From now on I am not posting a chapter until I get at least five reviews. I thought if I left you all alone about it you would do it eventually, but no. I'm doing this to better my writing, but I cannot do that without feedback. I spend a lot of my time working on this story and it feels like I am wasting my time when people won't even review it. In eight chapters, only two different people have reviewed which is ridiculous. I'm sorry to the two people who have been reviewing because now you won't get updates as fast. I only continued posting chapters because of you two. Thank you both for reviewing when no one else would.

Comments:

ThisIsHope: Thanks for the review! There's actually a little bit more about the breathing thing in this chapter. ;)

Lizzy's POV

I fall into a sort of depressive state after learning the truth of the flower charm. I wanted to yank my bracelet off and scream at the world; but the bracelet will never come off, and no matter how loud I yell the world will never hear me. I'm not sure how long it took to pull myself together. Time doesn't really matter when you're dead. I have nothing to keep track of.

I decide to find Paul once I've pulled myself together, laughing as I watch the fluffy red creatures play mischief on a man, turning on his blinkers every few minutes. I watch as children pass me, their happy screams echoing down the road. None of them can see me, but that doesn't bother me this time because I'm going to see Paul. It takes a bit to find him. He's at a diner, talking to a woman with chocolate brown hair pulled up in a messy bun and a country accent. You don't hear that accent up here much. In fact, it's the first time I heard it in this part of the country at all. It takes him a moment to notice me, but when he does it's obvious. Shock makes his jaw drop and he hurries to drop a tip and pay at the cash register.

"Where have you been?" he whisper yells, turning towards the forest to have our conversation. His pack may think he's crazy, but that doesn't mean he wants the whole reservation to think that.

His question leaves me feeling odd, so I skip it as if I never heard it. "How have you been Paul?"

"How have I- are you really that out of it to be asking me questions like that? Lizzy, you've been gone for almost a month."

I blink, my eyebrows raising with the motion. A month? I didn't think I was gone for more than a week. I change my expression, not wanting Paul to know how much this bothers me. He's more receptive than I thought because he drops the subject.

"I've got something to tell you about the last charm on your wrist." Excitement coats his voice, but that doesn't beat back the dread I feel. I know what this charm is. It's meant to taunt me with something I'll never have. A reminder of a dumb decision, and what happens when you don't listen to good advice.

"Let's not worry about that Paul," I say softly, turning my gaze away from him. After learning what the flower meant I have no wish to know what the last symbol means.

"But it's good news. I think it means that one day you'll be alive again."

My foot is unsteady on the next step, almost tripping. "Do you?" I keep my tone light and slightly curious, as if talking about the weather or something equally mundane.

"Yes! It has to be!" I can tell he truly believes this.

I ponder his words. My physical body is already in the ground. It's been there for almost four decades. I'd be surprised if anything more than bones sat there now. No, life is not possible.

But maybe it's a different type of life.

"It might mean what you think it does Paul, or maybe it means I will find life in death. A real death." Giddiness fills me, and I grin. But his smile waivers as mine grows. "What?" If my soul is put to rest I can be free. I won't be stuck here anymore. Doesn't he understand this?

"You can't die." It's a stubborn statement, one a child would say when someone attempts to challenge a conviction they refuse to believe otherwise.

"Paul, I'm already dead. I've been dead for a long time."

"But that doesn't make sense. There has to be a reason. There has to be." The words are whispered, as if meant only for his ears.

"A reason for what? To keep me on this Earth? I think not. I have no unfinished business, nothing that needs to be done."

"Maybe it's not for you though." His conclusion startles me. I turn my head to his and our eyes meet. That feeling runs through me, the one that sometimes happens when our eyes lock. I can't make sense of it, so I always ignore it.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that maybe it's not you that keeps you here, maybe it's someone else."

"I know who keeps me here." The words are bitter, like lemon juice that pools on my tongue. That woman keeps me here, and she always will.

"No, I mean maybe somebody needs you. Someone here." He stomps in front of me in an attempt to gain my full attention. We both know that this can't stop me, but my feet stop anyways. "Think about it. That wolf falls off when you meet me, and I'm a spirit warrior in the shape of a wolf. How many wolf shifter's do you think there are? Plus, that last symbol is a word in Quileute. It means life."

I do not need breath, it does nothing for me. Sometimes I breathe just because it feels odd not to, almost as if breathing is ingrained into my very being. But I stop breathing then. It doesn't hurt, but it's an uncomfortable feeling.

Life. It means life in Quileute. What are the odds? My advice I just gave myself minutes ago hit me in the face.

Listen to good advice when you hear it.

I smile, and he returns one. There's a skip in his step, and he begins to go on and on about what it would be like for me to be alive. I go along with it, nodding at the right moments and keeping my happy demeanor for him.

He thinks it means life for me, that I can somehow magically come back from the dead after saving someone and walk this Earth once more. But I know better.

It's for him.

The charm falling off for him backs up my reasoning. There are other shifter's around, seven to be exact, but it fell off for him. There will be no fairy tail ending for me. I never had one when I was alive and I won't have one in death either. It's glaringly obvious I'm in that small percent that horrible things happen to, the percent no one thinks they will be a part of until it happens to them.

After that I guard Paul with an almost vengeance. I barely give him time to himself, and he doesn't seem to mind. Something has changed in him since I left. It's made him happier and brighter than I've ever seen him. I guard him like a watch dog as he runs his laps around the reservation. I'm not sure what I would do if he meets a vampire, but there has to be something. Life couldn't be that cruel, could it? Not to him. I refuse to believe otherwise.

I find irony in this situation. He is a protector of his people, but I am a protector of him.

At least I like to think so.

He studies Quileute in his spare time now. I'm beginning to learn a few words myself because of that. He says he's finally found something he's passionate about, and I'm happy for him. I could tell he was struggling before, but now he's found his way. He likes to place the crinkled and dusty volumes in front of me and ask me to quiz him. I do, and he writes out each symbol with care. He seems to have fun doing it, and said that after he began to get the hang of it that it's easier than English. None of it looks easy to me, but I keep my comments to myself.

Sometimes I see Claire. She's here often for a little girl that is from a different tribe. Sam's girlfriend, Emily, is her Aunt so maybe that is why. When I mentioned how much Claire comes to visit to Paul he had an odd look on his face, before explaining what an imprint was. It sounded so mythical, like the princess stories little girls get read to in their youth.

I found it romantic. Sort of like it was the wolves reward for giving their life for their people. I told Paul that and he snorted, saying it wasn't that simple. Imprints are complicated, and not all of them are happy to get imprinted on. Some wolves have dated their imprints family members before, ruining relationships. One imprint is much too young. I asked him about that and after a moment of hesitance he admitted that Claire is Quil's imprint. It took me a moment to wrap my head around that. When he brought up imprints after my initial question about Claire I should have connected the dots, but I didn't.

What makes Claire and Quil so compatible? There's a fourteen year gap between them. With Jared and Kim it was obvious. Kim helps calm Jared and his spastic ways, and Emily helps Sam shoulder his responsibility.

But Claire and Quil?

Maybe Claire is too young to decide. I'm sure fate or the Quileute spirits wouldn't make such a mistake. The age gap is daunting to say the least, but when I watch him with her it's obvious he would do anything to protect her. She loves him, and thinks of him as her best friend and protector. When Claire desires something from the other wolves, or feels like something is unfair, she always calls to Quil; and no matter how daunting it may be to go against that wolf he always does it for her. The other day Paul sneaked one of Claire's muffins and Claire noticed. Quil swallowed hard when he realized Claire had called him because of Paul, but remained strong. I could see in Paul's eyes that he wasn't going to make this easy, nor was he going to eat it and make her cry.

My laugh was the deciding factor. It distracted him enough that he lost focus and Quil grabbed it in Paul's moment of weakness. Triumphant, Quil marched over to Claire with a bow presented her with the slightly smushed muffin. Claire didn't seem to notice its mused state, wrapping her arms around Quil with a girlish squeal and shoving the muffin into her mouth. She stuck her tongue out at Paul as they walked into the house, and to her confusion Paul gave her a wink in return.

The seasons pass and the only thing I seem to be aware of is Paul. I watch Claire, but not like I do Paul. I could have real conversations with him. I told him all my wishes I had in life, and he told me his in return. I told him about death, and answered all the questions I could. We whispered into the night, trading stories and secrets like valuable currency. Paul is a real friend, and I haven't had one of those in a very long time.

Sometimes he makes me wish that I was alive, but I always banish those thoughts in my head. If I didn't they would torture me, make me go mad with want. I accepted long ago that I would never walk Earth with breath in my lungs, and there's no point revisiting that fact.

One day Sam called all of the pack, announcing a war. I could only stare straight ahead, attempting to keep myself together but feeling as if I would burst. Could I protect him in a war?

My worry was for naught when I saw just how skilled he is at dismantling vampires. He didn't get one scratch, and I felt a surge of pride at the fact.

We continued on as we had, with me wrapped in the bubble that is Paul. I admired him for his strength and passion. I never had so much passion in life. I was more of a doormat, always willing to lose an argument if that meant not holding grudges against another no matter how I felt about the subject. I do annoy people for amusement, there's not much to do when you're dead, but whenever I can tell a person is seriously bothered I stop. I feel like harmony is best, and I do not like to argue. Even death has not changed that about me.

But Paul is passion incarnated. When he feels, he truly feels. His beliefs are firm, and it's very hard to turn him from them. He never doubts himself, and he's just so strong. Both physically and mentally. I wish I was more like him, but I know I'd never be able to. Being passionate does not always mean keeping the peace, sometimes it's about rocking the boat and sinking a bit; and sometimes it's about sinking others.

Paul began to become the go-to guy when it came to legends and tribal history. Paul soaked up the knowledge, desperate for it like a parched man thirsts for water. His hunger for all things Quileute never ended, and when he ran out of material to study at the library he went to Billy Black. Billy Black is a tribal elder and orator. He knows all the legends, some which are not even written. Billy Black would peer at Paul with a secret understanding in his eyes, and I realized what Billy was training him to do before Paul even realized it.

Billy always thought it would be his son who would teach the next generation of Quileute's and be the next orator, but instead it ended up being Paul.

Paul still doesn't realize it, but I do. He'll know one day.