A/N: In this chapter (which, might I add, is long!), I explore more into the depths of Emily Young's character as well as the touchy subject of imprinting (but beware! Most of the information here is made-up). I believe that Stephenie Meyer never really introduced us properly to Emily—we only know she's Sam imprint and that she has a scar along her face. So I decided to write more about that, because I've always believed that Emily and Bella could have been great friends if only they'd gotten to know each other.

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Chapter Seven.

You sit at Emily Young's small table in her kitchen as the sun ever so slowly makes it way over the mountains, trying to keep your mind occupied on other things that are probably much more trivial compared to the priorities you have on your plate right now.

The shadows that conceal most of Emily's dimly-lit front room eventually fade away as the light crawls over the tacky pieces of floral furniture. The light makes everything beautiful, glowing through the empty glasses Emily scrubs and sets on a towel to dry… illuminating the large windows (with curtains pulled aside as to see the beautiful greens of the forest) and filling everything with a light that unbelievably warms your skin so wonderfully that you actually look all around you at the beauty and smile. Everything is beautiful, so it's impossible for you not to just smile at it.

The feeling of smiling at such a seemingly insignificant thing that would probably not be amazing to anyone else feels more than strange—it's utterly bizarre; completely unnecessary. And all too soon, your smile falters.

The sun lights the room to the extent where Emily turns off the lamp in the middle of the small coffee table between two couches too small to be called proper couches. The light didn't do much, anyway. It's obvious she loves the naturalness of where she resides. It is a beautiful location, after all—and definitely a beautiful house—and it makes you get a bit uncomfortable. You used to think you'd never be able to find another house that could be more beautiful than… than the Cullens' large white house by the river. Everything turned magical there—and probably still did, but you weren't in a hurry to find out—and everything was a fairy tale, sparkling with the mystical feeling that only comes with such mythical beings as the Cullens. No house could compare. Nothing could be more beautiful than that, than the loveliness of their half-glass house and impossibly modern beauty that illuminated from every square inch.

But looking around Emily's little hideaway cottage makes you think twice. You think different thoughts, now that you'd seen the way La Push could look at sunrise... it was just impossible to describe. There was a different kind of beauty here, different than any you'd seen before, and it didn't include the wealth and unnatural beauty that—unfortunately—came with vampirism. Not that you'd found anything wrong with that. It was just… a complication. Something that added more to the unbalance between you and your previous friends. Your previous family. (Not anymore—not ever again.)

So you decide to stop thinking about that, and just think about the here and the now. Here, you are in an amazingly beautiful place, looking around you at all the amazingly beautiful things that surround you. Now, you don't care whether it makes you uncomfortable that this is the most beautiful piece of nature you've ever seen—that doesn't matter. What matters that you are here right now and everything is beautiful around you, and it happens to be a beautiful piece of nature. That's all the matters, and anything else right now doesn't.

Emily eventually comes to join you. She sits in the chair across from you, crossing her arms and legs and smiling half of her face pleasantly out the window, mimicking you. The permanent scar of a claw that scrapes down her face in a very nasty way, distorting her face to look like she's grimacing, doesn't fool you.

A few seconds pass, and she speaks. "You know, Sam won't be out for much longer. He'll be here by at least seven—he always checks up on me to make sure I'm fine." She grins matter-of-factly, pulling her sock feet onto the couch beside her.

"I can wait however long it takes him," you say vaguely, still staring at the window thoughtfully. "I'm not in much of a rush to get home." And it is true, partly. Where is your home now, anyway? Where could you go back to and know that you fit in?

"Yeah, well…" Emily shrugs, looking ridiculously close to a young teenager. You realize how much younger than you she looks, and it makes you squirm uncomfortably. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can get you…? I don't do much during the day. I don't usually have company." She shrugs again, and you avert your eyes from the nature scene outside to smile warmly at her. Well, at you least you hope it's a smile.

"I dunno. I'm sort of a big, gray blob. I'm completely boring." You smirk a bit.

Emily's face turns thoughtful, and she shakes her head back and forth after a few moments. Her voice turns amused and playful. "Nah, I don't believe that. Jacob used to always go on about how you always—" But she cuts herself off abruptly, realizing what she was saying. She doesn't continue, and you try not to flinch.

"Yes?" you say quietly, trying not to let your face show your discomfort. "What would he say about me?"

Emily hesitates, like she's afraid you're a time bomb that could go off if she said any wrong thing. You look at her anxiously, encouraging her to continue.

"Well… he just said how happy you made him. And how human you acted." A sad smile spreads across her face. More understanding is in that smile than you'd ever seen Emily give you before. "I mean, I guess you amused him or something. That's not what I'd call boring. Not everything amuses Jacob."

"I know," you mumble, and you can't say anything else. Your words seem to waver in the air between the two of you. You stare at the dead lamp on the coffee table in front of you.

Emily clears her throat a bit conspicuously after a few moments of silence pass.

"But what about you?" you ask quickly, getting a sudden inspiration.

"Um… what about me?" she replies, her smile amused.

"I mean—I came over here at freaking five-thirty, Emily. Do you usually get up that early…? I definitely thought you'd be a nightgown and rubbing sleep out of your eyes or something…"

"Uh, yeah," she says, clearing her throat once and moving her shoulders awkwardly. "Well, I plan my sleeping schedule around Sam's sleeping schedule." She glances your way again, and her eyes obviously are begging for your understanding. And you do—you do understand, right away.

"You can't sleep when he's not there," you say without a question.

"Yep—that's basically it. I don't dare go to sleep if Sam's not there in the bed beside me…" And then she chuckles softly. "Kind of pitiful, isn't it? That I need someone to sleep with me…"

She thought she was pitiful? You almost gawk as she speaks. She obviously hadn't seen pitiful before. Now, you coming over here in the dawn of the morning and asking to speak to her fiancé about something completely unnecessary and silly—now that was pitiful.

"No, I think that's completely normal," you speak up strongly. "I know exactly what you mean—I have that feeling all the time. Don't think you're pitiful."

Emily shakes her head back on forth, obviously not convinced. "No, I don't think you understand. It's really awful, the side effects I have when Sam's not here with me. Like, I literally have horrid nightmares if I sleep and Sam's not here…" Her voice drops several notches lower at her last sentence. "I'm always afraid he'll come back injured… or not come back at all…" She shudders. "Or worse—I have nightmares that Sam doesn't exist. That he never existed, or that if there were no thing with the wolves and whatnot… that Sam definitely wouldn't be in my life like how he is not if there were no wolves."

You look at her for a long moment, almost aghast that someone could actually have nightmares like that—aside from you, of course. You didn't think anyone else could feel so similar to you. Could it really be possible that this kind of pain existed in more lives than just you? How could someone love someone so immensely as Emily obviously loved Sam?

Ugh. Of course those feelings could exist there for Emily. Once again, you were just being a shallow, inconsiderate bitch.

"You can talk about that with me," you whisper at last. "I have nightmares like that, too… although the characters might be a bit different in mine." Your attempt to lift the atmosphere with humor doesn't work well. Emily still looks down at her crossed legs, looking desolate.

"Look, Emily." You sigh. "You have no idea how much I can relate to you. I know exactly how you feel—you care about Sam, that's apparent—but it goes deeper than that, doesn't it? For both of us, I mean. Almost everything I do nowadays is all under the cause of love… from someone or another."

Emily finally looks up to meet your gentle gaze. "Thank you, Bella. But you don't need to tell me that—I already knew, I mean. If you don't mind me talking about Jacob, and I hope not—what you and him share somehow outshines and imprint. Has anyone ever told you that before?"

You stare blankly at her face, not able to make words come out. Because, the truth was, no one had ever told you that before. Ever. What it really like that? Could that really be true? You'd expect Emily to be the expert on imprints, so perhaps you could take what she said to heart—

But right at that moment (to ultimately cut off all previous train of thought), Sam walked through the door, looking almost out of breath. He's shirtless, of course, and barefoot, which wasn't a surprise either. You guess he'd been a wolf not more than ten seconds ago.

He first looks to you, an unconcealed expression of surprise apparent on his face, but staring at you is interrupted as Emily literally jumps from the couch to wrap her arms around his neck. All speaking is put off, as well, as Emily breathlessly crushes her lips to his, almost desperate. Sam kisses her back indulgently for a too many few moments, and you can feel Emily's relief lifted at the physical contact they both share. You wonder mildly how long they'd been apart to kiss as intensely as they were.

Like the last time you saw Emily and Sam kissing, you looked away awkwardly, not able to stand the amount of love that emanated off of the happy couple in large waves. Too much passion was put into their kisses—you didn't even want to think how you'd never kissed someone like that. Not even him, even as much as you love him, and he loved you.

"Bella?" Sam asks cautiously at last, interrupting your mental blahs. You look up to meet his curious gaze. "What—" But he is interrupted once again as Emily hastily stands on her tiptoes to take his face in her hands and whisper something furiously into his ear. While it's too quiet for you to hear, you don't need to wonder what she might be whispering to him. Sam mumbles a few confused words back to her as well.

"Ah," Sam says at last, louder this time. He clears his throat as Emily retreats back to the loveseat, idly following behind her. "What would you like from me, Bella?" He sits down in a flowery recliner to the right of you and grins welcomingly.

How are you supposed to start? There were so many things you'd like. "Well, I'd mostly just like to ask you a few questions," you reply, trying to think up clever inquiries in your head. You hadn't really thought about what you would say before it came right down to it.

"Questions…?" Sam says when you don't continue for a few seconds. "What kind of questions?"

"Mostly about imprinting and whatnot," you blurt out before you can change your mind and ask something much more trivial.

Sam just nods, like he knows what's coming. "I'm a bit experienced in that area."

You smile and nod as well, grateful no unnecessary questions were asked beforehand. You could get right to the point if Sam kept to this path. You didn't want to dwell too much on the unnecessary, after all.

"I figured that."

"So," he says, spreading his arms and shrugging at the same time. It's a gesture that you should probably continue on with your questions. (Damn, why did you always have to be so awkward?)

"Well, I guess you already know… about Jake and—" But you stop right there and kind of chuckle strangely, lowering your eyes and forcing the pain not to overtake you. You would not break down right here or right now. You didn't come here to act ridiculous.

Fortunately, Sam doesn't wait for you to finish your cutoff sentence. "Yeah, well… yeah. I know." His mouth goes into a straight line, a grimace almost.

You shiver once, calming yourself enough to move on. "Anyway, that's… that's something I'd like question."

Sam's form goes rigid on the recliner, making the springs creak abruptly. "Question how? I don't see what there's to question." His voice is almost… defensive. No, not almost—it is defensive.

You take a few more seconds to figure out how to word your inquiry. "Now, I hear that imprints are extremely strong forces of nature—"

"You hear correctly," Sam interrupts you, his voice stiff. That surprises you. What did you say wrong for him to act so hostile towards you?

From where she sits on the loveseat, you notice Emily throw Sam a warning look.

"Look, Sam," you say defensively, trying not to glare but finding it hard not to. "I didn't come here to argue with you. If what I am thinking is completely idiotic and by all means completely improbable, don't go out of your way to give me shit about it." The words rush out of your mouth before you really stop and think about what you're saying. But you do feel better—just acting even a little bit fierce does that to you—like an enormous weight has just lifted off your chest. At the same time, swearing around someone much wiser (someone you needed to respect) probably didn't give him a very good impression. At the same time, you don't feel the need to apologize. You don't want to.

"Bella," Sam sighs, his face suddenly looking much older than you assumed he really was. You'd already started to notice how werewolf-ness tended to do that to the rest of the pack, too, but right now, Sam looked ancient and completely tired. He definitely was. It makes you feel much sorrier for him. "I am not giving you shit about anything. But it's about time you came to terms with that fact that Jacob and Nat are how they are. And nothing can change that." Unconsciously, and completely against your will, tears gather at your eyes. "I mean, for God's sakes, Bella—they're imprinted! I don't know what you don't understand about that."

"I understand that," you hiss dangerously. You would not show a weakness in front of Sam. "But how would you know if I didn't come to terms with… the whole imprinting issue?" Indignantly, you fold your arms across your chest. "I could be completely fine right now. You have no right to say otherwise."

Sam looks immensely uncomfortable, embarrassed even. "Embry is… rather informative," he says simply.

You understand immediately. Of course Sam would be able to hear Embry's thoughts about how exactly you'd been acting since Jacob broke up with you. He could get the whole story, firsthand (or, at least, the closest thing to firsthand) from Embry. This doesn't comfort you in any way. You should have known better, though. God, why did you have to expose your deepest weakness to him? Anything that one of the wolf pack knew about, it was inevitable for the rest of the wolf pack to know as well. You didn't want everyone in on your personal—and, most definitely, pitiful—life. Keeping it to yourself was bad enough—there was no need for the rest of the world to share your pain and know just how weak you really are.

"Oh," you whisper at last once all of this is thought out in your head.

Sam sighs again, his expression going hard and professional. He's all business now. He has no time to feel sorry for you.

"What exactly did you come here to ask me, though, Bella?"

"Lots of things," you mumble, embarrassed. "But they don't really matter anymore, if you keep your state of mind."

A small smile lights up his serious face. "And what state of mind is that?"

"A fucking awful one," you mutter under your breath, hopefully much too quiet for either Emily or especially Sam to hear.

"Didn't quite catch that, Bella," Sam says, proving you right.

"You're thinking all wrong," you speak up angrily. "Jacob and Natalie have nothing. I know it. Jacob even told me so." Which wasn't technically a lie, but wasn't the full truth, either. You weren't about to let Sam know that, though.

"Did he?" Sam's amused expression deepens, and it angers you to no end. Sarcasm is tangible in his voice.

"Will you just listen to me!" you yell furiously, standing up from where you sat and clenching your fists at your side as to not accidentally throw a punch his way. "You have absolutely no clue how messed-up I feel right now, and it does no good to treat me like a fucking child! I know what I came here to talk about!" You're tempted to flail your arms around in the air to illustrate your frustration, but decide against it. "This is exactly what I was talking about when I said you were giving me shit." Sam relaxes in his seat, as though giving up on trying to humor you, and stares at you with an expression that plainly says if-I-weren't-this-mature-I-would-roll-my-eyes-at-you-right-now. And he doesn't interrupt you. But Emily does (who, under strange circumstances, had been sitting quietly throughout the entire conversation).

"I don't like the negative energy here right now," she pipes up simply, sounding so completely innocent and so completely human, that is almost calms you down (but it doesn't, not really). "Perhaps there's a civil way we can work this out."

"Tell that to him." You stab a finger at Sam.

Surprisingly, Emily does. "Sam, honey," she murmurs in a soothing tone, turning to face him, "I agree that you should listen to what Bella has to say. Leave all the yelling for later, please, but don't yell at Bella." Her face turns into a lopsided little grin, lighting up half of her unscarred face with hopefulness.

"Then I suggest you sit down, Bella," Sam says, glaring at you. You listen, not wanting to argue anymore. "I still haven't heard a proper question come out of your mouth yet."

"Right," you say, straightening your composure. "I guess I'll just get right down to it. I don't like talking to you any more than you like talking to me right now." You glower his way.

Sam just throws back his head and laughs.

"Anyway," you say loudly, interrupting his ridiculous guffaws. He quiets down instantly, professional look back in place. "I just happened to be wondering if there's a possibility that—that perhaps… imprints could be broken, or have been broken before."

The look of shock on Sam's face completely surprises you. Didn't he know this was what you were hinting at? Why does he look so staggered?

"I—that is—completely ridiculous—not even—possible—," he sputters, sounding completely stupefied.

Well, that was definitely something else.

"Sam," you say quite calmly, much more calmly than you believed Sam could pull off right now. "It was just a question. Don't be like that."

Sam takes one deep and shuddering breath, and his face is instantly back into the collected and professional mask of his—and, for once, you are glad to see it. You want him to take you seriously, just as he should. When he was wearing that expression, you were being taken seriously. You'd at least figured out that much from the strange and cold mask you used to hate so much.

"I really wish I could tell you otherwise, Bella," he says quietly, "or maybe I don't…" The last part is spoken under his breath, but you can hear. "But there's honestly no such thing possible. Not that I have ever known of, at least, although I am quite knowledgeable in this particular area. I made sure to do my research before it got too serious with Emily here." He grins in his imprint's general direction, and she smiles back shyly in response. "But imprints are otherworldly parts of nature—nothing that could ever be experienced by anyone else except for a werewolf. Much less common than one might think—in fact, you'll probably get three out of ten wolves that imprint on another person.

"So perhaps I'm missing something, but usually our Quileute ancestors would write down something so significant as a broken imprint…" He shakes his head again, disbelieving. "I'm sorry, Bella, but even if there were such thing, it would be next to impossible for it to ever happen again."

For a moment, you don't understand why he's so apologetic about it all. I mean, sure, it was awful news—but how could he have known that? Did he already know how much you wanted Jacob and Natalie's imprint to be broken? Were you really that see-through?

Flushing immensely at this sudden knowledge, you try to think of something clever in response to Sam's worried words. "I don't think—I mean—well, there's no need to apologize for anything, Sam." You try to chuckle good-naturedly to pretend to be unfazed, but it the chuckle comes out sounding a bit hysterical.

Sam looks at you uncertainly. "Are you quite sure, Bella? I know how much you dislike the whole imprinting business. You can ask me anything else if you need to."

You shake your head morosely. "No, I think that's pretty much it."

He studies you for a few seconds longer. "I truly am sorry, Bella—about the truth of broken imprints… and for yelling at you earlier." He rubs his neck sheepishly and looks comparatively calm to the previous two minutes. "I wish I had better news to tell you."

"Honestly, Sam; I don't want your apologies. Saying sorry doesn't do anything," you mumble, knowing your indifferent façade was now definitely see-through. "Although, in my case, I should be the one giving out apologies for yelling at you earlier… but… I guess there is just one more thing I am curious about."

"And what might that be, Bella?"

A wave of uncertainty comes over you so suddenly that you are tempted not to go ahead with your question. But you ask anyway. "Does… is Natalie… is she still, well, you know, in the dark?"

Sam looks down at his feet from where he sits, hesitating not one second. "Yeah," he mutters simply, sounding almost disappointed. "But I don't know how long that'll go on for. It's only a matter of time before she gets all curious as to where the hell Jacob goes off to at night and most of the day." He rumbles disapprovingly. "Jake hardly has a choice on what to say if she did ask that."

This surprises you. "And why would that be?"

"Imprints," Sam says, meeting your curious gaze again. "No matter what, Jacob can't just go straight out and lie to her face. It goes against all nature of an imprint. Whatever the imprintee wants to know, Jake'll have to give."

"Right," you say, trying not to let the pain in your chest become apparent in your facial expression. "That makes sense."

Sam stares at you with a wary look now, waiting for anything else you might have to say.

"Well, you mutter after a few seconds, "that's all I wanted to know, really. I guess—I guess I don't need to bother you anymore." You stand up resolutely and head for the door.

"Bella!" Emily's breathless voice comes from behind you. You turn around only to be greeted by two dark arms wrapped around your neck in the form of a bear hug. You smile sadly into Emily's hair, hugging her back with all the strength you could muster—which wasn't much.

"I enjoyed speaking with you," she says quietly as she pulls back to look at your face. No matter that you'd just been given some of the most awful news in your life—Emily was still content in being an all-around source of comfort and strength. Never before now had you noticed just what a wonderful person she really was—to the core. How could you have not seen that before? All this time, you thought you were alone, but here she was, all this time. Emily was definitely someone you could get along with quick and easily.

"I do hope you'll come again," Emily continues, her eyes flitting worriedly at your face.

"I—I can't promise anything," you stutter, feeling immensely guilty as you feel this might, indeed, be true.

Emily just nods resolutely and replies without hesitation. "I understand."

"Thank you," you whisper, and she hugs you once more. "For everything. I will visit as soon as time and circumstances allow me to."

Emily's grin grows wide. "That's great to know."

With that, you wave hasty goodbyes to both Sam and Emily and duck out the door in a rush, wondering what in the hell you just accomplished by visiting Sam (and Emily, definitely Emily, who you could now call your friend) and asking pointless questions that did not help your situation at all. So, what had you just done?

Well, it was what you'd come here to do.

And it hadn't given you much in return. If anything, it had degraded you of your original hope you'd felt at approaching the small, pleasant cottage in the middle of the forest. So as you retreated from the house and down along the path leading to your truck, your hope slips away. Every step you took from the sanctuary, your hope escaped along with it, falling behind you in painful ways that leave hyperventilating before you reach your car. But now you feel nothing—nothing at all.

And just before you can escape from the driveway to face the treacherous journey back home, a small car comes roaring down the dirt road behind you, pulling into the driveway haphazardly skidding to a stop not more than two feet from where your truck stands.

The driver of the screaming car kills the engine in a rush and jumps out frantically, a look of pure terror apparent in the atmosphere as she looks around herself, looking at everything save for you.

For the first time, she seems to notice your red truck sitting idly in the driveway, just on the verge of pulling out. She sees you sitting there and her hasty expression turns into that of being embarrassed as she meets your eyes. With a small smile making a significant difference to the frightened look on her face, she waves a tiny wave in your general direction, saying nothing. You don't say anything either. And all intentions of driving away before are now suddenly diminished.

Because, who stands before you now as though she'd just witnessed a murder of sorts, is none other than Natalie.

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