's forgotten. Come home," I whisper against her skin. "I promise I'll tell you everything, but please come home."

She nods. "Okay," she whispers back.

I reach over and grab a set of pajamas stuffed into the shelves next to her bed. A black long sleeve and pink flannel pants. Something to warm her up. They'll do for now – at least until we get home.

She dresses and we climb down the ladder, walking quietly past a sleeping Josie who is sprawled out across Embry's lap. He nods and gives us half a wave before turning back to the TV and petting Josie's hair. I almost want to snap a picture so I can tease her about who's the dog now, but I don't.

I lead Indie back home with my arm wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her tucked against me and warm and safe. When we get there, I lock the door behind us and pause in the middle of the room, pressing my lips to her forehead and squeezing her shoulders with my hands.

"God, I missed you," I mumble in a low voice, hands moving to massage her neck. "Are you okay?"

Her body melts under my touch. "I am now… Are you?"

"I am now."

She wraps her arms around my waist and presses her cheek against my chest. Her hair is still wet from her shower and the cherry-almond scent is stronger than ever. I bury my nose in her hair and take a deep breath. I missed her smell.

"You hungry?" I ask. "Thirsty?"

It's almost midnight, but now that she's back in my arms where she belongs, I could literally eat a horse.

As if on cue, my stomach growls.

Indie laughs quietly. "I can make you something," she offers, pulling away to look up at me. "Chicken parm? And then we can do things the right way?"

I take a deep breath and nod.

She moves just as fluidly – if not more – around my kitchen as she did at Embry and Josie's that night. Who am I kidding, though? This is her kitchen.

"Where'd you learn to cook?" This time when I ask it, I'm right behind her, arms wrapped around her waist while she stirs the sauce on the stove. I never would've had all the ingredients for this if she didn't do half my shopping for me.

She sure does love to cook.

Her body leans back against mine and she lets out a deep sigh. "My dad was a chef."

I press my lips against the back of her head and trail kisses down to the back of her neck, brushing her hair to the side to access her skin. "Was?"

"He died a few years ago."

I hold my lips against her skin longer than necessary while I think of the words to start this with. There's no easy way to say it. There's no script, and it's not like I've shared this with anyone before. Not really. Everyone else just kinda already knew. They saw it happening firsthand.

"What was he like?" I ask.

She pauses stirring and looks up at the wall in front of us. "Amazing," she replies, voice a little far off and laced with nostalgia. "He was adventurous and caring. We did everything together."

Hooking my chin over her shoulder, I lean my head into hers and hug her tightly. "He sounds great."

I hear her swallow as she sets the wooden spoon down. "What's your dad like?"

My heart is pounding harder than it ever has before. Nothing makes me feel smaller or weaker than talking about my childhood, but I have to be honest with her. "He used to hit me," I confess. "Used to beat the shit out of me, really."

She inhales sharply.

"I wish he was like your dad was, but he isn't."

"God, Paul, I'm so sorry." She tries to turn and look at me but I hide my face in her neck and hold her tighter. If she looks at me, I'll chicken out.

"When I phased for the first time, it was right in front of him. I almost killed him – I wanted to kill him – but when he looked at me his eyes just went glossy and he fell over. When he woke up, he had no idea where he was or what happened or who I was. He still thinks I'm someone else most days."

The rest of it comes out like word vomit.

She cooks and I eat and I confess every detail of my childhood from the first time my old man laid a hand on me to the last time. From the divorce to the move, and to everyone knowing what was happening but being unable to do anything about it.

A lot of my anger stemmed from that.

I resented adults – all of them – and the only example I had at home was a violent one, so naturally I developed violent tendencies as well. The boxing skills I'd learned back in Tacoma didn't help much against my old man, but they sure put me ahead of the other kids.

"He thinks I'm my own son," I tell her, pushing a stray piece of tomato around on my plate. "Callan… It's my middle name."

"Where does he live, now?"

I set my fork down and tap the counter aimlessly to keep myself from shutting down. "Over by Sue's…"

We were just there when Emily had the twins. When we stood outside together, I could see his bedroom window and the flickering of the TV on off the walls. I could see the paper forgotten in the driveway. I could see the old pair of slides I leave by the front door because Jasmine always complains I get dirt on the floors.

"I let Rachel help purely for selfish reasons," I admit. "It wasn't because I trusted her – it was because I can't stand being around him. Every time he takes a breath I'm afraid I'll make it his last. Being around him makes me feel like a fucking monster and I never want you to see that side of me. I thought if I could wait it out until he died and then tell you…"

Indiana.

The pain in my chest is unbearable, and it hurts even more that it's not just mine.

I understand why he lied. It doesn't make it right, but I understand it. Why would anyone want to admit that the person who put them through hell growing up is still alive? It'd be like admitting the nightmare isn't over yet.

Where I thought we shared a connection over our dead fathers, we actually share it over the burning desire to see death take those who hurt us as children.

Mine was satisfied – his hasn't been.

If I put myself in his shoes, I would've done the same thing. It's been years since my mother died, and I still haven't spoken a word about the things that happened. The things she did to me.

He finally confessed the naked truth.

Maybe it's my turn to confess to somebody.

His fingers stop tapping the counter and his warm eyes have gone sad. "Do you think I'm a monster?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No," I reply firmly. "I think you're still trying to protect yourself from someone who hurt you." My voice cracks at the end and I blink away the tears quickly filling my eyes.

"Don't cry," he whispers.

He wants to. I can feel it. He wants to, but he won't, because he thinks he can't, and that makes me want to cry even more.

"I could never think you're a monster for that," I tell him, forcing the words out, "because I wanted my mom to die for the same reasons."

His immediate anger is chilling.

It's the same kind he feels when Malcolm is mentioned – the kind that's so overwhelming but carefully concealed behind his quiet demeanor. I don't know how he does it. I don't know how he learned to contain it because even feeling it secondhand makes me want to scream. It amazes me how kind and gentle he can be through it. He's always so careful with me. Even when I almost pushed him over the edge the other day, he contained it. He didn't let it consume him, unlike me, who never even allowed him the chance to explain himself because my own emotions were too overwhelming.

"She never wanted me," I continue, propping my elbows on the counter and my chin on my fists, focusing on my breaths to keep the tears at bay. "Things got really bad after my dad died. She hated me even more after that and wanted me gone."

"What did she do?" It's hard for him to ask. He has to force it out through gritted teeth – the only visible indication of his anger.

I almost think I shouldn't tell him. For a second, I consider lying, but wasn't I just furious with him for doing the same thing? So instead, I gather my words and force them out.

"She was poisoning me," I tell him. "I got so sick I couldn't dance anymore. I could barely even walk, and she kept dragging it out, letting me get better and worse again..."

For revenge, perhaps? Because if I never existed, she would probably still have my dad, and they'd be happy together somewhere. Paris maybe. He'd still be a famous chef and she'd have all the luxuries she always wanted along with all of his attention.

The part that's hard to talk about is not her death, but the way that I'm responsible for it.

"If you're a monster, I'm a monster," I look cautiously into his eyes. "She's dead. I agreed to go with Malcolm if he would save me from her." I feel my heart skip in preparation for disgust and disappointment, but it doesn't come. Not even a shred of indifference.

He slowly gets to his feet and walks around the island, placing his hands on either side of my body against the countertop, and leans down so his mouth is against my ear. I shiver and goosebumps spread down my arms.

"I hate that the universe didn't bring us together sooner," he says softly, breath hot against my ear. "I never would've let anyone hurt you."

My lip trembles. "I didn't know he was going to kill her… I kind of had an idea, but—"

"Shh," he hushes quietly, "you don't have to explain yourself."

There's a darkness in us that we share. No matter how close to Josie I am, there's still no way I could ever tell her what I just told Paul. I don't think there's any kind of darkness inside of her.

I blink furiously, causing a few stray tears to drop off my cheeks. "You don't think I'm a monster?" I ask unsurely.

"Never," he whispers.

Slowly, his hands move to my hips and turn me around to face him.

He's so beautiful.

I hate that he felt the same pain I did – the pain of someone hurting you who was supposed to protect you. The pain knowing your own parent wants to cause you harm. I hate it.

I stare into his eyes through my blurry ones. There's a softness to his dark edges – a softness that I love, a softness that I'm drawn to. I move my eyes along the bridge of his nose, down his jaw and neck, to his chest, where I lean forward to softly kiss before letting my eyes fall to the uneven scar on his stomach.

I think I might finally know where it came from.

My throat constricts as I reach for it with my fingers.

A rush of panic jolts through him, and he instantly flinches away from my touch. "Don't—"

"It's okay," I assure him in a whisper. "I have scars, too. Mine are just on the inside." I smooth the tips of my fingers over the angry mark and cover it with my palm, pushing on my tiptoes to kiss him.

He reacts hungrily, hands gripping my waist to lift me onto the counter. I hold onto his shoulders and then gently pull away, moving my hands to his face. It makes him feel vulnerable, and his brows pull together slightly while looking into my eyes.

"You're worthy of love," I say. "You're worthy of being cared about, and cared for."

I can almost feel his heart stop and his eyes start to slightly water.

Leaning forward, I kiss him again gently. "I care about you," I whisper against his lips.

He angles his head and slides his tongue into my mouth, one hand carefully holding the back of my head and the other still on my waist. "You're the most important person in the world to me," he tells me between kisses.

"You're worthy of living without the pain of your past," I whisper again as my hands slide down his jaw and neck to return to his shoulders.

He pulls away and rests his forehead against mine, fingers stroking the back of my neck. "We both are."

A/N: little bit of a heavy chapter, but necessary. Leave me a review or PM if you have time. Thank you for reading! xx