Empty Veins | Quil Ateara [4]

quatorze

Andy isn't home when she wakes up. She isn't at the Cullen's either.

Dread floods through her and she jolts to up in the bed she was in, a hand coming to rest on her ribs with a gasp. They were so tender, an annoying ache radiating from her side each time she breathed too deeply or moved the wrong way.

She presses down on her side, sucking a sharp breath in between her teeth as she looks around slowly.

Her face pales, cold sweeping through her as anxiety jolts through her.

The last thing that Andy could remember was the way Bella's spine had snapped and the quick delivery process that came after. The rest came to her in blurs.

Crashing down of the front lawn. Crying. Wolves and fighting. Bella dying. Her killing Sam in turn.

Her hand shakes as she lifts it to stifle her sobs. She killed someone. She killed someone even if it was just for a few seconds.

What's more, is that she didn't understand how or why she was in Quil's bed. She didn't end up here and she found it hard to believe that they would just let him take her.

And Andy didn't want to be here. She wanted to be with the Cullen's, with Bella and Renesmee and her pack, Alice and Jasper. Or at least be home with Charlie where she knew that he wouldn't let anyone bother her when she didn't want them anywhere near her.

Dragging herself from the bed as quietly as she could, she checks the window and the height from the ground. Somehow, she's disappointed by how high the second floor is. She could always jump out damn the consequences just so she didn't have to see him...

But knowing Quil and how attuned one could be to their imprint, she didn't think it was much of a good idea. He probably already knew that she was awake. He probably wasn't going to give her the chance to run away.

Andy was good at running away, though, she had been since she first set foot in Forks. Anything that made her feel too deeply, too painfully, she would run and deal with it later when her head was clear and her heart frozen from emotion -- blind from influence.

She was so easily influenced after all.

So easily influenced that she had allowed herself to kill Sam.

Even still, Andy knew that she would do it all over again, that his life meant nothing to her in the end. He was nothing to her in the face of Bella.

She pushed away from the window, letting herself fall heavy into his bed as she took a deep breath. She drew in a sharp inhale, letting the scent of him surrounded her as she held it in her lungs -- stealing a moment of comfort just for herself.

It had been a long time since she had been in his room, or rather it felt like it's been a long time. It's been a long while since they've been civil, at the very least, and that fact made her miserable.

Because she loved him, she really, really loved him but that wasn't always gonna be enough -- it wasn't enough to keep things from falling apart the first time, for their differences in mortality paired with her ability to make him feel like he was less important and his willingness to hurt the people she cared for... Andy didn't think it was enough and she didn't want to go through that conversation again knowing how it was just going to tear her apart all over again.

She could put together the pieces that tore apart in a mismatched, jagged excuse of somethng called art, of something called beauty and romance, but it wasn't and she was hurting -- he was hurting, and there was no returning to what they had anymore. It wouldn't work. again.

And as much as she really truly didn't want to do it, she would have to face the music at one point. Would have to say the words to him and watch his face crumble just as hers was sure to do.