Pulling Strings

La Push: June

I should be meeting with the drama teacher to discuss the set painting right now. Yet, as luck would have it, I was trapped in a room with Paul and Embry. My creative energy was drenched in cold water as we waited for the headmaster to return to lecture us with our guardian present.

I had messed up this opportunity before it had even happened. I wouldn't be contacting the school board for a reference any time in the future.

Paul was growing more agitated by the second and had now managed to precariously rock the wooden chair back, so it rested on two legs. I told him to tip it right back so he would fall off.

I had not provided Paul with the entertainment he'd hoped for when I hadn't risen to the bait of his teasing.

Embry proved equally disappointing as he lay hunched over himself, snoring like a bear. His oversized limbs crumpled up on the office chair.

The room was stuffy, but I dared not open a window out of fear that the wood might splinter at touch. It looked like it had seen better days.

"Why were you hanging out with him?" Paul questions his chair, dropping on all four legs.

"Who?" I was confused. "Oh, Adriel?" I add.

"Yeah, that prick," Paul frowns back, crossing his arms.

"Paul, get over yourself. I can talk to whoever I want to," I scold, turning in the chair to meet his stare.

"He is playing with you," he rebuts.

"And you aren't?" I question.

"My and Adriels end goals involving you are very different," he retorts, still frowning.

"I know you think you're protecting me, but I'll be straight with you, Paul. Who I choose to socialise with has nothing to do with you," I throw back.

"It has everything to do with me; if it involves someone that is going to hurt you," he growls back, the wolf making his eyes glint with darkness again. I smile to myself at the thought of him morphing into a wolf right here in the office. It would certainly changing the topic of conversation away from me being the new girl.

"You have to stop!" I warn. "I am just trying to make some friends around here."

"I told you we could be friends. I want to be more than friends. But I could settle for friends, if that's all you want," he husks, his eyes still so animal-like that I wonder how the imprint pulls at his emotions.

"I told you my thoughts on the matter," I mutter, pulling at a thread on my dress, my skin prickling.

"But we could try, couldn't we? We could go out. It doesn't have to be a date, but I could take you out and we could try, you know," he trails off at my stare.

"I don't think that's a good idea." I shake my head firmly, willing my mind not to be overtaken by the imprints will.

"Let me take you out, not for a date; I know you don't want that, but let me take you out this week for dinner," he shot out. "As friends," he said, speaking the last word as if it caused him physical pain.

"Will it make you shut up?" I question.

Paul laughs so loudly, Embry bolts awake, like he's just been electrocuted.

"I take that as a yes then; I knew you'd see the benefits of this arrangement," he smirked, giving me a heart-stopping wink.

Embry's stare snaps between us in wonder.

"If you let your ego get any more inflated, Paul, you won't fit through the doorway," I tease.

Paul's retort is broken by the door opening and the Headteacher returning. I almost cried out at him with relief. Anything to get me away from Paul.

It is the man who follows behind the Headmaster that has me remaining firmly in my chair.

Sam Uley.
What the hell?

I don't know who I was anticipating as the guardian for the three of us, but Sam certainly wasn't it. Charlie was down as my emergency contact. Sam had nothing to do with me and should not have been called my guardian.

"Afternoon, Immie," Sam booms from the doorway, not crossing over the freshold, thankfully. I was beginning to panic at the thought of anyone else trying to squeeze themselves into the space.

"Hi Sam," I manage weakly, my face hot with embarrassment from today's events.

"I have spoken with the Headmaster; he appreciates that this situation is a misunderstanding," Sam explains slowly. I wonder how much trouble Paul will be in for summoning Sam to the high school.

"Yes, yes," the headmaster agrees, waving a dismissive hand. "You are all very lucky this won't be going onto your records. However, you are all to go straight from here to detention for the evening."

I gasped at the word detention. I was a model student back home and had never been reprimanded before like this.

"Imogene I would like to speak with you briefly," the Headmaster adds, and Paul's jaw tenses.

"Paul, Embry..." Sam beckons from the doorway, and I feel the pangs of anxiety festering inside as they close the office door.

The teacher perches on the edge of the desk, looking down rimmed glasses with a scowl. I shift, tightening my fingers around the arms of the chair.

"I trust you won't make a habit of this, Imogene. You have a wonderful opportunity to aid the school with your talents this summer. I would hate for the crowd around you to influence you poorly. I want my best for all the students here, even the ones that throw food at me," he assures.

"But I must stress again; be wary of the company you choose to keep," he adds, and I wonder how much he knows of the pack. Enough that Sam could pull enough strings that we only landed a detention.

With his dismissal, I launch myself from the chair, eager to be free from this prison.

As I bustle down the corridor, I spot the restrooms and dash into them for cover, managing to steady my shaking limbs on the sink. The school seems silent, and I realise school has finished for the day.

I run the tap on cold and let the water splash on my wrists at the pulse point as I calm myself.

I was not a girl who got detentions. My adopted parents would be furious if they found out. If I had pulled a similar stunt at my old school, I'd have been given a suspension.

What sort of control did Sam Uley have over the reservation? I'd clearly underestimated the impact the Elders and Sam were able to have over La Push.

I shut off the water and take a deep breath. I can do this.

Shaking the water from my hands, I sling my bag over my shoulder and step out into the corridor to find three shapeshifters waiting for me.

Okay, maybe I couldn't do this.

Sam's glare stops me from retreating into the restroom, and I am fixed to the spot. Embry and Paul look sheepish, and I realise Sam is furious.

"I was just saying to Paul and Embry that I do not expect to be called up here again. You have reputations to uphold, and you, Imogene, have a responsibility to complete what you started by signing up for this. You cannot do that by getting yourself kicked off the site," he warns.

"I don't know what overcame me," I lied. "I promise it won't happen again, Sam," I quickly assured.

"Well, I'm just glad we were able to make sure it didn't get taken any further." Sam frowns. "Right, get out of my sight, a lot of you," he sighs half-halfheartedly with a small smile playing about his mouth. Sam clearly remembered what it was like to be young.

OooO

Paul and Embry led me in silence to the detention room, clearly well versed in how this proceeded. Neither went to take a seat but rather eyed the snoozing teacher and shared a knowing smile.

I copied them as they signed their names on the register, and I took an empty desk. I had twenty to choose from.

"You don't actually think we are staying, do you?" Paul laughed, looking at me like I had just grown a second head.

My eyebrows quirk.

"That is why they call it detention; you know, you're meant to stay," I defend.

"Well, you can stay if you want." Embry shrugs, already stepping towards the doorway, making a break for it. "But once you've signed your name, pretty much everyone leaves."

I eye Embry with suspicion.

"And you'd know all about that, would you?" I accuse.

"We would actually," Paul smirked.

"Now you can stay." Embry shrugs, opening the door. "Or you can have some sense and come with us," he jerks a hand to the corridor.

My back aches, and the idea of getting to go home and get a hot shower sends waves of pleasure through me. But I was in enough trouble as it was, and if I was caught bunking off, I didn't see that improving my situation.

"I'm staying," I announce stubbornly.

Embry groans theatrically, rubbing his face in frustration.

"Don't be a drag, Imogene," Paul prompts. "Take a god-dam risk."

"You can't just go about life making up your own rules, Paul," I counter.

He huffs at me and steps into the corridor. I recoil at the realisation that he has willing left me here. Alone.

But then this was what I wanted, wasn't it? I'd told Paul I didn't want to be his friend. I'd told him to stay away from me. So how could I be angry with him when he did exactly as I asked?

"I guess you're going too?" I snap at Embry, the abandonment riling me.

"We have patrol, Immie," he shrugs, kicking out at the door-frame.

"Fine then," I shrug, busying myself with pulling out a sketch pad and charcoal sticks.

The abandonment stung, and I blinked away the tears that welled in my eyes. The classroom was almost silent, apart from the ticking of the clock and the subtle snores of the sleeping teacher.

I opened my sketchbook and allowed my dreams to project onto the paper. I dreamt vividly, especially recently. The doctor had suggested it was a side effect of the medication I was on. But I knew deep inside my temporal lobe, my brain delighted in tormenting me with the most vivid dream.

Marking in charcoal was one of my preferred forms. I felt out of practice. There had been a period during the height of my illness where I hadn't been able to hold a pencil, let alone make my art. But today, my hand moved like an extension of the visions that tormented me. I filled pages with grey sketches, Bella with eyes that would be blood red, and Paul in his wolf form leaping towards me. Teeth, blood, and black eyes.

I gasped, dropping the charcoal.

My hands are smeared in the black powder like blood.

The teacher doesn't stir from the chair.

My breathing is heavy, and I cringe as I take in what I have drawn.

The images that have haunted my dreams are etched across the paper, bringing the nightmares to life.

I slam the sketchbook closed and push it away from me, like touching it may awaken the darkness that is captured across it.

I was living in a real-life fairy-tale, with vampires, wolves, damsels, and villains, with true love and happily ever after. With curses and riddles. I hadn't quite worked out which character I was set to play. But I felt like I was a puppet for a fate already playing out.

As soon as the clock hit the hour, I gathered my items and strode from the room without hesitation.

The parking lot was empty, and the weather was horrible. The humidity of the morning held, but it brought thunderstorms with it for the evening. The rain was unrelenting as I made my way across the parking lot.

I walked the entire way back to the bungalow alone. Dusk was falling, and I stomped through puddles, cursing the Pack with every step.

My legs chaffed with every step as the dress clung to my skin, and my body ached down to the bone. I'm not sure if it was determination or stupidity that made me manage the walk, but I was almost crawling down the driveway just before night fell.

I reminded myself that I needed to organise some form of transport as the Wolves were not to be relied upon.

OooO

The roof in the glass room sounded like it would shatter at any moment. The rain pounded against the glass like bullets and showed no signs of easing.

A pizza I'd managed to burn sat sodden on the grass outside, having been thrown, still smoking from the kitchen window. I was doing no better than Embry at this point.

The stench of burnt cheese didn't pass, and I doubted whether, with the air freshener I sprayed, the smell would ever be masked.

I relished the silence of the house. It was a short-lived moment of bliss for it to be empty. Embry was staying here on an almost weekly basis, and it made the house full of life. But given my foul mood, I was not in the mood for guests.

Having gotten home, I had showered for what felt like hours, desperate to soothe the aches in my limbs. Having to forgo the pizza, I skipped straight to dessert and managed to eat my way through a tub of Ben & Jerrys. I told myself it was because I couldn't take prescription medication on an empty stomach. But I knew it was more to try and soothe the ache in my heart.

I felt rejection, and it wasn't sitting well with me.

The medication was making me feel woozy now, and I wondered if I should put myself in bed before I collapsed on the sofa. I needed to rinse off the stupid hair mask I'd used to try and repair the damage the rain and humidity had caused to my hair.

The packaging claimed to'rejuvenate dry, damaged hair, restoring it to its dazzling form'. I didn't feel rejuvenated, and certainly it didn't seem dazzling from the way it was setting in a deep shade of green on top of my head. It smelled like cats' urine and held my hair in place on my head like treacle.

What wonderful timing for the evening with the sounding of the door!

I hoped it was Embry. I was still angry at him, but it suited any other alternative visitor.

The hair has made me hesitate for a moment, but the knocking sounds are louder and more persistent than the first time.

I scowl so hard that it makes my head pulse in pain as I set my eyes on him. "Oh, it's you," I grumble.

"Can I come in?" Paul asks, and I want to laugh and remind him that he doesn't usually make a habit of asking.

My heart does not pulsate, nor does the coil between us tug. Instead, my body swirls with anger; it seems even the imprint is cross with Paul. Interesting.

"No!" I snapped, jutting my chin out and slamming the door.

It catches on his overly large foot, which is bare and caked in mud. His eyes have a half-wild look in them, and his shorts aren't even buttoned up.

I glare at him, inhaling sharply through my nose.

"If looks could kill..." he laughs and runs a hand through his sodden hair. It is slicked down, and it spikes up as his fingers run through it.

I guess he must have just finished patrol.

"Then you'd be dead, and I wouldn't be in this mess. Now if you'd kindly remove your foot!" I exclaim, giving the door another push into his foot. I think I have a better chance of splitting the wood of the door before I manage to do any damage to him.

"Imogene," he pleads, beginning to pry the door open. "I've come to tell you I'm sorry."

My hand falls slack, and I step back, allowing him into the hallway. I wasn't expecting an apology. We don't move further into the house, and the doorway creaks as the wind swings it back.

His muddy footprints will mark the floor, but I don't say a word. The anger instead swells within me as I replay the afternoon.

The silence pulses between us, and I can see Paul's lips twitch with the impulse to break it.

"What the fuck have you got in your hair?" he asks.

I suppose the stench of the cat's urine has assaulted his nostrils, or it's changed a different colour.

"A hair mask," I snap back.

"I hope that wasn't for my benefit," he teases, and I blush.

But the imprint reminds me that he abandoned me. Paul left me in detention, and I walked all the way home alone in the storm. It feels like a stab in the gut, and it reminds me just exactly what his rejection felt like.

I'm unnerved by these feelings. I thought imprints were unbreakable love and lust. But clearly, imprints do not like being pushed away.

"I thought I should look my best for Adriel tomorrow," I lie.

Paul's gaze is blank. For a moment, I decide it's because he is thinking of a suitable rebuff. But then I realise it's because he is about to shift. The wolf's eyes are almost slits as he turns and launches himself down the steps.

He cannon rolls through the air, and I scream, expecting him to crash face first into the dirt.

But his body shakes, his clothes tear from his skin, and fur encases him. Its magnificent. Terrifying. But truly breathtaking to watch the speed and strength of the movement.

The wolf hits the ground gracefully with a force that seems to shake the bungalow.

"I was joking, Paul!" I cry running barefoot after him nearly falling down the steps in my haste. The medication was really beginning to take effect. "Paul, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!" I cry again, reaching towards the growling beast.

The imprint is back now, yelling in my blood to do something, anything, to stop him from leaving. I lurch forward, trying to grab at his grey fur, willing him to stay.

But he snarls, turning and running for the tree line before I can even get within touching distance.

OooO

I had a heavy dose of medication that night. One I haven't had in a few months; the concoction of medicine makes my head pulse, and I wake up dripping in sweat and shaking. I had dreamt about wolves fighting on the clearing outside the bungalow. Teeth ripping through flesh, blood on the grass, and my screams.

It is still dark outside, and I wonder if Embry is out patrolling the woods, tracking the border for signs of vampires entering La Push territory.

I take a cold shower that soothes my feverish skin.

When I was first given my diagnosis, I was assured that it was a positive outcome and that it would allow me to move on to the next chapter of my life.

It didn't feel like that for me, though; it felt as if the weight I'd been carrying for months had finally crushed me beneath it.

No one around me could understand why it made me feel so broken.

I couldn't accept the diagnosis; I couldn't stand the thought that this would be the rest of my life. It was a startlingly scary concept. I fumbled around aimlessly for months afterwards, trying to find who I used to be. To piece together a person from the broken pieces that remained.

But the harsh truth was that this diagnosis wasn't really just that. Being diagnosed was so much more than a label.

Despite the do-gooders telling me I couldn't allow my illness to define me, I had to disagree. Because for what it's worth, I am my diagnosis. I am everything it has shaped me to be; it has defined my future and altered my view.

This condition goes away, but it always comes back. I think that is one of the most mentally draining aspects of it: the waiting.

You can try everything, from herbal remedies to operations, but it is always there, just under the surface.

Life goes on, and the world continues around you. Even though you feel like you're drowning under the weight of the strain, you eventually break the surface and find a way to float.

I leave the bathroom feeling more alert. My head aches, and I leave the hearing aids off, giving myself some rest. I make myself a herbal tea and take it into the glass room, which is pooled in darkness. The only light comes from the stunning array of silver stars dusting the night sky.

Embry is sitting in the darkness, and I scream like I did the first night we met.

His breath is haggard, and his eyes are dropping under the strain that seems to be taking him to keep them open.

He looks up guiltily at me.

I shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of how to proceed.

"You shouldn't be here," I mumble. Without my hearing aids, my own voice sounds like I'm underwater in my ears.

"I think it's best if you don't stay here right now, I'm not great around company when I'm poorly" I add uncomfortably. The last thing I needed was Embry being around if my body was flaring up.

"My Mom has kicked me out," he shrugs. It is the first sentence he has strung together, and it was pronounced perfectly. Each word was emphasised and said at just the right pace for me to lip-read.

I gulp, trying to push away the flood of emotions that such a simple act has evoked. I can't imagine the pain that rejection must have caused him. I knew there relationship was fraught, but I never expected her to kick him out.

"Well then, I suppose you had better stay" I whisper. "There are fresh sheets on the spare bed," I add.

Embry doesn't even manage a response. I allow myself to walk closer, and when he still doesn't move, I sink slowly onto the sofa beside him and embrace him gently. Mindful of the own ache within my limbs.

His face is damp with tears, and I remind myself of how young he still is. How much of life he still must see and how much he must be hurting from his Mother's rejection.