Chapter - 1
I felt a little dead as I stared out of the small window of the plane, clouds growing bigger and darker as we neared our destination. Dead and numb. As I gazed at the clouds mindlessly, I forced myself to not think about anything else. I tried not to think about my father sitting next to me, sound asleep, mouth a little ajar. I tried not to think about how much I despised him. I tried not to think about how terrified I was of moving to a new country, to a state I didn't even know existed until two weeks ago. I tried not to think about my mother and sister, left behind in our house, in our country. I tried not to think about how wrong all of this felt.
But, in my concerted effort to not think about anything, I was ruminating about everything.
I tried to muster a little excitement about what was to come. A new life, a new beginning, isn't that what I had longed for? Of course, I never imagined my new beginning would take me to a rainy little reservation with my miserable father.
I had begged my father vehemently to reconsider moving to the reservation. "Can't we just move to Forks, instead? Why do you want to insert yourself into a tribal neighbourhood? Don't you realise how tight-knit such communities are? They will be so uncomfortable having us there!", I had pitifully argued. It is a truth that continues to scare me to no end.
The population of La Push was no more than about four to five hundred people. I vividly remember the wave of terror that had clawed up my spine when I'd first googled it a few days ago. My family had absolutely no tribal origins or even associations. We have a lot of tribes where I come from - a small country in South America - but I, personally, and now rather unfortunately, do not belong to any of them. Had I been a Native girl, it would have at least given me something in common with the people in La Push.
It was not completely horrifying, though, this moving to a new country business.I was really looking forward to the perpetually overcast weather in La Push.
I have always loved the rain. Where I come from, we hardly get any 'good quality' rain…they're usually dispersed and inadequate, lasting hardly a few minutes before the disgusting Sun shines through the clouds again. I hate the Sun. Can't stand it, not one bit. I am partly convinced this contempt of the Sun arises out of my trauma, owing to how terrible and exhausting my life has been there.
I was grateful that it supposedly rains all the time in La Push… I could already imagine how deep and rich the air must smell there, an enchanting mix of rain, wet earth, and pine trees.
But the list of things I am looking forward to begins and ends there. Dread flooded my stomach as the pilot announced we'd be landing in fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes.
The reality of what was happening finally hit me with such force that I felt as though I was stumbling down a rocky hill, hitting my head with every drop. Fifteen minutes until life as I've known it comes to an end. Fifteen minutes until I land in an unknown land full of strangers. Fifteen minutes until this twisted version of a 'new beginning' rolls out before me.
I wanted to throw up, wanted to claw out of my skin and run back to my country, wanted the small window next to my seat to open up momentarily and suck me right out of this plane and end my misery forever. As I tried to reach forward to wrench the window from the plane wall with my bare hands, I discovered that I'd become paralysed…completely and helplessly stiff. My lungs felt as though they were going to collapse in on each other, and I was not breathing. I hadn't been breathing for a good while.
Okay, okay…it's okay, it's all okay, I told myself.
This wasn't my first time experiencing anxiety-induced catatonia. My mind writhed violently, trying in vain to remember what my therapist had taught me if this happened in a public space…all I could remember was breathe, keep breathing, try to breathe, one after the next.
Unfortunately, that's the one thing I couldn't seem to do.
My lungs seemed to have forgotten how to suck in oxygen. They were useless within my chest, abruptly seizing to function.
A dreadful thought creeped into my spiralling mind - is my body…trying to end itself?
No, no…this can't be. It's humanly impossible, as far as I know. This can't happen…right?
Right when I was sure I was about to die a miserable self-induced death on a stupid plane, I was shaken. Hard. Big fingers gripped both my shoulders, burying themselves too hard into my skin. I was shaken violently, my whole body moving forward and backward rapidly and involuntarily like a rag doll. It was enough to send an alarming jolt through my limp body, straight to my brain.
BREATHE.
I felt my mouth open helplessly, sucking in a big breath, and another, and then another.
"Reen! REEN! Look at me!", I grimaced mentally as I recognised my father's voice booming through my left ear. That should do it. I snapped back from my stupor, blinking rapidly. I subtly turned my face sideways to discover my father looking part-concerned and part-annoyed. I was painfully aware that my struggle with anxiety has always inconvenienced him greatly.
God, how I hated this man.
I sunk into my seat meekly, feeling alone and shattered, whispering a quick apology to my father. To my misfortune, he sighed heavily, as though he was exasperated…because of me. I flinched internally at the thought, hurt and scared that I have to live alone with him from now onwards. He pursed his lips and wordlessly fished into his pocket to retrieve a small cylindrical box. Dropping it on my lap, he mumbled a scary, "Take one. We have a long journey ahead. You should have taken one when the flight took off".
I glanced down at the anxiety medication on my lap. I hated taking them. It made me feel like I was some middle-aged individual undergoing a mid-life crisis. I was barely seventeen…I shouldn't be taking these.
I should be…happy. Careless, unburdened. Yet, here I was, being forced into consuming a pill to manage my anxiety. I softly placed one in my mouth and gulped down two mouthfuls of water. I wouldn't have taken one had my father not been here, and I hated how easily I was coerced into doing this.
11:15 A.M
Washington, USA.
The anxiety medication did not help.
I walked behind my father in the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, clutching the straps of my bag like a lost child in elementary school. That's pretty much how I felt at the moment, anyway.
It was a huge airport, and sprawling with people at this time of day. I kept my eyes glued to my shoes, noticing repeatedly that my shoelaces were untied, and that I was too scared to ask my father to pause for a moment so I could tie them again.
The air smelled different in this country. Everything was so different. People dressed differently, walked differently, talked differently. I could not, for the life of me, decipher what people were saying to each other in that fast American accent as they buzzed past us.
What if they laugh at my foreign accent? Do I look too out of place right now?
We walked for a very long time, and I could not bear to take in my surroundings for more than five seconds at a time without feeling anxiety rise up my throat painfully.
As my father was retrieving our luggage from the baggage claim, I grabbed the opportunity and muttered, "I have to use the bathroom", and speed-walked away from him before he could say anything.
I scampered to the corner as soon as I was inside the cramped ladies' washroom, dodging all the women lined up in front of the stalls and mirrors. I pulled my phone out of my front pocket and dialled my mother with astonishing speed.
I had to hear her voice, I had to.
She answered after five rings, just as I'd started becoming scared that she wouldn't answer.
"Hello? You landed?", her static voice blurted out.
"Mama…", I grimaced as I heard how pathetic and helpless my voice sounded, like I was going to cry…I probably was.
I heard her laugh half-heartedly on the other side, "Missing me already, cariño?", she whispered.
I felt the sobs rising through my chest, my words tumbling out more choked than I'd anticipated, "Mama, I don't know what to do…why did I even come here? Is there no way back?".
I felt her pause, felt the hesitation, and my heart sank further.
"I want to come back. Please, mama. I can't do this", I begged in that same helpless voice I hated.
"You know it's not that simple, baby…you know I love you. Just…bear it for a couple months. I promise I'll bring you back soon", she mumbled.
Lies.
I felt like I was drowning.
4:20 P.M
Forks, Washigton
It was a four-hour drive from the airport to Forks.
A chubby man had approached us as we'd exited the airport doors. He'd shaken my father's hand with exaggerated enthusiasm. Probably someone working with my father and had been sent to welcome and escort us.
My father was a true shapeshifter. He was an entirely different person to strangers. He pulled his facade on so immaculately, and, in just one instant, he could transform into this overwhelmingly charismatic man. It gave me a whiplash every time…and it made me envious of everyone who only knew this side of him.
Right now, we were seated in a tiny café in Forks. My father was engaged in jovial conversation with , rambling on about something related to work. I tried not to roll my eyes or make a face as he laughed pleasantly.
I had passed out against the window of the small car soon after we drove off from the airport, and was woken up by my father when we reached the café twenty-five minutes ago. I was still pretty groggy, and furious that I'd missed all the beautiful scenery on the way. Nonetheless, I was glad that I'd managed to get some sleep.
I don't think I have slept properly for the past two weeks, from the moment my mother informed me that one child had to accompany my father to the USA…and that they'd decided it was me.
I ate quickly, forcefully shutting down that train of thought, shoving a fry into my mouth angrily. The food here was unimpressive, as I'd anticipated.
After I'd eaten a respectable amount of the bland food from the unnecessarily large portion they'd given me, I excused myself politely. My father barely spared me a glance, dismissing me absentmindedly with a weak flick of his wrist.
He was already forgetting about me, and I thanked the universe for that. I stepped outside into the wet concrete.
For the first time since I'd landed in this country, I let myself look at my surroundings. Really look at them.
It was breathtaking.
I thought it was the most beautiful place I'd ever seen. Everything was so…green. The best kind of green - a dark, rich, seemingly dangerous shade of green. I took a deep breath in, realising that I was excited to breathe here.
Sweet, cold, and fresh air filled my lungs, and I gasped a little on the inhale at how good it felt. I might as well have been breathing for the first time! It was nothing like the smokey, urban air I was used to all my life…this was so delightful. The air was cold and heavy, but I didn't mind it one bit. This was infinitely better than the overwhelming humidity back home that suffocated me everyday.
As I took another deep breath in, I realised I felt free. My oppressive past seemed to be melting away with each molecule of oxygen entering my lungs. I was so far away from home, from all the harshness I'd endured all my life. I felt the shackles break away one after another. I felt lighter with each passing moment. I felt so strange…I wanted to do something… maybe twirl, or something.
No, that would be too obnoxious in public.
Instead, I let a smile slowly spread across my face, and basically waltzed down the street, not walking too far from the café. I observed the people, eyes roaming from one individual to the next. Everyone was white here…
White with dark hair, like the barks of these trees. They looked like they belong here.
I realised with a start that I was also being observed…by almost everyone. Quiet, lingering stares seemed to follow every step I took.
I was aware I looked quite different from the general population in Forks. I possessed both the trademark South American features - wheat-brown skin colour, and long, thick black hair, among others. My short-lived euphoria came to a screeching halt after becoming conscious of the staring. At once, I felt like a…foreigner... alien in the most gut-wrenching way.
When I turned around, I noticed a group of young boys, maybe sophomores, near the entrance of a nearby store, staring intently at me. I readjusted my jacket nervously, suddenly extremely self-conscious.
One boy shoved his friend and pointed towards me with his chin.
I was beyond stunned when they started walking towards me, unabashed and smirking.
Not today, nope, I decided, and quickly cowered away from the stupid boys and other prying eyes back into the café.
I did not sleep during the drive to La Push.
My steadily rising anxiety and the beautiful, dense forest that framed the single, tapering road wouldn't allow that. The forest was unlike anything I'd ever seen before…it looked magical.
So dense, as though it was hiding a myriad secrets.
My anxiety was stabilised and calmed by this view, despite my leg bouncing uncontrollably.
I rolled the windows down as the forests thinned, the smell of wood and ocean slamming into my senses pleasantly. I couldn't see the ocean yet, and was positive we were driving across to the other side of the reservation.
I watched keenly as the first houses appeared out of the wilderness.
They were…tiny. Surprisingly tiny. Most of them were rectangular, single-storey, and wooden, with sloping metal roofs. They looked almost like they were part of this ancient land…like they'd been here for generations. When I noticed people from the reservation looking curiously at, and into, our car, probably not recognising it, I slumped deeply into my car seat, trying to hide from their inquisitive gaze.
I was never going to get used to the staring.
After about three minutes of hiding, we reached a small house similar to the ones scattered across the reservation. It looked…cozy. I didn't mind the small size, already knowing it was going to be just me most of the time. guided us in and showed us around.
The house was already furnished as we were renting it out for the next few months. Apparently it belongs to a couple who moved permanently to the East Coast not too long ago.
The walls of the house were wooden, casting an unmistakable warmth over the entire house. There was a small dining room with four chairs and a small wooden table. It also functioned as a living room. I noticed the couch in the living room part of the space. That was our couch, the one my father had sent over.
It looked incredibly out of place with the rest of the furniture in the small space, something new in an ancient environment.
Like us.
There were only two small rooms in the house, located far apart on different ends. Thank god. Less of my miserable father.
Thankfully, he chose the room nearer to the front door, leaving me with the one I secretly preferred. It had a window looking right into the forest.
informed us that he'd taken the liberty to stock the refrigerator before our arrival, and that made me like him a little bit.
I returned to my room, slowly hauling all my luggage behind me, trying not to hurt my back. To my relief, my father had wordlessly locked himself up in his room.
I exhaled audibly, plopping down on the soft bed with a bounce, staring at the forest through my window.
I felt a strange pull towards it…like something was tugging at my heart.
Author's Note!
Hey, everyone! Gosh, I feel jittery just typing this. This is the first fanfiction I've ever written, and I really hope you enjoyed the first chapter and getting to know Reen a little. She's a complicated girl, lol
!As you can already tell, this story is a Quil/OC pairing, and Claire Young is NOT Quil's or anyone's imprint!
This story revolves around the Quileute wolf pack and follows canon couples. It focuses on imprinting and dives deeply into the nature of this bond, and how complex it really is, ESPECIALLY for an outsider.
I really, SINCERELY, hope you enjoy and look forward to more! Cause it's about to get real intense!
Comments and reviews are always appreciated! Lots of love XX!
