HEARTBLOOD - Paul Lahote

ELEVEN

Over the next week, I saw a change in both Sam and Emily. Emily was starting to smile a little more, her laughter coming back in small, fleeting moments. She'd still have her hard days, the kind where she barely left her room, but she wasn't as alone as she used to be. Sam was there for her in the background, quietly helping where he could, respecting her boundaries but still showing her that he was there.

One day, I found Emily in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she made breakfast. She looked up when I walked in, a warm smile spreading across her face.

"Nicolette, I think I'm... starting to forgive him," she said softly, almost as if saying it out loud made it more real.

I signed back, "That's brave of you."

She nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "It's hard, but... I think you're right. It's about healing. And I want to heal."

Seeing her find her strength again filled me with so much relief. I knew it wouldn't be easy, that there would still be days when the hurt resurfaced. But knowing she was willing to try, willing to let go little by little, made all the difference.

As I walked out of the kitchen, my phone buzzed with a text. It was from Paul, asking if I could meet him at the beach later. I smiled, realizing that maybe, helping Emily and Sam had helped me understand something too—that healing didn't mean ignoring the pain or pushing people away, but learning to face it together.

And with that, I texted back, agreeing to meet him, feeling like maybe I'd found a little bit of healing myself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The wind whipped through my hair as I walked along the deserted La Push beach, the salty air biting my cheeks. I knew Paul would be here. It was almost like we'd silently agreed on it somehow—this place had always been where we could meet, away from everyone, where it was just us and the ocean and nothing else.

When I spotted him up ahead, standing near the shore with his hands shoved in his pockets, I felt a mix of relief and frustration bubbling up. We hadn't had a real conversation in weeks. Every time I'd tried, something got in the way, or one of us would get defensive, and it would end with us barely speaking. And now it was like our paths only crossed in quick, silent glances, a shared tension that neither of us dared confront. But I knew we couldn't avoid it forever, and I wasn't sure how much more I could take.

Paul turned when he saw me, his face unreadable. For a moment, we just stared at each other, and the silence felt like the heavy, tense calm before a storm.

"You finally show up," he muttered, crossing his arms. "Thought you were too busy for this."

I took a deep breath, clenching my fists at my sides. I sighed, "And you think I'm happy with how things are? You think I haven't wanted to fix this?"

He looked away, letting out a sharp breath. "Feels like you haven't, Nicolette. You're either with your Forks friends or trying to patch things up between Sam and Emily. Like I don't even matter anymore."

I opened my mouth to argue, my hands already moving before I could think of what I wanted to say, but his words stung. There was truth in them, and it hurt because he wasn't completely wrong. I'd been caught up in everything—school, my friends, the chaos with the pack—but it wasn't like I wanted to lose him in the process. Still, the guilt crept up in me, mixing with frustration.

"It's not like that," feeling the anger build in my chest. "I'm just trying to help. And maybe I got caught up, but it's not because I don't care about you."