Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, own Twilight. If I did, I would have already accomplished my goal to be a best-selling, well-known author.
Acknowledgements: First of all, I just noticed how fucking weird that word looks. Anyway, I cannot begin to thank you guys enough for all of the faves, follows, and reviews. I know that I'm unreliable as hell right now, and that I can't seem to keep my word, but I swear I'm gonna do better and try to do right by you guys!
AN: Okay, so I know that it's been entirely too long, and I said I'd update soon. It's now October, and I'm a fucking liar. I did have a lot going on, though I'm not gonna bore you with it. You're here for the story, not my problems.
However, I think it's important to share that I got addicted to a lot of other fandoms, and that's had a huge impact on my fic inspiration. It seems like the only prompts that come to me now have something to do with Gallavich or Swagger Bishie, and that's a serious problem. Not because I don't wanna write them, but because I don't wanna start a new story until I finish this one.
I think I'll end up posting a couple one-shots here and there, or I'll just write a full-length and just not post until I finish LR.
This chapter seems better than the last one to me, but you guys can be the judge of that. I also tried to give you guys a longer chapter this time, since they've been so short and it's been a while. I handwrote this, though, so hopefully it is longer and didn't just feel like it.
Chapter Six: The Talk (No, Not That One)
Neither of them spoke, the only sound in the room the gentle crooning of The Cure's 'Disintegration'.
They stared at each other for a moment, and then Paul seemingly came to a decision.
He walked over and took a seat in the rocking chair, which Bella had no problem with, seeing as the only other seat was on her bed.
She knew that if neither of them spoke up, then she'd be stubborn and sit there in silence all day. Something told her that he could, too.
"Okay, so we're going to ignore the fact that, first of all, I told you that I'd talk to you after school and, secondly, that I don't exactly know how you got into my house," she said, the question clear in her voice.
"Don't worry about it," he evaded.
Okay, then.
"Obviously, we need to talk so that we can hopefully get on the same page," Bella said, doing her best to keep her voice steady and her tone totally calm.
Because that's what she was: totally calm and not at all worried about the following conversation or the outcome and its long-time ramifications on her life.
At this, an indecipherable expression appeared on his face. Maybe calculating, questioning with a hint of amusement? She couldn't tell (as usual, with his stupidly expressive face). All she knew was that he really hadn't spoken yet, and that made her even more nervous.
Not that she was nervous. Nope, not at all.
No anxiety for this girl.
What reason could she even have to be nervous? It's not like anything is gonna change in her life except for her friends, her boyfriend, what supernatural creatures she hangs around and basically every facet of her current day-to-day life.
What even is my life?
He must have sensed her slow descent into yet another existential crisis, because he decided to put her out of her misery.
Well, kind of.
It wasn't until that moment when she really registered just how . . . stunning he was.
With his lips slightly curled in the semblance of a smile, he looked at her with half-lidded eyes through dark lashes.
It's like he's something out of a goddamn romance novel.
What he said wasn't what she expected, and it left her at a loss as of where to go from there.
"Whatever you say, sweetheart."
See, what'd I tell ya?
At a total loss.
LRLRLRLR
Their talk went really well, considering the situation that they'd found themselves in.
She let him know that she and Edward had broken up, he told her that he had no prior obligations whatsoever, and they both made it clear that they wanted to try and pursue the imprint and explore whatever could happen between them.
Bella had been dreading having this talk ever since she brought it up, but she's extremely glad to have gotten it over with.
There's a certain sense of accomplishment, but there's a larger feeling of . . . relief? No, more like a weight lifting off of her shoulders while a more comfortable one settles in her chest, grounding her a little more.
By the time they finish saying what needs to be said and getting to know a little about each other, it's after seven and the sun's long gone.
Bella's gotten a late start on dinner while she and Paul finish up when she gets a call from Charlie.
She'd been wondering where he was when he hadn't come home and spazzed out wondering what twenty-two year old Paul Lahote was doing in her bedroom for hours.
"Did you wanna stay for dinner?" Bella asked, after learning that Charlie would be held up at the station until late.
She knew that she sounded a little too hopeful, but something inside her needed to know if he liked her cooking.
I guess imprinting gives you a lot of foreign, weird ass feelings, she thought with (what she hoped was) an internal eye roll.
Still, she couldn't fight the tiny feeling of disappointment she got when he declined, getting up from his seat at her kitchen table, which looked strangely small next to him.
"Nah, Sam was definitely expecting me back a while ago; my phone's been buzzing like crazy for the last couple hours. He's probably had a hell of a time with Loverboy, though," he explained with a smug grin, clearly enjoying the thought of Jake flipping his shit about Paul and Bella.
Oh good god, what the hell am I gonna do about Jake?
"Well, at least take a plate with you," she told him as she cut a square of lasagne the size of her head.
She's glad that he seems appreciative, since she'd hate it if he was one of those guys who feel entitled to a woman cooking him meals.
As she walks him to the door, she can't help but to think that this whole thing turned out way better than she could have ever hoped.
Both talks were out of the way, and she'd straightened out her relationships with both gentlemen.
She and Edward were a thing of the past. A very, very recent past, but past all the same.
Paul seemed nice and actually kinda cool, and that was great, considering that they were going to be in each other's lives regardless of what happened between them romantically.
Jacob was understandably upset about the whole situation, but it didn't really have anything to do with him. She'd let him know, time and time again, that she had no romantic designs on him and that his were definitely unreturned. If he still couldn't accept that after all this and stop his foolishness, then that was his problem.
She's got enough to worry about, with her distraught vampire ex and her newly-established werewolf imprint.
All in all, the whole situation could be so much worse.
And of course, this is her life, because, when she opens her front door to let Paul out, who's standing there but said distraught vampire ex?
Who also looks sorta pissed.
Why is this my life?
LRLRLRLRLR
AN: Long time coming guys, but I hope it was at least a little worth it. As you can guess, I've lost the passion for this story, but I'm trying to get it back, so don't worry! The next update should not take nearly as long; I'd say maybe the 20th.
I'm thinking of doing the next chapter in Paul's POV, so I hope I can pull it off. It's weird how he barely got any screen time or mention in the books, but fanfic writers have fleshed it out and made him into this whole character with a backstory and a set personality that's so natural it seems like it's canon. Anyway, it's mostly gonna be his thoughts on what's happened so far and how he feels about the situation and his future with Bella.
Until next time!