Author's Note – I've been sick lately, and inspired to write, which luckily enough seems to be one of the few appropriate activities to partake in whilst ill =]. Please let me know what you think about this story =].
Chapter Three
Out of all of my friends, I probably lived the furthest away from the school. While La Push itself wasn't that big, we had reached the last of my friends' homes five minutes ago. I was therefore alone, meandering slowly off the marked track. My boots were sinking slightly into the nearly solidified mud, squelching as I took each step. After a long day of school, I had no desire to rush home. At home I'd be faced with the possibility of trying to make amends with Quil or doing my homework – neither of which sounded too appealing to my stress-filled mind. So I lazily walked off into the direction of the beach, taking a short cut through the mass of trees.
I had lived here with my mother since I was three years old. I was born in Neah Bay, which is not too far north from La Push. While I am actually of the Makah people, I have lived here for so long, that I seem to know more about the Quileutes. Quil has tried to tell me that my family moved here because of him – he dramatically proclaimed one day that I had just become too attached to him, that they couldn't bear to keep us apart, but I don't believe him. He might be my serious, overprotecting "big brother," as he calls himself, but he definitely jokes around too. However, the most probable truth as to why we moved to La Push is probably invested in the unexpected death of my father when I was three and my sister Lily was five.
While most people seem to believe that his death had a lesser emotional impact because I was so young when he passed away, to me this couldn't be more wrong. The first memory I have of my father is fairly stock standard, except for the fact that I remember it was incredibly sunny that day. So uncharacteristically sunny for the Olympic Peninsula, that we were probably enjoying the generous rays of sunlight in the park, playing as young children do. I remember feeling so energised and so happy. I was enveloped by my own joy; ready to burst open from the fun I was having with my sister and my parents and feeling so incredibly loved. My sister and I were the centre of the universe, and our doting parents orbited around us. But when dad was rushed to hospital, when they attached multicoloured wires and obtrusive needles, when his heart stopped beating, it felt as if the universe we had built had collapsed on itself. I couldn't comprehend my own feelings at the time, but when I reminisce on these memories, it's almost as if I have to feel this pain twice, only now I don't feel the pain dulled by the innocence and naiveté of youth. When people talk of him now, I can't help but feel that pang of loss because I didn't get to know him. My mother always talks of him, "so you never forget," she says, but how can I forget someone who I didn't even know? When they tell me how great a man he was, how proud I should be of his life, I feel sorry that I never got to understand that, to witness him through these eyes I have now. In a somewhat detached sense, I understand that his death was destined. Life would have turned out completely different without this sequence of events, and for that, I need to appreciate the here and now instead of questioning what could have been.
The nearing of the beach triggered me out of deep thought, as I noticed the mud change to sand. I gazed over the length of the shoreline and was relieved at how the beach was relatively deserted this afternoon. As fall was quickly transforming itself into a cold, sharp winter, only the determined trekked out to the beach these days to swim. Today there was no breeze and the beach seemed so calm and almost stationary. I dropped my bag to the sand and sat down with my legs stretched out. Today I didn't care about the moist sand ruining my clothes, or getting everywhere I didn't want it to be, I just needed time to stop and breathe.
Life was changing for me, and I felt as if I was on the edge of some great movement. I felt as though I couldn't accept things the way they were anymore. I was growing up, and the secrets that had surrounded my life – that had surrounded Quil – I couldn't bring myself to accept anymore. They had culminated into this feeling of complete despondency and it was unfair that I should feel this way. I'd always felt as if Quil had my best interests at heart – this is what he always told me at least – and now I was beginning to question it. I wasn't even sure why, but this morning, and the night before…it illuminated something in my mind that I had never seen in such a light before. "I should probably handle it better than I did this morning," I told myself, reflecting back on my strained conversation with Quil earlier that day. I sat there in the sand for a little longer, my mind wandering over the various tribulations in my head, and assessing how long I could stay here without someone getting worried and trying to find me. Feeling as though I had more direction than previously that afternoon, I quickly resolved to just go home as it was the simplest way of not getting into trouble.
I stood up and shook the sand from my bag and tried to dust off the clumps stuck on my blue jeans. I checked my watch, and noticed that it was already five o'clock. "Shit," I cursed under my breath, and altered my stride to a more brisk pace. Quil usually finished work at five and came over to hang with me after school. I hurriedly weaved my way out of the forest and back onto the street. I attempted to shrug my purple hooded jacket on as the temperature was dropping with the sun beginning to slowly lower in the sky. I walked for five minutes when I turned the corner, and noticed a panicked looking Quil, halfway up my street. Our eyes locked and his broad shoulders relaxed. "Claire!" he called, a sense of relief in his voice. "Where have you been?!" he demanded, the panic seemingly rising again.
"Wait a second," I yelled back, continuing to walk up the street as he waited for me midway. Within a few seconds, we were within arms length of each other and he closed the gap between us with one of the most intense hugs he's ever given me. "Claire-bear…" he drawled softly, enunciating every syllable of his pet name for me as he held me in place. There was sadness in the way he said my name.
"Where did you go? I was worried sick about you when I came here and you weren't home yet. I tried to think if you told me you were going somewhere this morning, but I couldn't remember so I freaked out and went to try and find you."
He let go of me to let me speak, his eyes searching my face for a reason as to why I would just leave him like that.
No matter how much I wanted the truth from Quil, it tore me up inside to hurt him like this. Maybe if I hadn't been so rude this morning, I would've demanded there and then for him to tell me what he's been hiding, but I just wasn't ready yet for that confrontation. So I chose the safe route.
"I just went to the beach," I said. "I'm so sorry Quil, I haven't been myself today. I shouldn't have been so mean this morning, I didn't intend to do anything like that. And I've just been having a hard time lately…I don't know how to explain it, but I just needed to be by myself and think, so I went to the beach. I lost track of time, and truly I'm sorry. You have enough to worry about, you shouldn't have to worry about me not being where I should be." He hugged me again, and just like that I was forgiven.
"Don't worry my Claire-bear, just don't try to scare me like that again," he said. "I love you," he said, his voice softening. And that was when my heart seemed to melt in a terribly romantic way. My legs would probably fail me if my brain wasn't fast enough to comprehend that he loved me as a friend only. But for that moment, it was fun to pretend that Quil really did love me, like a boy loves a girl. Except in reality, I knew Quil was a man, which ruined my possibilities of him ever loving me, a girl. He held me back, his hands in front of him and on my shoulders. "What would I have told your mother when she came home and you weren't there?" he questioned.
"I don't know, tell her I got eaten by a bunch of vampires," I said jokingly, trying to lighten the mood with a little absurdity.