Sequel: Plummet ›
Status: Complete with a sequel on the way
Freefall
14
I holed up in my bedroom for the rest of the weekend. I didn’t eat unless Chris put food outside my door, and I didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t read and I didn’t watch TV. I thought and I wrote.
I didn’t write anything at all related to Paul or werewolves or imprinting. Instead, I wrote out a frivolous fluff story. It was comforting, to immerse myself in the simpler things in life.
When I woke up on Monday morning, I felt better. Refreshed. I felt like I could function again- though I wasn’t sure how I could face Paul just yet. I figured I’d work that out when I saw him.
“You’re alive!” Chris said when I reached the kitchen, tackling me and squeezing me in a tight hug.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not becoming,” I said in my best fake-annoyed voice.
“Glad you’re back.”
We walked hand-in-hand to school, and when I saw Paul standing outside for me, I gave him a wave and a small smile.
“Do you want me to stay?” Chris whispered in my ear. I shook my head. I knew I needed to talk to Paul. Reluctantly, Chris walked away from me and Paul approached hesitantly.
“How was your weekend?” I asked lightly. I didn’t want to talk about anything heavy right now. I’d missed him, somehow, and wanted to ignore everything else.
“Long,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I just needed to think.”
“And did you?” We reached my locker and I spun the comb, then switched my books out for the ones I’d need to start out the day.
“Of course.”
“You don’t want to talk about this now, do you?”
“Am I so easy to read?”
“I like to think that I’m starting to know you,” he whispered in my ear. I shivered.
“Does this imprint thing affect the… imprintee, too?” I asked quietly, not wanting anyone else in the hallway to overhear me.
Paul beamed. “Why? Are you being affected?” I just stared at him. “No, it doesn’t.” I ducked down to retrieve my books- and also to hide my blush- but he grabbed my arm and kept me standing up.
“Lydia, you don’t know how hard this is for me. Take all the time you need, to absorb and think, but… well, I’m just hoping you won’t need much more.” He shot me a pained expression.
“I think I’m alright. I think I can accept that you’re a…” I trailed off, not wanting to say the word in such a public place. Paul’s grin lit up his whole face. “But,” I added, “the other part… the imprint thing? It’s freaking me out.”
“Why?” We started walking down the hallway, and I took my time about answering. Paul led me off to a deserted dead-end where it was nearly guaranteed that we wouldn’t be overheard. The bell rang, signaling that we had five minutes to get to class, but neither of us moved.
This seemed a little bit more important than missing a little class time.
Finally, I spoke. “Because it sounds pretty serious. I don’t know if I can handle a relationship like that. I don’t think I’m ready to,” I answered as honestly as I could.
“I wasn’t looking for this, either,” he reminded me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I leaned against a wall and slid down, sitting on the filthy ground. He sat next to me and put his arm around me. How had I never noticed before how warm he was? Even though it was September, it was still comfortable. I leaned against him and put my head on his shoulder.
If only I could stay in this moment, I found myself thinking.
“Sorry for what?” he sounded genuinely confused. I laughed, but not because it was funny.
“For moving here. For making you imprint.”
“Making me?” He snorted and laughed. I could feel it, how his laughter shook him. It made me want to laugh, too.
“You didn’t make me, and I’m glad you’re here. I never planned on this,” he said, squeezing my shoulder, “but I’m glad it happened. I don’t want to be without you.”
“I can’t believe I only met you less than three weeks ago.” And that was nothing but the truth. How could anyone feel this strongly for someone they’d just met?
I didn’t write anything at all related to Paul or werewolves or imprinting. Instead, I wrote out a frivolous fluff story. It was comforting, to immerse myself in the simpler things in life.
When I woke up on Monday morning, I felt better. Refreshed. I felt like I could function again- though I wasn’t sure how I could face Paul just yet. I figured I’d work that out when I saw him.
“You’re alive!” Chris said when I reached the kitchen, tackling me and squeezing me in a tight hug.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not becoming,” I said in my best fake-annoyed voice.
“Glad you’re back.”
We walked hand-in-hand to school, and when I saw Paul standing outside for me, I gave him a wave and a small smile.
“Do you want me to stay?” Chris whispered in my ear. I shook my head. I knew I needed to talk to Paul. Reluctantly, Chris walked away from me and Paul approached hesitantly.
“How was your weekend?” I asked lightly. I didn’t want to talk about anything heavy right now. I’d missed him, somehow, and wanted to ignore everything else.
“Long,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I just needed to think.”
“And did you?” We reached my locker and I spun the comb, then switched my books out for the ones I’d need to start out the day.
“Of course.”
“You don’t want to talk about this now, do you?”
“Am I so easy to read?”
“I like to think that I’m starting to know you,” he whispered in my ear. I shivered.
“Does this imprint thing affect the… imprintee, too?” I asked quietly, not wanting anyone else in the hallway to overhear me.
Paul beamed. “Why? Are you being affected?” I just stared at him. “No, it doesn’t.” I ducked down to retrieve my books- and also to hide my blush- but he grabbed my arm and kept me standing up.
“Lydia, you don’t know how hard this is for me. Take all the time you need, to absorb and think, but… well, I’m just hoping you won’t need much more.” He shot me a pained expression.
“I think I’m alright. I think I can accept that you’re a…” I trailed off, not wanting to say the word in such a public place. Paul’s grin lit up his whole face. “But,” I added, “the other part… the imprint thing? It’s freaking me out.”
“Why?” We started walking down the hallway, and I took my time about answering. Paul led me off to a deserted dead-end where it was nearly guaranteed that we wouldn’t be overheard. The bell rang, signaling that we had five minutes to get to class, but neither of us moved.
This seemed a little bit more important than missing a little class time.
Finally, I spoke. “Because it sounds pretty serious. I don’t know if I can handle a relationship like that. I don’t think I’m ready to,” I answered as honestly as I could.
“I wasn’t looking for this, either,” he reminded me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I leaned against a wall and slid down, sitting on the filthy ground. He sat next to me and put his arm around me. How had I never noticed before how warm he was? Even though it was September, it was still comfortable. I leaned against him and put my head on his shoulder.
If only I could stay in this moment, I found myself thinking.
“Sorry for what?” he sounded genuinely confused. I laughed, but not because it was funny.
“For moving here. For making you imprint.”
“Making me?” He snorted and laughed. I could feel it, how his laughter shook him. It made me want to laugh, too.
“You didn’t make me, and I’m glad you’re here. I never planned on this,” he said, squeezing my shoulder, “but I’m glad it happened. I don’t want to be without you.”
“I can’t believe I only met you less than three weeks ago.” And that was nothing but the truth. How could anyone feel this strongly for someone they’d just met?