CHAPTER XI: SHATTER ME GENTLY

"Everybody is a book of blood;
whenever we're opened, we're red."

Clive Barker, Books of Blood: Volumes One-Three


They say that when you are hanging on the edge of life, with no threshold to cling to, there is a light. You see your memories, feel them, and your body goes numb, resigned to its fate of renewed uselessness. Everyone you've ever loved or cared for is at the forefront of your mind, and the only reason you struggle—the only reason you try your hardest to stay—is to see them one last time. Your organs shut down, and your eyes stay closed.

What they don't tell you about is the darkness.

And the emptiness.

When you are the cusp of death, there is nothing waiting for you in bardo. Nothing tantalizing you to stay, nothing urging you to go. There is no leftover emotion, no sadness or remorse. All that awaits you is an empty, heart-heavy feeling.

You don't even ache. You just remember.

There's no fondness, either.

In my memories, there was a blank space of the time leading up to when I fell into darkness. No matter how many times I reached, or rechecked the timeline, I came up blank. There was smoke fogging that part of my life, that part of my memories, keeping me from knowing what had caused this state.

It was horrifying. I wanted to leave. I didn't care if that leaving was through death or through continued life. I didn't care if all I had for the rest of my soul's existence was regret, if I were to die, or bitterness, if I were to live; this place I was in, it was not a happy place. If I were capable of fear, then I would be in a state of panic and paranoia.

Jared. Paul. Dad. Kallie. I desperately thought of the names of anyone I had ever cared for, looking for an anchor. I was being irrational and stupid, letting myself believe that any alternative was better than enduring this Hell, being in bleak tandem, stuck in life-or-death turmoil, in a place that housed devils at every corner. But it was true. I did not want to be here. I wanted to be back in the real world, at my house, eating whatever concoction my Dad made for the night, playing board games with him and Jared like we used to. Regardless of our current crumbling relationship. Maybe Paul and Kallie could be there, too. We'd fabricate a family, and let that be my reality for the night.

Here, I had all the time in the world to think. Maybe not to regret, or ridicule the mistakes it took to get me here, since I was missing memories and didn't have the ability to feel like I wanted, but it was like I still knew how to fear, and I used that label on these fast-paced, irrational thoughts saying, I want to go home, I don't want to be here, let me leave, please please please. Emotions were just words, words we used to describe sudden lurches in our state of minds. Influenced by every itty-bitty inconvenience, fucked over by sudden, fateful changes in our relationships and environments.

I wasn't human here. I had eyes and feet; there were ears at my temples, and digits on the ends of my limbs—but my psyche, it was different. I couldn't apply feelings to my thoughts. My state of mind, it was not real.

It was almost as though I were in a dream.

A dream. Yes. It explained the shadows that materialized at every corner, how they crept up to my stationary form yet failed to damage me. It explained why my thoughts were plagued by paranoia, but I was not immobilized by fear; why my heart was not beating, like a human heart should, and why I had the ability to think, as normal people should, but there wasn't any feeling to it.

"Lucid dreaming," said Dream Me. And it cemented in me, that this wasn't reality, this wasn't bardo, this wasn't anything; it was just a fucking dream.

I'm not dying.

I peered around, absorbing every inch of the darkness. There was no exit. No immediate route for escape. But there had to be a way to snap out of this.

There had to be a way to wake up. I couldn't just wait for the dream to reach its end, and for consciousness to find me. It needed to be forced.

It had to end, before I went fucking insane.

But there was nothing. I was surrounded by darkness—shrouded in the damned stuff. I couldn't see a thing, not even my hands. If I even had hands.

Did I have nothing? Or was I just a state of mind? Not physical, not real.

Just imagined. An illusion.

Then, something happened.

It was like a light flickered on in this Hell. The darkness disappeared, and in its place was a meadow. But this meadow, it seemed familiar. It was in the midst of a circle of trees. Everything was green, from the trees to the shrubbery to the meadow grass.

I looked down. I had a body. I had hands and feet and the limbs that connected to them. A torso, and clothes to tie the human aesthetic together.

Why was I here?

As though the fates overheard my question, I heard a growl. And it was like nothing I had ever heard before. It sounded deadly. Like a predator who had finally hunted down his prey, and he was moving in for the kill.

But there was nothing around.

I twisted my head sideways, looking over my shoulder, but there was nothing there. Just scenery, the same as in front of me. Then there was another growl. It came from beside me. I looked there.

And again, I saw nothing.

"Where the fuck are you?" I asked aloud. This was all in my head, so I probably could have thought something and still had it answered, but it felt like a comfort that I could speak. I felt like I needed to speak. There wasn't an itch, or a sense of urgency, but my mouth needed to open, so I let my vocal cords sing their chorus.

They did.

And the next growl wasn't just an echo.

When I looked beside me again, there was a wolf. It was silver—not the color of mercury, but two or three shades darker—and gigantic, larger than any animal I'd seen in my life, even bears. It had humanlike eyes, with an uncanny brown color that made me think of… It couldn't be. No.

Brown eyes were common for wolves. And if this were the apparition of one of Sam Uley's pack—and part of my heart knew it, for regular wolves were nowhere near the size of this wolf—brown eyes would be just as common, for all of the shapeshifters had them. So truly, I did not know who this was. But the eyes were familiarly safe—inviting, even. Eyes I could get lost in.

For the first time in this dream, I could pinpoint a feeling.

In the presence of this wolf, I was content. If there were pieces missing of my puzzle, they had been found. I felt whole. Complete.

Paul.

"Paul." I wanted to ask him why he was here, why I was here, but he was a wolf. Not human. He wouldn't be able to answer me. I also wanted to yell at him, ask him why he never told me the truth. I could forgive him, if I knew there had been something forbidding him from doing so. If I knew it had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with himself.

I couldn't get rid of the memory of our chat. The one we had after a mutual detention. Paul had said he'd stopped talking to me because Jared told him to.

My memories were not as solid as I would have liked. Sometimes I felt as though they weren't reliable, while most of the time, they were all I could rely on. For the longest time, my memories were my only friends, and I used them as my one source of happiness. After Jared and Paul abandoned me, I stopped talking to everyone. I was at war with the world, with myself, and couldn't bring myself to pretend everything was okay.

I was angry. Paul left me at a time when I had just started to think I loved him. Jared took him. Bitterness became my new best friend. When I thought about Paul, the only guy I had ever truly cared about, and Jared, my best friend and brother, I didn't have any happy memories. As they say, you should be glad that it happened, not that it's over—but I wasn't glad or sad. I was mad. I wanted to throw things, hurt people, maybe even hurt myself—do something to fight against the tumultuous resentment as it raged inside me.

When people leave you, with no note, no explanation, you're not obliged to handle it with dignity. There's no rule telling you to pick up your own pieces and move on.

I didn't pick up my own pieces. I still hadn't, even after an explanation was bestowed upon me. Some people filled their voids with alcohol and drugs. Others did it with sex. Some used pain. Some pretended to be okay, and went day by day until their picture-perfect reality fell apart.

What was I?

"Why didn't you stay?" I whispered. My ears were filled with cotton. I felt the words vibrate against my throat, saw Paul's ears twitch with the sound waves, but I didn't hear myself speak them.

Paul glanced at the westward trees. He wouldn't meet my eyes. I knew what he was thinking. I told you already. Jared didn't want me to.

I couldn't fathom why someone as free and independent as Paul let another person tell him what to do. Why he couldn't let his heart steer him in the right direction. Why he decided it was better for us to be nothing than for us to be anything at all.

I'm not safe to be around. I would have hurt you.

I shook my head. His departure was before his change. His change was only recent, if I was correct in my assumptions of what a change looked like. And after his change, he began to stop avoiding me. If anything, he wouldn't leave me alone.

"I don't understand you," I said. The words felt empty. "I don't understand any of this."

Paul shuffled closer. And for the first time, I didn't have to make up words for him. I heard his voice inside my head; Wake up and I'll help you understand.

"How?"

Close your eyes.

I did.

And I heard him growl.

I love you, Alissa.

I wanted to tell him that I loved him too. That every time I tried to go out with someone, it was all a desperate attempt to get over him, to find someone who wasn't going to leave me the minute I got my head on straight. That when I swore at him, or acted like I didn't care, it was all for show. That I was hurt, and I didn't want to forgive him just for him to break my heart all over again.

But the world around me faded before I got a chance to.


I awoke in an unfamiliar room, on unfamiliar sheets, with unfamiliar clothes on my body. Of course, I didn't notice that at first. But as my eyes cracked open and I regained conscious thought, I began to grow aware of my surroundings. And that's when the fear kicked in.

That's when I registered the pain. I let out a hiss, a numb hand flying to the origin: my chest. There, I felt padding. "What the hell?"

Why was my chest covered in gauze?

I wracked my brain for any explanation, yet came up blank. I didn't remember getting into any accidents, and regardless, I was in what looked like a bedroom, not a hospital room. If I were truly in something like a car accident, or a cliff-diving accident, I would have been there, not here.

What if it's wolf-related?

Jared and them didn't know that I knew, however. How could I have been in a wolf accident if I had yet to be around them in that form?

Maybe you lost some of your memories, I thought. But that wasn't sensible. Yet, even in my dream, as I tried to think about the events leading up to sudden and absolute darkness, I found nothing.

Maybe I truly was forgetting something. Something important. Something that would tie all the pieces together.

Before I could continue to think about how I ended up here, the door opened. Sue Clearwater walked in. Behind her came Samuel Uley. The two seemed shocked to see me awake, sitting up on the bed and watching them enter silently.

"Oh, you're awake!" Sue said, looking relieved. She approached my bedside, and it was only then that I noticed the medical materials on the nightstand. Of course. She was the only family friend who knew how to handle the sight of blood. "How are you feeling, dear?"

"Uh…" I glanced at Sam. His gaze was very unnerving, and I felt myself being scrutinized by him. It was like I was under a microscope, and he was slowly beginning to figure me out. "What happened?"

Sue had originally been fiddling with another roll of gauze, but her handwork stopped the moment I asked that. Sam's gaze fell back on her, and my eyes followed. They instantly went back to Sam, however, when I noticed that Sue was looking at him, almost as though urging him to do something.

"Do you remember anything?" Sam asked me.

"I know that you're a shapeshifter. That Jared, Paul, and Embry are, too," I said. I felt as though I needed to tell him that I knew; it was probably the way he was staring at me, like I was a puzzle he needed to solve. It made me want to spill my deepest secrets. I did not like that feeling. "But I don't know how I ended up here."

Sam's face twisted into a frown. "Do you know what you are?"

How does he know about that? "What?" I didn't want to admit that I was something abnormal. It made my reality become just that—a reality. I wanted to continue to live in ignorance, regardless of how it impacted me and everyone around me. It would make things seem easier, even if they truly weren't.

Sam's eyes sharpened. "You forced Jared to shift. When he shifted, he attacked you." He was choosing his words carefully. I could tell. "He didn't mean to hurt you, Alissa. He feels terrible—"

"Wait," I burst out. "Is that why there's a bunch of gauze on my chest?"

A great accompaniment to that ugly gash on your head, I thought sarcastically. I wanted to tear it all off, to see just how badly my skin had been marred. Maybe you need a sign on your back that says, "Walking disaster." Fucking idiot.

Sam looked pained. I couldn't tell if it was from the thought of what the wound looked like underneath the gauze, or if an unwanted memory had crept into his head. "Yes."

"Oh," I said dumbly. Like a dam, the memories came flooding back. I couldn't believe I had actually forced Jared to shift. I was sure that he was kicking himself, stressing about how I'd most likely be scarred for the rest of my life—unless I suddenly developed healing powers, and was able to make my flesh whole again.

You're a fucking idiot. I was. There was nothing logical about forcing a shapeshifter to become wolf right in front of me, knowing damned well he had talons as sharp as scalpels and teeth even more life-threatening. It was irrational. It was stupid. I deserved the injury I got; maybe it would finally knock some sense into me.

Doubtful. I had always been a reckless person. I committed to actions without really processing their consequences—and I would continue to do foolish things, until one ended up getting me killed.

Sue sat quietly beside me, on a stool there, allowing me to drill Sam with questions. But I had one that was aimed at them both. I glanced at her, then at Sam. "Where is Paul?"

My question, though out of the blue, didn't startle either of them. Sue's worried gaze cleared, and she smiled weakly at me. "He's out in the living room. He's been worried sick since you first got here; he's hardly been home. Do you want me to send him in?"

I didn't even think about my answer. I said, "Yes, please."

Sue nodded, then hurriedly left the room.

I was now alone with Sam, who looked sad. I wanted to know why, but I also didn't want to pry into his private business. So I held my tongue.

"We'll talk later," Sam said. His eyes were on my collarbone, the area where gauze began. He looked the epitome of guilty, which made absolutely no sense, because it wasn't him who had left me injured and unconscious. Frankly, it wasn't even Jared. I did this to myself. Yet, it was like he was internally cursing his heritage, the beast inside that once unleashed, could do tremendous amounts of damage.

I forced myself to hold my questions. When the nosy part asked why, I simply thought, It's not my place. "Later," I said in agreement. And I watched him go, thinking about how I used to hate his guts. But now that I knew his secret, I wasn't so sure.

It was a few moments later that the door opened again. I was struggling to lay back down, my chest burning and aching with every move that I made. Tiny hisses left my mouth with every lurch of pain. But I turned into a statue when Paul made his entrance.

He looked like hell. If I had to guess, I'd say the poor guy hadn't gotten any sleep. His hair was a mess, stray ends going to and fro atop his scalp, and his eyes looked exhausted, like he had been tense and worried for hours on end.

I felt horrible. There was nothing I could say or do to make up for what I put him through by being unconscious and bed-ridden. There was always a voice in my head telling me to enact revenge against Paul and Jared for the shit they put me through, but here, when Paul looked like he'd finally seen the light for the first time by resting his eyes upon a living, breathing me, I couldn't bring myself to be spiteful.

Spite was what got me here. It was what made me grow bitter and angry, and it was what made me lose all sense of logic and run purely on hurt-'em-like-they-hurt-you mode.

I felt disappointed in myself, for letting myself do the things that I did. Like all the sense had been stripped from my body, and it was mere neurons ping-ponging their way through a vindictive existence.

I wasn't going to let myself be that way any longer.

"Hey," I said softly. It didn't sound like me. I wasn't soft. I also wasn't quiet. And Heaven forbid I be one-worded. But I was tired and in pain, and arguing didn't seem like a very good way to spend my time awake.

Paul's eyes brightened. I watched him head straight to the stool that Sue had once occupied, and he plopped down. "Hey." His voice was just as soft.

He wasn't soft. He wasn't quiet. And Heaven forbid he be one-worded.

What the hell had happened to us?

I surveyed his sitting figure. Now that he was close, I could see the bags underneath his eyes. "You look tired, Paul. Have you been sleeping?"

Paul cracked a smile. "Somewhat," he said. I took that as a way of him saying, I haven't been sleeping at all but I don't want you to enact a fury's rage on me for telling you that. His eyes flickered down to my shirt collar, where the gauze peaked out just a smidgen. "Are you in pain?"

"Somewhat," I said with a smile. The smile only grew when Paul's eyes narrowed, unamused by me mocking him. "A few painkillers would be super right about now."

"Sorry to tell you, but… the one housing all the painkillers is downstairs entertaining guests. I could go and ask her for some, if you want me to?" Paul was already standing up, looking at me expectantly.

I grew frantic. I flapped my hand up and down, desperately trying to get the proper words out, but all I could come up with was, "No! Paul, no! Stay."

Paul's eyebrows raised. And then, the cocky bastard began to smirk. "Stay, huh?"

"I need to tell you something," I said. "It's important." I sounded like a little schoolgirl. Eager to tell her crush something he didn't care about at all.

"Alright. I'm listening." Paul resumed sitting, but his posture was tense. His gaze was hard to read, but I caught a bit of uneasiness in those damned pools of chocolate.

"My dad. You know what he is, right?"

Paul's face grew angry. He began to shake, so I quickly placed a hand on his arm, warning him to stay calm. We didn't need him to shift in the middle of Sue Clearwater's house. His eyes strayed from my face to where my hand rested on his arm, and he slowly stilled. "Yes," he said simply.

"Well, I got the gene. Apparently. I don't really understand it, but—"

"You don't understand it?" Paul's eyes darkened, and his expression became deadly. "I'll enlighten you. Because you've got that fucking gene, bloodsuckers are gonna be after you. Just like they've been after your Dad for the past twenty fucking years."

The way he sounded, the way he looked, I knew he was holding this against my father, for being the one who gave me this specific genetic code, one that threw me into danger. He had probably gotten into arguments with him over it. That sounded like Paul.

Bloodsuckers are gonna be after you. To make more Dakotas.

"I'm scared, Paul," I whispered. My exterior cracked, and I couldn't bring myself to regain composure. He'd seen me scared before—it was nothing new for him. He was always good for comforting me. All it took was a single touch, and the fear washed itself away. I'd melt like putty inside his hands. "I don't understand any of this."

"I won't let anything hurt you, Alissa. I'll die before anything happens to you," Paul told me. He sounded serious.

I shook my head. That only made the feelings worse; it renewed my fear. I had never feared for myself. It was all for him, for Paul, who would constantly be in the firing range so long as vampires existed. And I hated the feeling that accompanied that thought—distress. "I don't want you to lay down your life for me, Paul! I honestly think I would fall apart completely if something happened to you."

His eyes steeled. "Alissa, nothing's going to happen to me. I promise."

"What if something does?" I thought of Dream-Paul. I love you. Was Real-Paul's fierce protection of me spurred by that same sentiment?

Our conversation after detention. Out in the parking lot. Did you think that kiss meant nothing? That I felt nothing for you? Obviously I fucking did.

I needed to know.

"I was made for this, Alissa," Paul said, his hand reaching up to grasp hold of mine. Tingles erupted across my palm at the feeling of us touching. "Nothing's going to happen to me. Okay?"

"Paul," I said tentatively. I flickered my gaze all over him, unable to think clearly. I was ready. Ready to take a cliff-dive. Eager to take the fall. Even if there was no one there to catch me at the bottom.

Our eyes met and locked. "What?"

I didn't answer.

As we continued to hold hands, lost in one another's eyes, my free hand came up and grabbed Paul by the hair. And I pulled him forward.

And for the second time, Paul and I kissed.

But this time felt different.

It felt like love.


A/N: They finally kissed, woo. I hope you guys aren't TOO disappointed by this chapter—if you are, just tell me, I won't take offense—and if you feel like Alissa is becoming annoying or too Mary-Sue-ish, let me know pls. I take all of your comments into consideration!

ALSO LET ME KNOW IF THIS STORY IS BECOMING SHITTY (OR HAS ALWAYS BEEN SHITTY) BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO CONTINUE WRITING IT IF IT'S BAD LMAO

As always, thanks for favoriting, following, and reviewing. Have a fantastic Fourth of July! Woohooooo