Fear

f o u r t e e n ☾ weeping Margot

Lachlan

Short of two hours after she called me, I crouched at the usual window of her studio. I got here after her, watched as she paced the linoleum floor. Seconds passed and she stood in front of the mirror, tilting her head in thought as she analyzed herself. I hoped she was in love with herself like I was. I hoped when she touched her skin she was proud to be in it, that she looked at every curve and dip on her body with the same amazement that I did. I knew she didn't, though, because when she looked at herself her heart rate spiked, and the melancholy feeling I felt deepened even further.

I make my presence known, opening the window and swiftly dropping down.

She turns slowly towards me and gives me a weak smile, "There's a door, you know."

"I know. I prefer this way, though, if that's okay with you."

Her lip quivers, and I stride towards her quickly, pulling her into my arms before she could possibly collapse. She felt heavy, looked weak, and smelled irrevocably sad. The material sitting on the top of my left pec dampened with tears where her head was and she gently shakes with sobs.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, her voice hoarse.

My own heart broke at the revelation that she felt guilty for her feelings, felt like she owed me an apology. She owed me nothing.

"I told you to stop that."

"Stop- hic- what?" She mumbles.

"Apolgizing for feelings you're allowed to have. I will never take your right to expression away."

She nods slightly against my chest.

"You haven't been sleeping, haven't been eating. You aren't well, mate." I mumble into her hair, cradling her head against me.

I run my fingers through her hair, hoping it's helping ease her nerves. The beast inside me stirred with the flood of emotions he felt from her, growled in displeasure at how dark her energy was.

She gripped onto the material of my shirt, and lifted her head to meet my eyes, "You were right."

"About?"

"These four weeks were a mistake."

I shake my head, "No, Margot, they weren't. You needed time, and you still do. I know that. But we have to come up with a plan. If I went just another day without contact with you, things could have been bad. I would have lost it."

"Why?" She asks.

I wrap my arm around her waist loosely, and move one of her hands so that it rests on my shoulder. Together, I sway us across the floor slowly, "It won't be easy for you to understand, since you probably feel less than a fraction of what I do. But the longer I go without you, without touching or hearing or even seeing you, the more restless the other side of me gets. I get reckless, dangerous, unhinged. Once a wolf, or lycan, imprints on their mate, they need a constant connection with them. We need to figure out a way where we can maintain that with you still being here."

"I'm sorry." She says.

"Stop. Apologizing." I gently growl in her ear.

She stops the impromptu dance I started, and moves her hand slowly down my arm. The short sleeve I wore only helped intensify the feeling of her touch, and I quickly became addicted to skin on skin contact with her.

Her cheeks were red with the aftermath of her tears, and her eyes looked dull.

"You're like no one I've ever met, Margot." I whisper, gently wiping off an eyelash on her cheek with my thumb.