An Outing
La Push: July
The days in La Push felt endless; the clocks moved slower here, and time dripped like water. Perhaps it was how far removed La Push was from the bustling pace of neighbouring communities, or simply the feeling of belonging that had settled over me. Belonging for the first time in my life?
In the sickly hot air, I lean back on the outdoor swing. It was sun-stained now, but it made for a perfect seat to observe the woods. I loved watching the woods for signs of them. Often, they never strayed into my line of vision as they took this route during patrol. But sometimes they would appear momentarily between the trees. I always tried to pretend I couldn't see them, for fear they'd stop coming.
My sketch book lay open beside me, and I had been trying to sketch an outline of Paul in his wolf form mid-leap. The angles were frustratingly dull and couldn't quite capture the true magnificence of such a site.
I was falling behind with my work on the backdrops of the play and needed to cycle to school this morning to pull off an all-day session of painting.
Sitting out in the garden was far more alluring, allowing the sunshine to soak into my freckled face and warm me.
Sitting outside also didn't require changing out of my lounge-wear or attempting to do something with the lilac hair that was curling around my torso. A half-eaten box of cereal was to my side, and I took a handful of chocolate cheerios'. Crunching on the dry cereal, my stomach didn't feel like it was about to empty its contents over the lawn, which I took as a win.
I had gone back to sketching intently at the wolf on the page, willing it to life, when I noticed the battered truck rattling towards me. I gulped upon seeing Bella driving it.
Perhaps she wouldn't slow down and instead plough straight into me, squashing me under the tyres of the dilapidated truck. I suppose she would consider it putting me out of my misery.
I slammed the sketchbook shut and shoved it under the swing, unwilling to share this piece of treachery with anyone. It was one thing to know, another thing to draw the horrors in such painstaking detail. Preserving them for history.
Bella moved quickly, willing her gangly limbs towards me with nervous energy. She was here to finish what she started, perhaps.
"Hi," I said first.
"Why aren't you wearing your hearing aids?" Bella snapped immediately, noticing I was looking at her face a little too carefully, waiting to lip read.
"Sometimes the world is too loud," I shrugged flippantly, fumbling with a thread on my bottoms.
"Well, you should be wearing them, especially outside; what if something was to happen?" she began to talk in a worrisome panic, which only further irked me.
"I've got wolves that deal with that," I joked with a flippant hand. Even Bella managed a small twitch of her lip at that sarcastic comeback.
"Your hair. It's purple," she mumbled.
"Really, I hadn't noticed," I retorted, frowning.
"It looks nice," she clarified.
Bella turned her hand tightening around the car keys as she moved back towards the truck, making to leave.
"If you came to apologise, you should actually try and say the word sorry; it really helps!" I call her before she can open the door of the cab.
"But I accept your apology. I'm sorry to Bella," I admit. "But if you ever speak about me like that again, the friendship is over," I warn.
Her stare ices over my skin as we communicate non-verbally, assessing one another wordlessly.
"I didn't mean it, Immie," Bella admitted feebly. "I just hate that Paul has imprinted on you, and I don't trust him," she huffed, returning slowly back towards the house.
She doesn't dare sit next to me, like she is scared I might bite.
"I am just trying to be happy." I shrug, running a hand across my face.
"I know," she nods.
"I want the same for you, Bella," I add.
She nods wordlessly.
I shake the cereal box towards her, and she steps closer, taking out a delicate handful of cereal and coming to rest beside me on the swing. We both sit consumed by the silence of the morning, each working out what to say next.
"How much longer have we got now?" I asked, carefully picking up another handful of cereals and chewing on the chocolatey goodness.
"Not long," Bella admitted, and I knew she didn't want to meet my eye but had no choice but to in order for me to lip-read, screwing her out of hiding.
"Will he really do it?" I ask cautiously.
Bella nods again.
"You realise what the pack will do if they find out?" I question. Bella eyes me cautiously; her eyes dare me to expand. Daring me to suggest how they would find out before it occurs.
I don't bother probing that argument. It is already at the forefront of my mind; I need to decide who I will side with on this.
"We should throw you a wake," I tease, giving her a playful nudge. She allows me a half-smile, and I decide to push it further.
That's what I came here for, wasn't it? Originally, before I got sidetracked by Paul, I came here to help Bella tie up her loose ends and decide if she really didn't want to be human anymore. To make sure, she was sure that being human had nothing else to offer her.
"I'm not going to be dead," Bella husked in warning at my jabs. "I will be immortal, Imogene," she sighed, her eyes rolling.
"Humour me," I winked. "What about a bucket list? Before you, you know, kick the bucket?" I chuckle, and Bella's eyes look ready to bulge from their sockets.
I grab her hand before she can jump from the swing and head back at full throttle to the Forks.
"I'm being serious, Bella. You're still so young, and we have weeks now before your wedding, and who knows when I will see you again after that?" I add.
"Would it be so bad to make a list—a list of things you want to do with the last of your human days?" I suggest.
Bella is still looking unamused. Her face was a mask, void of joy.
"Isabella Marie Swan, we are so doing this," I tease.
The silence lulls, and I allow my thoughts to power forward with all the wild things I could suggest she does in the time we have left.
"I'm not sure I have anything to add to a bucket list," she concedes finally.
"That's what best friends are for!" I assure.
I reach for the sketch books and carefully peel off a slither of paper from the back, cautious to avoid Bella catching sight of any of the charcoal-smeared pages.
With my neatest handwriting, I title the page 'Bella's Bucket List' and look down, feeling rather pleased with myself.
"People never end up completing these lists," she hums in protest, prickling next to me.
I shrug and begin to form some appropriate bucket list suggestions.
Skinny dipping off the cliffs at La Push Beach, sleeping under the stars for a night, going on a road trip across states, trying a food I can't pronounce, and watching a horror movie marathon.
Bella is watching closely over my shoulder and reading my words carefully.
"I thought this was meant to be my bucket list." she questions.
"It is," I assure her, pressing the paper into her hand. "You're just a little slow," I tease.
Bella thumps my arm playfully, and I throw my head back and giggle at her sulkiness.
Making Bella complete this bucket list was going to be a challenge, to say the least!
OooO
A date.
That is what Emily initially called it on the landline, but she quickly realised her mistake with the silence that she was met with.
No, it was an 'outing'.
That made it sound better—less formal, no strings attached to an outing, right? A date meant you were looking to be in a relationship with the other person. A date presupposed a mutual attraction.
Sure, I wasn't delusional; I recognised quite strongly how strongly my feelings towards Paul were. I recognised the mutual attraction that was fizzing between us. But I wasn't sure I was ready to allow myself to fully come to terms with the idea of dating one another. That would mean accepting that this situation was normal.
It wasn't.
Imprinting had made falling in love work backwards.
The feelings the imprint stirred in my relationship to Paul were primal, ones that should have taken months to fester. It had bound us to a path that neither of us could stray from.
I looked away from the mirror, which was taunting me.
Dress nice, Emily had told me. I wanted to remind her that she'd been the one to imply this was an 'outing, not a date.
Still, I'd panicked and called Jennifer, who'd bunked class for the afternoon to come and thrust me into clothes in varying shades of purple and varying styles of inappropriate. I'd quickly put a stop to the fashion show and opted for a black sundress and matching Converse, which I thought was the least offensive shade with the lilac hair. It was pulled back into a fishtail braid; keeping it back was the most subtle way to manage its bold shade.
Jennifer told me it would wash out in a few weeks.
I fumbled in front of me, looking for a bobby pin and a comb to deal with my heavy fringe, which was disliking the clamminess of my skin.
I screech when I catch my reflection again. Body bins clutched between my teeth, I whirl around to berate Paul, who leans smugly against the door frame.
His eyes linger on the curves of the sundress skirt, and the slight swell of my breasts the dress tantalises.
I spit out four bobby pins into my hands before I can tell him off.
"Your early!" I complain.
My heart is erratic, and I know he can hear it beating like it's about to go into an arrhythmia that feels like it may explode my chest.
I looked him up and down, trying to determine where we were going based on his outfit choice. It was disappointingly unrevealing.
"I knew you'd be counting down the minutes," he winked, stepping forward. I stepped back, my legs hitting the bed frame.
I did a cursory glance around the room, checking for how many inappropriate items I'd left littered around the space. I wondered whether Paul had clocked the lingerie in the corner. I met his eyes, which were fixed on mine. Dam him. The smirk told me he knew exactly what I'd been checking for.
"I'm a little disappointed you didn't choose to wear those for tonight," he teased, eyes on the pink thong and bra set.
"Maybe you'll like the one I'm wearing right now better," I flirt back shamelessly.
"Who knows, perhaps I should find out," he drawled, his hand carefully reaching out to caress my hip, tracing where the top of my pants line fell. I sucked in a breath through my teeth as heat pooled south.
Paul, this close to me, in my bedroom, dressed in so many clothes—too many clothes—was making my mind delirious with wild fantasies.
He was in dark jeans; I'd never seen him in jeans, I realised, always shorts. A button-up shirt, not a t-shirt; I didn't know they made button-ups that wide. I was worried the buttons might pop off with one muscle flex.
I imagined my fingers fumbling with those buttons, slowly undoing each one.
"Are you ready for this?" he asks, and I realise his hand is still on me and has etched up to the small of my back, caressing there. My legs are still against the back of the bed frame, and it would take a small tap to push me down onto the mattress.
"Yes." I sigh breathlessly. The hum of energy between us is burning.
"We should make a move then," he suggests, and I realise he is talking about the 'outing', and I pull my mind from the gutter. Bad Imogen.
"We could stay in." He adds quietly, nudging me closer to him with a warm palm across my back.
"I promised Emily I wouldn't let you persuade me to do that," I confess sheepishly, and Paul barks a laugh. It tickles my insides.
"What a nice evening walk in the woodland; we could dance to those old records you love, and I make a mean spaghetti," he shrugged, and I wanted to sigh at the beautiful simplicity of it.
When I didn't answer because I didn't trust myself to reply, Paul led me silently to the truck.
"Where are we going?" I finally asked, bowing to the question that had been eating me up all day. "On our outing," I add with a blush.
"Just for dinner," he mumbles, starting the truck's engine and drowning out the rest of the words.
I doubted it was just dinner. Paul was working with other forces, the forces that went by the name of Emily Uley, and she was formidable when she wanted to be. I was screwed.
"Are we having pizza? I like pizza," I suggest as Paul drives us through the country lane. "Or are we going somewhere fancy? I would have worn heels; I should have asked that." I realise, allowing the thoughts to whirl.
"I thought you wouldn't mind where we went as you were up for the whole dating thing." He asks with a quirked, dark eyebrow.
"I'm not!" I snap back defensively. "If it were a date, it would mean we were dating, which we aren't."
"Yet," he smirks. The imprint jerks in agreement with him.
"Bella came over earlier," I inform, changing the subject on impulse to will him to stop talking about our impending relationships. But I realise quickly that this conversation is just as much of a stab in the gut.
Talking about Bella was dangerous because it reminded me of how, very soon, I may be forced to take a side. I wondered if Sam would task Paul with trying to manipulate information from me.
"Bella apologised," I add, watching the veins pulse in Paul's neck and his hands flex around the wheel.
"She's dangerous," was all Paul was willing to say, not meeting my eyes as he drove.
He was right, of course; Bella was very dangerous. Would the wolves kill me if they realised I had a role in breaking the treaty? Would Paul ever be able to forgive me for betraying his pack? Could I betray them?
I allowed the silence to echo hollowly between us, soaking up the self-wallowing nature of it. I could ask Paul to turn the truck around right now and drive me home. I could buy a ticket back to England and be on the next flight within twenty-four hours. I could leave this life behind and stop myself from hurting the people I cared for anymore.
"Do you want me to drive you home?" Paul asks as if he's just read my thoughts. The car idles at the red light, and I consider the question.
"No, I think we need to do this," I admit.
It was true; I did ache to be driven home, maybe for more than that. To go back in time and erase my shared history with Bella and all this has brought upon my life.
"No need to sound so positive, Princess," he teases, pulling a small smile from my lips.
"You know me," I giggle, bumping my shoulder with his.
"Will you tell me where we are going now?" I added in pleading, tugging at his arm and feeling the delicious warmth pulsing through his shirt.
"No!" he snapped as we moved on from the lights, and he took a series of turns.
"Fine," I frown, moving myself back to the far side of the cab, keeping a distance between us.
"Don't go getting prissy with me, Imogen," he warns.
"I'm not!" I cry hotly.
"You always get prissy," he complains.
"Shut up!" I hiss, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him.
"Whatever," he moans, pulling the truck to a stop in a small parking lot. The lot is empty except for two other cars.
A traditional American diner sat beside the parking lot, its glowing neon signs and red faux leather booths visible through the glass frontage.
"Seriously?" I ask hesitantly, trying to work out if he is winding me up.
I hadn't exactly gotten a vast set of experiences to compare this date with, but based on what Jennifer had divulged, you should expect your first date to be romantic, not an American diner.
"Not good enough for your standards, Princess?" Paul retorts, and I realise he's left the car and is opening my passenger door.
"I didn't say that!" I snap, sliding down from the seat and ignoring Paul's hiss as my body brushes against every sensitive part of his own.
"Liar," he hisses, tipping his head back to laugh.
I wait a few beats for him to walk across the tarmac before I follow.
"You love me really," I tease, grabbing at his splayed hand. The words are out of my mouth before I realise their implications.
"Do I?" He smirked, using my hand to pull me to his side. His eyebrows quirked.
"I think so," I admit shyly, my blush burning my exposed skin.
Paul's eyes drink me, running over my limbs, over my braided hair, the flowing dress, and the scuffed Converse.
His wink is enough to make me weak at the knees.
I am grateful for Paul's hand pulling me towards the entrance of the diner as we start talking again. I don't trust my legs to oblige after the look he gave me penetrated right into my soul.
"Next time we go on an outing, can I pick the place?" I ask as Paul holds open the door for me, and the smell of deep-fried food engulfs me.
"You haven't even finished this one yet, and you're already planning another," Paul mocks. "Someone is eager," he drawls, and I jab at his side.
"Did you make a reservation?" I ask, scanning the small dinner, which is empty of patrons.
Paul laughs at the stupidity of my question and shakes his head.
"Let's sit here," he suggests, tugging on my hand and leading me to a booth that overlooks the parking lot and is a safe distance from the smell of grease.
The table is clean, and the seats aren't sticky.
"I've never done this before," I admit, fiddling with the laminated menu.
Dating didn't really happen much for me because of my diagnosis. I was too busy coming to terms with an autoimmune condition to be able to pay much attention to attraction. It made me feel clunky around Paul, feeling wrong-footed at every turn.
"Me neither," Paul reveals, allowing me a snippet of information into his past. "I never had real relationships, just sex," he shrugs flippantly.
I tried not to allow the words to sting. The imprint recoiled with jealousy and the thought of Paul having been with other women. But Paul is a player, or so everyone told me. Or, I suppose, he used to be a player.
"I had everything ready for tonight; I wanted to take you down to First Beach, and we could have had a bonfire and eaten some food. But Emily thought that you wouldn't want that, that you would want a real date, so she told me to take you here." Paul confesses, his smile weak.
"I would have liked your date idea," I admit, setting the menu down and looking across from him, meeting those heart-stopping eyes.
"This isn't really me," I confess, looking around nervously.
"I concur with you," he laughs, "and ditto," he adds gesturing to his button-down shirt, which makes me giggle.
"But I think the other thought you deserved some normality," he said. The words implied a lot. What was going on between us wasn't normal. Paul could not offer me normality as a shapeshifter.
"It was the safest option; it would have ended up raining if we went to the beach," I tease, trying to soften the tension of the words shared between us.
"Jared suggested I take you to see a film after this, so I thought we could grab some food and then bounce," Paul suggests.
"How very traditional," I tease, hot air blowing out of my mouth in a sigh as I feel his leg brush against my own.
Paul smirks and picks up the menu, looking over it with a seriousness that only seems to come when the shapeshifters are around food.
"Anything taking your fancy?" I ask, looking for encouragement on what I should pick.
"Yes," he nods, seriously setting down the menu and leaning back. "She is sitting right across from me, I could eat her right up and she'd be begging me for more" he smirked.
"Paul!" I seethe the feeling of the blush erupting again. The imprint hums with delight at being wanted, and I curse it, feeling jaded.
A light cough pulls me back to the present, and a young lady stands holding a small notepad, looking expectantly between us. She was slightly built, her face a little wide in structure, and she was blushing almost as much as I was.
"Hi Paul, and you must be Imogen," she adds, turning to me shyly.
"Kim," Paul nods, his eyes not leaving my face.
"You guys ready to order?" She asks, her voice light and soft. The name clicks into my memory, and I realise this is Kim. Jared's girlfriend.
"Apparently Immie isn't on the menu tonight." Paul gestured towards me smoothly, and I batted his hand away in warning.
It only earned me another wink.
Kim looked mortified, her face hot, and the eye contact continued to be avoided. Who could blame her?
"Sorry, Paul doesn't have a filter," I admitted, giving Kim a gentle smile. "Dropped on his head at birth," I teased, and it was Paul's turn to be mock-offended.
"Please, could I order some fries, chicken dippers, and a strawberry milkshake?" I told Kim.
She moved her pencil quickly across her notebook.
"The usual," Paul ordered, his arms stretching out to rest against the top of the booth.
I watched the arm porn unabashedly as the shirt stretched against his biceps.
How would is feel to be on the other side of the booth right now, pressed up against Paul's side. I close my mouth realising I have been gaping at him in longing and quickly move to talk before he can comment on my staring.
"So, this is when you tell me about yourself," I tease, trying to imagine what a date should entail.
"Not much to tell," Paul shrugged broad shoulders in response.
"Well, it's going to be a long night then." I sighed dramatically, and Paul nudged my leg under the table again.
"I grew up out in Tacoma; you won't know where that is," he added, a laugh rubbing at the side of his face.
I stuck my tongue out, playful, at his insult to my geography skills.
"It's bigger than La Push," he added, trying to give the place some context. "But my parents split up when I was eight. It was for the best; it's hard growing up with parents who clearly despise each other.
They argued a lot; it was hard on Jennifer. They just split the custody down the middle. My dad took me back to his hometown, which was La Push, and Jennifer went with my Mom. We had limited contact over the years." Paul spoke slowly and thoughtfully. It was apparent this wasn't something he was used to discussing from the way it spilled out in quick succession. As if now, he had started saying it and couldn't stop.
"I shifted into the wolf when I was sixteen. I like it a lot. It's good to belong to something, to have a purpose," he said, looking away from me, his eyes lost in the distance. "I think I enjoy it a lot more than the others do. Maybe too much," he shrugged.
I allow myself a small smile.
Paul felt like the most temperamental of the wolves, or perhaps that was the wrong way of looking at it. Paul was the wildest of the pack; he was the most at one with the wolf.
"Your turn," he winked, breaking the intimacy between us.
"You already know about me." I shrug.
"Not everything," he disagrees.
The immediate reflex when asked about myself was to divulge my medical history. Too much time is spent in doctors' practices, and not enough time is spent with socialisation, I realise.
But I realise Paul does not need to know about that right now. Because although that was and is still a part of me, Paul wanted to know the pieces of me that remained that weren't defined by an illness.
It takes me another pause to consider what there is not to say about my story that isn't already interjected or tarnished by vampires, wolves, or medical issues.
While I'm lost in this train of thought, a phone vibrates, and Paul reaches into his pocket, frowning. He hits the reject button, moving it back into his pocket.
He nods silently, urging me to speak.
"I remember very little of being in La Push. We moved when I was still quite young for my adopted Father's studies and work. I was very privileged; I had a very sheltered childhood. Living in Oxford, I was able to have so many wonderful experiences, so much more than I would have had if I had grown up here with a single parent." I trailed off at the insistent vibrating from the mobile.
A conflicted look clouds Paul's face, and I turn to see Kim approaching with steaming trays laden with food.
"Answer it," I assure as Kim sets the food on the table. "It could be really important."
Kim looks between us carefully, as if she were questioning who would be calling.
Paul is speaking in thick Quileute, and I am surprised to hear him use the native tongue.
The conversation lasts mere seconds, but Paul's body language moves from cross to nervous jittery energy quickly. He is shaking, and I scan my eyes across the thick limbs, wondering how long he will last before the wolf erupts.
Paul is standing, and the phone is shoved into his back pocket.
"I have to go, right now," he says quickly. "Something's come up on the border."
I nod, and Kim gasps, moving back to the counter quickly, her thoughts clearly on Jared.
"Okay," I manage to say, looking down at the wasted food and considering how this was totally not on my list of options for how this night could have ended.
Paul has moved out of the booth and is pulling me with him to stand together. His limbs still shake, and I wait for the wolf's fur to cover his tanned skin.
Lips crash against mine as his hand firmly tugs my head towards him. He pulls my hair braid to deepen the kiss, and it stings in a delicious way that makes me groan, and my legs feel weak. I scratch at his neck as we kiss desperately, both yearning for more.
Paul's kiss stops as suddenly as it began, and I pant, trying to catch my breath. His lips dance smaller, gentler kisses across my forehead.
"Someone will come and pick you up. Stay here and don't you dare try to walk home!" he warns.
I watch the hulk of his body run for the door and flush.
"Stay out of the woods, Imogene," Paul adds as an afterthought as the door slams after him.
The imprint protests at his leaving, and I feel the urge to run after him. But I know where he is running; I would not be welcome. Nor would I be safe.
So much for normality.
I sink back into the booth and bite down on a steaming hot chip.
I watch as Paul pulls the button shirt up and off over his head, and I gawp at the muscles over his back as he throws it into the empty cab of the truck. In go his phones, shoes, and then... I am about ready to press my face against the glass when his trousers come off. All get thrown into the cab, and he is shifting, just like I'd tried to replicate in my art. My beautiful wolf is leaping through the parking lot, through the darkness, and into the night. I watch until he reaches the tree line and becomes invisible.
OooO
Paul's assurances that someone would come to collect me were false.
I waited, and I waited. I ate my meal in relative silence, trying to make conversation with Kim, but I knew I was keeping her from the closing-down procedures.
I allowed my mind to race through all the worse possibilities of why Paul had left.
What could have happened on the border that was so urgent? Could the Cullen's have done something to Bella? Or perhaps another vampire had crossed through the territory. In which case the wolves would hunt them.
I lay on my back, pressing my clammy skin against the red faux leather of the booth, and I listened to the hum of background music being played. It had been well over two hours since Paul had left.
Kim was frowning from the counter as she dialled and redialled Jared's number on repeat. Every time it went through to voicemail, she set her phone on the counter and returned to the kitchen to answer the calls from the manager.
No one else had come into the diner since I'd arrived, and it was clearly almost closing time.
Kim was taking off her apron, and the manager had come around to the register to start cashing up for the night.
"We are closing now, Imogene," Kim explained, coming to the booth, and I sat up, feeling an ache all the way through my limbs. "Do you need a lift home?"
The blood rushed to my head, which was upright, and I tried to think.
"No, I should be alright; someone will be here soon." I thanked Kim, who was looking a little sick with worry. Her phone was clenched in her hand, still waiting for a call.
I left the diner quietly, and the night air was cold against my skin. It stung at my bare arms, and I shivered as I padded towards Paul's truck.
Without thinking, I stood on my tiptoes and pulled the button down out of the open cab. It smelled delicious, and my insides squirmed as his scent filled my senses. Slipping my arms into the shirt, I wrapped it over my cool lips, folding the sleeves to a more manageable length. The shirt was almost as long as my dress, and I allowed it to bring comfort.
Pumps were slapping against the tarmac, and Kim rounded the truck, waving a phone at me animatedly.
"They're back!" she gasped. "Jared phoned; he's told me to take you to Sam's."
I nod mutely, agreeing to this.
I wasn't sure what I'd been hoping for, but a lift to Sam's was not quite what I'd imagined.
Kim led me to her car, and the drive to Uley's was not memorable. Kim wasn't the talking type and seemed especially awkward in the presence of a stranger. In fact, I was worse than that; I was a stranger with strange, purple fucking hair.
We kept talking about her school work, and neither of us allowed things to stray to the shapeshifters.
Bella has told me that Kim was besotted by Jared and hadn't seemed to even care about the other things that came with the imprint.
When we'd reached the Uley house, Kim had dropped me off and wheel-span the car in her rush to leave; clearly, Jared wasn't waiting for her here.
The cold was niggling in my bones, and I looked around the eerily quiet expanse of woodland and house before me. I was used to the smells of baking and the hum of activity spilling from the open door. However, the house felt stiff.
My hearing aids were making my ears ache, and I knew I'd had them in for far too long today.
"I never meant to cause you any sorrow; I never meant to cause you any pain." a voice chuckled, someone was tugging at my hip, and I whirled around. Jacob continued his terrible key singing. "I only wanted one time to see you laughing; I only want to see you laughing in the purple rain.
Purple rain Purple rain, purple rain Purple rain, purple rain, purple rain," he sang out of tune, and I recognised the Prince song as he lifted me up, spinning me around tauntingly. I squeal, slapping at his arms to put me down.
"Hello our beautiful Purple Rain," he retorted smoothly.
"What did you just call me?" I demanded looking around for his co-conspirators. Where was Paul?
"Purple Rain," he revealed with a laugh. "It's your new nickname, to match your hair," he began to explain.
"I know what it is," I said, seething and turning away from the oath. I began up the porch steps, silently desperate to find Paul.
"Oh, come on, Immie," he calls behind me, "it's only a joke!".
"Well, it's not very funny, your overgrown, bloody child," I screamed, turning and jabbing him in the chest.
"You and your oversized bunch of bloody dogs have ruined my date; I have been left waiting for over two hours and had to hitch a lift home with a practical stranger!" I cry, feeling close to tears as the exhaustion overwhelms me.
"A date, hey?" Jacob asked, lightly falling back into step with me as I knocked on the door that was closed.
"Is Paul okay?" I asked, ignoring the question.
Jacob shrugs flippantly and throws back the door, calling a greeting in announcement.
"Want Emily to knock you something up?" he asks.
"What's happened to Paul?" I demanded, ignoring his unsubtle change in topic.
"He's fine, just a little locked up," Jacob shrugged.
"Excuse me?" I demanded.
"He's just in a sticky situation," Jacob shrugged, dropping his shoulders lowly.
We haven't moved over the threshold. My fingers flexed around his firm bicep.
"Jacob, what happened?" I hiss.
"There was an incident," he said delicately, and I tensed.
"Speak, Jacob," I retorted, slapping his arm, willing the words out of the mouth.
"Paul got arrested," he spits out at last.
I can hear chairs scraping back, and I screech; it's animalistic and comes from something deep within. The imprint feels like it's tearing away from me.
Jacob's arms are steadying me, and I realise I am swaying with tears burning hot tracks down my face.
"It gets worse," he mumbles, unable to meet my waterlogged stare. "Embry was with him."
I slumped into Jacob's side, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of me.
Jacob is pulling me into the dimly lit kitchen, and someone is filling a kettle and settling it on the stove to boil. Jacob is kneeling in front of me, and I feel like I'm about to vomit.
"How did this happen?" I manage to croak between hiccuping sobs.
I clench my hands into the material of Paul's shirt that encases me, feeling another sob of panic rack through me. Both of them were arrested. In my terror, I don't process the shadows of other figures moving around the kitchen. I feel Emily sit beside me, her presence comforting as the rake's slender fingers cross the top of my head.
"Seth and Quil picked up the scent of a vampire on our side of the border. It wasn't the Cullen's. They alerted us and took chase. The vampire was close. We picked up another scent, and Embry and Paul went to follow up on it." He began, and I pressed him with begging eyes for more on the edge of my seat.
"They ran until they were a few towns out. But when they were chasing it, they went onto some private land. Some humans were close by; they could hear them, and the boys were forced to shift back. They got arrested for trespassing," Jacob explained, and my jaw hung slack.
I stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor.
"Where are you going?" Jacob demands as my unsteady legs make for the door.
"Where do you think?" I hiccup back.
I stumbled towards the exit, but a different man blocked my path.
"Immie, stop!" he commands, his jaw tense. "You don't even know where you are going," Sam warns already sensing my intentions to go and find them both.
I come to a halt, small sobs shaking my body. I want to shove Sam Uley to the floor and stamp into the woods, calling for Paul and Embry, as if that will bring them back to me.
An idea leaps into my mind. I turn sharply and round on Jacob.
"You can drive me to them!" I said hopefully, and Jacob shook his head vigorously.
"No, Immie, you just need to go home," he retorts, squashing my plan.
"Please, please Jacob," I beg. My heart is burning knowing my brother and Paul are imprisoned.
"Take her home," Sam commands Jacob, and Emily sighs as if knowing this isn't going to end well.
"My brother is not spending a night in a prison cell!" I snap back, my voice shrill. Neither was Paul, but they didn't need to know that. "It isn't for you to decide.".
The silence pulled around the room. Even my hiccuping sobs had stopped.
I could see the surprise tainting their dark eyes. I'd just disobeyed Alpha's orders. But I wasn't part of the pack, and I would not allow Sam to stop me.
"I am going, and that is final!" I say, stamping my foot, as if this will cement the decision. My voice is wavering on the bad side of hysterical.
"Now I suggest one of you drive me, or hell, I will walk!" I threaten sounding like a toddler, irrational, and out of control.
"You are not going, Imogen," Sam's retorts, widening his stance in the blocked doorway.
"Yes, I am," I say, looking at the shaking alpha. I guess he'd never been disobeyed before. "Now, if you don't mind, Sam, I have a lift to find," I snap.
In three strides, I am before the towering man, and my mind is screaming about just how stupid this is. I keep walking and don't stop until I slam straight into the older man's chest.
I hear gasps behind me, and I wonder how best to play this.
But the imprint is screaming at me to find Paul, and I can't let poor Embry be tarnished by prison. It would obliterate any chance of him re-building his relationship with his mother.
I crane my neck to stare daggers up into the alpha, unable to stop the hostility that has overcome me.
If the imprint made the wolves overly protective, then I guess it wasn't so made to think that it made their lovers just as irrational.
"Sam Uley I suggest you move out of my way this instance, or God be my witness, I will knock you into the next century and..." I break my venomous words as he steps aside from the doorway.
"Thank you," I say sarcastically, and I turn to pull a reluctant Jacob towards the door.
"Immie I can't drive you," Jacob mumbles, pulling away from my grip as we dance on the porch.
"Fine," I snap in frustration.
"Fine, have it that way; you can all go and fuck yourselves. I am sick and tired of this pathetic game. I am done with all this! You claim to be a family, and yet you are happy to let Paul and Embry sit and rot in a prison cell. Not even being there to defend them!" I wail the tears back again.
I was a balloon. I was filled with air, pumped to the bursting point. I had popped and was off whizzing around the room, like an explosion of emotion. There was no stopping me. It would have to be released.
Emily tried to approach me with her own face wet with tears as she looked at my pained face with understanding. But I was done. I let Jacob's abandonment sting, and I turned for the doorway and made sure to do exactly what Paul had told me not to do. I wanted to go into the woods, the only place I felt might be able to calm me.
"Sit the hell down, Imogen," a voice warns from outside.
"Paul," a softer voice scolds, and I spring out onto the porch steps. My hands paw at the tears, and I gasp in delight at the sight of them both.
"Embry!" I cry in relief, catching sight of his frame behind Paul. I launch myself down the steps and into my brother, crushing him with relief.
"Immie, what's happened?" Embry asks, holding me back and looking at my blotched, tear-stained face.
But I am hiccuping sobs again, the words unspeakable.
I turn to Paul, my hand still on Embry, as if worried he might vanish again.
Paul looked exhausted; his eyes were lidded, and his hair was dishevelled.
The imprint wanted to whirl at him, to tell him how worried I was and how sacred I was that he was gone.
"Why are you crying?" Paul demands, palming his tiered face. I just hiccuped in reply, tears thick. He stepped forward, grabbing my chin and brushing away my calloused fingers. I transferred myself onto him then as I clung to him with relief.
"Why the fuck is she crying?" Paul's voice was so primal and rough it almost shook the very ground we stood on as he directed it up towards the group collected into the house, and no one dared to answer.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, reviews are so welcome so please do leave one, they really help with the writing process and the direction I might take the story in, thank you!