Paul

'Idiot! I'm a fucking idiot! I looked like a fool in front of her!' I snarl as I throw myself hard against a large pine. It sways back and forth several times then cracks and finally falls with a loud thud against the forest floor.

I wish destruction satisfied my humiliation. I recall the way she looked at me. The look of disgust. It causes my ears to lay back and my tail to hang between my legs.

'It's going to be okay, man,' Jared's voice comes into my psyche. 'You've just got to spend some time with her. She'll fall so hard, she won't know what hit her.'

'What the hell do you even know? Kim wanted you way before you wanted her. It was easy for you,' I growl.

'Jared's right,' Sam chimes in, 'trust me. She will come around. Her nature won't allow her to deny herself.'

Her nature. Sam has a theory that we are not the only ones ruled by our instincts. He believes that imprintees are as much drawn to their wolves as we are drawn to them. I don't buy it. From my perspective, Jared got lucky and Sam bullied Emily into being with him. When she refused to be with him he left a big ugly scar on her face so no one else would want her.

Sam growls at my private thoughts.

I feel hopeless.

'I want to be alone,' I tell them. I am too agitated to phase back. I hate how little control I have. I often feel as though I am ruled by the wolf. I get angry, I phase. I am unable to calm, I cannot phase back. There have even been instances when the pack has all phased to go for a patrol and for whatever reason, I can't get into the headspace to do it.

Jacob calls it the wolf form of erectile dysfunction. It's funny to him because he is a complete pro at phasing on demand. Each member went through this dysfunction. I'm the only one still struggling. Even the puppies, Brady and Colin, are in more control than me.

'We'll leave you,' Sam replies, not reprimanding me for the hurtful thoughts I had about Emily. I appreciate it. I know she loves him. I can't control where my mind goes when I see red.

One by one I feel each wolf go offline. Not before I catch a lingering thought of Sam's. Concern. Concern for me? Yes. But more so, concern for Rachel… Because I am volatile and short-tempered and often a jerk. I cower in the presence of my father and am explosive around others. I keep my guard up and only feel authentic when I am alone, away from other people. If it weren't for our shared psyche, no one would know the real me. I shudder. I know…

Then I am alone. Alone with my thoughts. Thoughts of her. How her face twisted with disapproval. How she punished me with her sharp tongue.

Maybe I just don't know how to talk to women. It's possible. I never had sisters or even any female cousins I was close to. My mom… well… she wasted no time moving on from Dad and me when the divorce was final. If I'm lucky, I might get more than a drunk 5-minute phone call with her when it's my birthday. That is if she remembers what day it is or is sober enough to pick up a phone… if she has a place to stay that has a phone… if she's still alive... Last year, when she failed to call, Dad slipped up and said something about wondering if the street corner she was working on even had a payphone.

Nice, huh? Happy birthday, kid. Your mom's a prostitute.

I shake my head. Maybe I should just forget about Rachel. I don't want to end up like my dad, after all. Middle-aged, alone, and stuck with a loser son like me. He must be so disappointed. Yeah, I barely passed all of my classes last year. Not because I am so bad at school or anything. I'd consider myself an average student. Never good enough for him but average. I lost control so many times that I missed weeks of classes, stuck in my wolf form. He scolded me. Told me to do better; stop skipping class. That's what he thinks. He thinks I'm out drinking or smoking pot when I'm not in school. I wish I could tell him the truth but I'm afraid he'll up and die like Harry Clearwater and then what? I'll have no one.

I tried my best to catch up but barely scraped by with Cs and Ds. I got a 700 on my SAT. Dad wants me to take it again in the fall but I don't even want to go back to school in the fall. What's the point? I'm not going to college.

Despite making an absolute fool out of myself, I still want to be close to her. So I walk back through the woods to the Black house and lay down at the forest's edge where I can see the house in the distance.

I wonder which light in the house is her's. I wonder if she has already forgotten about me.

I lay my head down over my paw, close my eyes and drift off into dreams about her.

"JAKE! JACOB!... JACOB! COME BACK!"

I am startled awake by the sound of Billy Black shouting for his son. It's pouring rain but the canopy of trees protects my fur from becoming wet. The gloom of the dark clouds above cast sinister shadows over the Black house. I look towards the porch where Billy is. I witness Jacob phase and run towards the forest's edge. He briefly stops to glance at me but then carries on, leaving behind his father, calling his name from the porch.

"What is it, Dad? What happened?" Rachel Black asks, joining her father on the porch. In my wolf form, I can hear everything clearly.

She is wearing a long t-shirt that says WSU and nothing else. The rain quickly drenches her, causing the fabric to cling to her slender frame. My eyes focus in on the curve of her hips and I have to concentrate to comprehend the words spoken between the father and daughter.

"Jacob's run off. This came in the mail," Billy hands her a piece of paper.

"Isabella Marie Swan AND Edward Anthony Mason Cullen. Together with their families…" Rachel reads out loud, "oh, for the love of…" she trails off. "Come inside, you'll freeze," Rachel says, pulling her father's chair back into the house.

"I have to find him," Billy replies.

"I'll go look for him. Look, Dad," she points towards me. For a moment I think I have been discovered so I duck down deeper into the brush, "his truck is still here," she says pointing to his vehicle. "He couldn't have gone far. I'll leave right now," she says.

"Girly, you'll never catch up to him," Billy shakes his head, "start calling his friends."

The door to the Black house closes behind them.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. My heart sinks into my stomach when I realize that it is morning and I have missed my 12 o'clock curfew. Dad is going to be pissed.

To make matters much worse, I phased out of my new shorts and probably one of the only t-shirts I own that I actually liked. Now I have to run home, get a change of clothing, run back, drive the truck back home, and hope that Dad doesn't notice. It's Saturday. Maybe he's still sleeping.

… Unless I just phase back here and drive home naked… No… No, I can't do that. What if Rachel looks out the window and sees my naked ass in her front yard? She'll think I'm some sort of pervert. I huff. My breath puffs out steamy in a steamy cloud.

I better make haste.

My large paws beat heavily against the damp forest floor. My house isn't too far from Jacob's but, in the light of day, I have to remain deep in the woods so as not to be discovered by hikers or rangers.

When I arrive at the forest's edge, I look at my house. The kitchen light is on. I can see my father through the window, sitting at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee.

Fuck.

I pace. The agitation in my chest causes my throat to become thick and I struggle to swallow down the lump that has formed. I am so screwed. Phase back, goddammit. I pace. Come on! I pace. Phase back!

Okay. Okay. I stop pacing and close my eyes and I think of her. This worked last night, maybe it'll work this morning. I think of her smile. Last night she smiled at me. She pointed her finger at me and remembered my name. She smiled at me… yeah! And then you made a complete ass of yourself by sayin-. No! Stop it. Her smile… Her smile. I hold the image in my mind and breath calmly. I feel myself start to shift, the wolf pulls away from my spirit, further and further until the man just remains. When I open my eyes, I am human again.

Fuck. I better learn to get in control of this.

I hurry to the hiding spot where I keep a pair of emergency shorts in a plastic bag under a lifted root of an old birch tree. I pull them on, tie the drawstring tight, and then creep to the side of the house, out of view of the kitchen window.

My heart is racing. If it were for any reason other than the fear of my father's fury, I would have phased right out of these awful emergency shorts. I think even my wolf is afraid of Dad.

I carefully climb up the side of the house, using the carport Dad and I built last fall, and slide my fingers into the window of my bedroom. I always leave it cracked by at least an inch for easy access. Because of the damp, it is a struggle to pry it open without making a sound so I push slowly with limited force while holding my breath.

Once inside, I tiptoe to my closet and dig out a pair of jeans I have yet to wear and a dark green t-shirt that I'm not fond of. My options are limited. I put it on anyways.

I stare into my closet at this old brown leather coat. My dad's brother, Uncle Steve, gave it to me. I like Uncle Steve a lot, he lives in Forks near the local grocer where he works. But he's gay and when he gave me this coat Dad accused him of trying to 'groom' me and told him never to come back. So, here it sits in my closet, unworn. But it's raining outside and the only other coats I have are in the closet downstairs. I take the coat from its hanger and slide my arms into the sleeves. I miss Uncle Steve. He was nice to me.

I start to walk back to my window but forget about the creaky floorboard. Fuck. The loudest creak imaginable fills the silence. I hold my breath and freeze, hoping that maybe, by chance, Dad doesn't hear as I slowly lift my foot from the loud spot on the floor. Another creak, perhaps even louder than the initial one, squeaks from my bedroom floor.

"Boy?!" Dad shouts from the kitchen.

I hear the kitchen table's chair scrape against the linoleum floor followed by heavy footsteps ascending the stairs. An icy chill creeps up my spine. My heart races and alerts me to jump out the window and run but for some reason, my feet are bolted to the floor and I remain frozen in terror.

The door swings open, violently.

"Dad," I whisper.

"I gave you one inch and you took a fucking mile!" he shouts at me, storming into my room, "where the hell is it?"

"Wh- wh- where's what?" I swallow and take a step back. My mind becomes blank in response to his shouting. It always does that and I hate it.

"Wh- wh- wh-," Dad mocks me, "the fucking truck, retard!" he shouts.

I flinch. Retard. It's been a while since he's used that one. One of the more hurtful socially taboo insults he keeps in his back pocket.

"I left it at the Black's house. I'm ju- j- j-"

"Goddammit! Spit it out, boy!" he snaps at me.

I inhale, attempting to calm myself but it's no use. I'm so screwed.

I swallow, "I'm just going to go get it now," my voice shakes. I can't help it.

He looks at me with disgust, his eyes falling to the jacket, "what the fuck are you wearing that for?"

"It's raining," I whisper.

He rolls his eyes, "go get my fucking truck and then get your ass back here because you're grounded until the end of the summer!"

"What!?" I raise my voice and immediately regret it when I see Dad's eyes widen with fury.

"Don't you raise your voice to me, boy!" his nostrils flare. "You're grounded," he repeats himself. "This is going to be the most boring summer of your pathetic life. You are to go to work and then you come home. And when you are home, you're in your room studying to retake the SATs. Keep your nose in the books and your hand off your dick!"

Jesus, Dad…

My face, neck, and ears immediately become hot. My eyes dart away from him, quickly. I know he is referring to the stack of magazines in the back of my closet which had since disappeared a few weeks ago. He has yet to mention their discovery or confiscation. I don't know what's worse; him berating me for the collection of dirty magazines or him keeping his silence about it. It's as though he is waiting for the optimal time to lay into me. It's mental warfare and every time I think about it my stomach twists into an anxious knot and all I want to do is crawl somewhere and die.

"No parties with your friends," he continues, "or whatever the fuck you're up to at all hours," he replies. "Do you hear me?"

"But, but, but-" I look back up at him.

"But, but, but," he mocks me. "Do you hear me?!"

I exhale and look down at my feet and nod.

"And you better take care of your new sneakers because I won't be driving you down to First Beach for your shifts either. Get used to walking. Understand?"

"Yes," I whisper.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir," I reply.

"Go. Now," Dad points to the door.

Defeated and humiliated, I descend the stairs.

"And gas up the truck on the way home. I'm not paying a dime for you to be out all night fucking around with your little punk-ass friends," Dad shouts as I leave the house.