CHAPTER IV: TIS BUT A SCRATCH [PRT. I]
"ARE WE THERE YET?" I asked for what seemed like the fifteenth time, blood so rushed to my head that it felt like even my vision was fiery pink. After walking for miles on end, it had come to my attention that I didn't feel so good. So for the past five minutes, I would ask Paul if we had finally arrived at our destination anytime a headache formed at the temples—which seemed just about every itty-bitty millisecond. And his answer was always the same—
"No. Now quit asking me that. It's getting annoying," Paul replied. Though he claimed I was being annoying, he didn't sound that way. Actually, if I had to put a finger on whatever flitting tone I was hearing, I'd say he was amused. Of course he'd find this funny; me, hanging like a limp noodle over his backside, voice muffled by his muscled skin, words childish and whiney, and him, big bad Paul Lahote, strolling down the merry, muddy path that led to God-knows-where. Who was winning? Certainly not me.
Losing was not a wanted check on my resume. I scowled, trying to pronounce it enough that it'd feel like a ticklish kiss on Paul's back. "If there's bears running amuck, they're gonna smell the blood," I told him, voice a bit too posh for someone on this part of the globe. "And I don't think your frown is good enough to scare off a big, fuzzy, blood-hungry bear."
Paul laughed. Actually laughed. Like he found the thought of a bear being able to harm him implausible. "Don't worry, Lissy. I'll keep you safe."
Just because you're tall and muscly and drop-dead-gorgeous doesn't mean—wait, what am I saying? God, I'm getting delirious or something. Sure, he's hot and has a really nice voice, and he actually respects you unlike the rest of the boys from school—but— I let out an inaudible groan. This whole internal conflict was really taking a toll on my body, and it was a fight between rationality and hormones whether I wanted to let myself fall under Paul Lahote's spell. Could I endure the consequences?
"You've gone quiet," said Paul musingly. "Didn't think I'd see the day where you'd go speechless."
On second thought, I'd better leave him to the bears as a potential mate. Who needs a SO? Not independent persons such as I. "Obviously I'm thinkin', meat-for-brains," I said, punching my fist against his back. It did nothing except cause my knuckles to hurt something awful, but it was the thought that counted. "Something it must take a lobe and a half for you to accomplish."
Paul laughed again. "Is that supposed to be an insult?"
"If you value your brain, then yes. If you don't care, then no," I told him, matter-of-factly. "Judging that you asked, I guess that means you don't care." So much for a witty comeback, if the person being verbally assaulted could barely tell the difference between a compliment and an insult.
There was a pinch of silence, then another laugh. "I just think it's cute when you get all worked up," Paul said to me. Without even being able to see him, I could hear the smirk in his voice. Again, I felt this intense, fervent desire to shove my shoe up his ass. "Too bad I can't see your face. It's even more adorable when you blush."
"I'm going to tell Jared how you've harassed me. He's a dick, but he'll still kick anyone's ass if I ask him to," I spat, blushing, like the infuriatingly flustered idiot I was. "It's part of that whole brotherly oath he took the minute I was born, ya know."
Paul, like a proper gentleman, burst into another, longer-lasting spurt of laughter, like I just said the funniest thing in the world. He was obviously imagining Jared swinging at him, and how fast he'd dodge and weave, only to throw one back… twice as hard. If there was anything Paul was good at, besides being ruggedly handsome, it was fighting. "You think… you really think Jared could win in a fight against me?"
"I realize the flaws in my plan," I said truthfully. "But when you think about it, if he's angry enough, he could get a few punches in. Remember William?"
Paul stopped walking. I could feel a strong tension in his shoulders form, like a shadowed memory was coming to life inside of his organs, and if it was what I was thinking—then oh yeah, the dark look of death was eminent as it loomed. The memory was funny to look back on, three years later… even though I was sure that somewhere, out there, the thought sent shudders of fear down William Holton's back.
If I wasn't paying absolute attention to Paul, I wouldn't have noticed the subtle shaking in his shoulders. Like vibrating waves. "That fucker got what he deserved," growled Paul, sounding more animal than human. "I wish he still went to La Push so I could get my share of blood."
I blinked owlishly against his back. "Jesus fuck, Paul," I said. "Take a chill pill, will you? Not everything has to be handled with violence."
Paul didn't answer. He just continued to walk. Though, much more briskly this time around; he was seething, rendered speechless by his own rage, and I was sure his mind was plagued with thoughts of William, Jared, and fighting.
Minutes passed. We still weren't there. I had resorted to propping an elbow against Paul's back and watching the muck go past in a blur of browns and greens, and though I was jumping at the bone with an eagerness to ask when we'd get to Sue's, I knew it wouldn't be smart to prod at the bear when he was in such a state of unrest.
Paul fought a lot of battles, whether mental or physical, and he didn't like to talk about it often, if at all. He wasn't much of a talker anyway, only opening his mouth to shout, flirt, or say something droll. His anger spoke volumes of the kind of person he was. There was a layer of character that neither I or Jared had ever taken the time to unravel, a whole other person hidden beneath years of internalizing.
I wondered how long it would—could—take to figure him out. I wondered if that was even possible.
If it takes weeks, months, or years, I'll know you, Paul, I swore against the back of a stranger dressed in the skin of someone familiar. I promise it.
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"You really did a number on your head, hun," Sue Clearwater said, in that soft-spoken, kind voice of hers, patting a pad of cotton against my temple. "What happened?"
Knowing just what look would be on her face, I laughed, my shoulders shaking in their futile attempt to remain still. The laugh soon became a hiss when the cotton pad slid against the open, bleeding wound on my head, an accident I'd be angry about if it wasn't for Sue's gentle, caring face. "Well, uh… I was sitting in the back of a truck. The driver turned a bit too fast, and I hit the side metal. It stopped bleeding after about twenty minutes, but not before…" I gestured to my blouse, still soaked in red. "Do you know any home remedies for removing blood stains, by any chance?"
Sue shook her head, maternal concern wrinkling the lines on her face. "Alissa, why were you in the back of a truck? Especially in this weather. What if it had started raining—if this driver of yours had wrecked, you would be dead—"
From the side of me, there was a growl. A very animalistic growl. I have my very own guard dog, I thought derisively, unable to resist a quip, even though it wasn't spoken aloud. I turned over to Paul to give him my signaturelook, befit with disapproval and irritation. "Calm it, Pluto," I said, waggling my finger at him. "You're only allowed to growl at Jeremiah, William, Jacob, and Bella. This is the Clearwater household, and you will respect it. Capiche?"
The look on Paul's face was… deadpan. I bet he wasn't expecting for Sissy-Lissy Cameron to be ordering him around. However, before I knew it, a smirk was twitching at his lips and Paul looked amused. I could imagine his thoughts: Does this little girl really think she can tell me what to do? Hah. We'll humor her. "Okay, Lissy," he told me, now wearing a full-blown smile.
Oh, was he finally listening? Being a good little (or not so little) dog? I began to smirk, pleased to know I had an effect on him, and he would actually listen to me—but then—
"But only if you beg."
Oh my gosh, he didn't just say that. Not in front of Sue! What the heck is wrong with you, Paul?! I reddened deeply, eyes widening to the point I felt they were going to come flying out of their sockets. A picture of humiliation, I slowly turned to look at Sue. Her expression was unreadable, eyes flickering between me and Paul, like she was seeing something clearly for the first time. She didn't look mortified, like most parents would—something I had to applaud her for, considering my dad couldn't even look at pink capris without blushing—but she did look surprised.
Sue coughed, but smiled anyway. Her smile didn't look forced, per se, but did look a little too wide for a jaw of her caliber. "I think it was more a flesh wound than anything," she told me. "If you start to get dizzy, or have issues with your vision, just call me. It's not a concussion, but we should still take precaution." She smiled. "Try to avoid any more run-ins with danger, okay?"
I tried biting my lip, tried keeping a hand over my mouth, but the overwhelming desire to speak couldn't be quelled by any physical motions. Putting on my best posh accent, I said, "'Tis but a scratch. It's just a flesh wound." I kicked out a leg, just for the hell of it—and fought a giggle when it came in contact with Paul's leg. Sue was watching the encounter—from my wide smile to Paul's not-so-menacing glower—with a look of wonder. I felt embarrassed, but pushed the feeling aside. "Thanks for cleaning me up. I bet I look badass, with all this gauze on my head."
Sue laughed, raising from her crouch in front of me. She offered up a hand to help me stand. "Oh, you do. I'm shaking in my boots," she said teasingly. "Try not to give Harry a heart attack when you pass through the kitchen."
My smile became all teeth, and I raised a hand to salute her. "Weaponless tis thee, so there shalt be a threat, not in the home of a hunter," I said. Ignoring the humored looks on both Sue and Paul's faces, I pulled Sue into a large embrace. She stiffened, like the hug came as a surprise, but I ignored it in favor of tightening my arms around her. Sue slowly slithered her own around my waist, returning the hug with equal fervor. "Thanks, Sue. I appreciate the help."
"Oh, honey, you're welcome. Do us all a favor and stay out of trouble, alright? You know how worked up your father gets when you're hurt."
I grimaced. Yes, I did know how my dad got whenever Jared or I got injured—but especially me. I couldn't tell whether it was because I was the runt of the family, or because I was a girl, but Dad had a… special way of reacting anytime I wasn't perfectly okay. Like the time I broke my arm during a track and field competition, and he literally cried at the hospital because I winced whenever he came running in and hugged me. Or the time I got the flu, and he catered to me on hand and knee because I hadn't got my flu shot that year and he thought I was going to die.
Yeah, Dad was a bit crazy when it came to his children. And I dreaded what he'd say when he got a load of what my head looked like at the moment.
"Your dad is literally going to die when he sees your head," Paul whispered to me. He had a hand on my back as we trekked out of Sue's living room and into the kitchen, apparently not trusting me to walk on my own. Who could blame him? I was one overly-strenuous activity away from passing the fuck out. "Jared, too, if he's there."
"Fuck Jared," I cursed, giving Paul the side-eye. Why did he have to bring up that loser? And we were having such a good time… "And Dad can handle it. It's patched up, I'm not dying—no concussion, just blood. Wait. The blood! Oh god, he's gonna die, Paul, when he sees all this blood. How did I not pass out? Aw, geez—"
When we passed Harry sitting at the dining table, Paul gave him a nod while I smiled politely. Harry returned Paul's nod, and gave me a knowing grin, one that made me want to stop in my tracks; what the heck was with all these looks, like people knew shit I didn't? I wanted to stick out my tongue, like the obnoxious child I was, for looking at me like that, though maybe… just maybe… people were starting to clue in on my slowly-enlarging crush on Paul Lahote. Was that what the looks were for?
I wanted to groan. I wanted to die. If people recognized my blushes, smiles, and wit for what they truly were, physical pieces specially made for Paul, then I was a goner. What if someone told him?
Note to self: don't let Jared find out about this, I thought viciously, letting Paul lead me through the door, back out into the open.
Paul was smirking as we made it out onto the gravel driveway. "We can stop by my house and get you a shirt, if you're really that worried," he said suggestively. "It's on the way to your dad's."
"Totally laughing out loud right about now," I said. My smile was long gone, and in its place was a poker-face. "Sometimes I really wanna punch you, Paul. I mean, seriously. Why are you like this?"
"I was just offering a friendly suggestion."
"You mean a suggestive suggestion. Like, you're hot and all, but under no circumstances are you getting sexual favors from me," I said, saying it real fast, like I didn't know what I was actually saying until I said it. And let's be honest, that's what I did. I widened my eyes, looking at Paul with regret. "I mean… fuck."
Paul's smirk was so big, it could barely fit his face. I was ashamed to admit my eyes were following his lips; if I was reaching the time of my downfall, then I might as well just go with it, huh? "Let's get you home, Lissy."
"Okay, uh, yeah… let's, uh, go." What I really wanted to say was, "Fuck my life," and by saying it, I meant shouting it, and by shouting it, I meant screaming it.
Fuck my life, indeed.
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A/N: As you can see, I'm splitting this chapter into two parts—mostly because I have work in about forty minutes and I feel extremely guilty for not posting in forever. I want to post a chapter once a week, and I've experienced some hella bad writer's block which will explain… why it's taken so long for me to update… but anyway! Back to the author's note. As long as I'm motivated, I'll be posting frequently. Favorites, follows, and reviews give me a lot of said motivation! Unlike most writers, I actually appreciate "pls update" reviews, so if you give one of those, it may make a chapter come early :D
Anywhooooo, I want to address a reviewer that was worried about Alissa being overpowered as an emissary. Don't worry. She wouldn't be. The thing about supernatural entities is they have to have weaknesses, and believe me, Alissa will have many of them. By being able to draw on ancestral spirits, that doesn't mean she can shift or use supernatural strength/speed like actual shifters; it means she can cast physical apparitions. As in, think Kenshi from Mortal Kombat. It's psychokinesis, except with spirits! She can speak to spirits, but isn't capable of bringing anything back to life. The powers are cool as fuck, but she's limited to what she can do. She can drain energy and promptly pass out if she does too much at one time.
I hate Mary Sues. I stop reading stories if I feel like the heroine is one. If Alissa even remotely starts to feel like one, tell me please because OMFG FUCK MARY SUES. Alissa's got plenty of flaws, and a lot of them come from her holding grudges and being loyal/stubborn to a fucking tee. Btw if anyone wants a character sheet, just tell me and I'll totally do one after I post the next part to this chapter.
WE'LL BE GETTING INTO ACTUAL NEW MOON EVENTS SOON! GET READY FOR A WOLFY REVEAL AND BELLA GETTING ON ALISSA'S BAD SIDE :D EVERYBODY VOTED FOR HER TO BE NOT-FRIENDS WITH BELLA SO EXPECT LOTS OF BELLA BASHING howeverrrr I will NOT be making her out of character. I wanna stay as true to canon for her personality as possible :) unless yall want megabitch! bella lmaooo
HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY (OR NIGHT) AND I'LL BE POSTING THE NEXT CHAPTER PART LATER TODAY OR TOMORROW MORNING
