As the warm water was filling up the tub, I helped her take off her dirty clothes and get her situated inside the tub. I stood up to get her a towel for the top shelf and some shampoo, but she whined and started to hyperventilate as I drew farther away. I almost ran back, shutting the door to keep the room dry and dropped to my knees near the edge of the tub. She whined again and held out her arms to indicate that she wanted “up”.

“No, sweetie,” I told her. “You need to take a bath.”

She pouted and shook her head. She crossed her arms over her chest as a slew of bubbles began to fill the bathtub. There were almost more bubbles than water! I rushed in, almost ready to nab her outta there if she didn’t like it, when she started to giggle. It was loud and startlingly clear. It sounded like someone had hit these piercing bells, or chimes, and let the sound flow over my ears for me to savor. I had to hear it again.

I picked a handful of suds and threw it at her. It landed with a plop on her chest and she laughed and laughed. Getting bolder, she lifted a little handful of bubbles herself at threw them at me. I dodged and laughed.

“Oh, now you’re gonna get it,” I told her with a mischievous smile—not that she’d know what mischievous meant. I dropped a large handful onto the top of her head and rubbed it all into her hair, shaking her as I did it. She giggled and splashed a whole bunch of water and bubbles over the edge of the tub straight onto me. We fought for a couple more minutes until she had exhausted herself. I supported her and held her up by putting a held on her lower back. I took a small cup and slowly poured water over her hair to wet her hair and then gently rubbed a little bit of shampoo in. I covered her eyes and dribbled more on her to get those out, too. I rubbed in some of my mom’s body soap and got her super squeaky clean.

Her eyelids were beginning to drop, so I stood her up and draped a warm, fuzzy towel over her and carried her to my room. I gently rubbed her down and put a huge shirt of mine on her. It engulfed her and she giggled drowsily about it. I tucked her into the bed and lied down next to her on top of the sheets. I stroked her hair and watched her droop down and then snap back up to look at me and make sure I’m still there. As her eyes drifted down again for eight hundredth time, I asked her, “What’s your name?”

She looked at me and blinked. She said something in a groggy voice that I missed entirely. I asked her to repeat it and I realized she was speaking in an entirely different language!! How would I understand her?! Despair griped my soul; I felt so, so, so… God, just not good. I can’t even describe the pain I feel, the desperation, the anxiety. The uncertainty. And everything else.

She looked back up at me and smiled a secret smile. She sat up to lean into my ear and said, “Clari-anna,” and pointed at herself.

“Clarianna,” I whispered back, amazed she understood. I looked at her and pointed at me and said, “Seth.” She smiled another drowsy smile and whispered, “Se-the.” And she slowly drifted back off to sleep. I sat there and watched her sleep, breathing in time with her, hearing her accelerated heartbeat. The soothingness of it all was slowly lolling me to sleep.

I heard the front door open and suddenly I felt very awake--nervous. What if my family didn’t accept her? She was just a little girl. She needed me; I need her. We can’t be separated because we are one. That thought steadied me and help me think rationally. My family will love her simply because I adore her.

I walked out into the hallway and saw Leah standing at the door, shaking her head at the summer heat. She was in her traditional werewolf-shape shifter attire: a sports bra and shorts. We of the pack travel with little clothes on because it’s easier to transform without worrying about destroying too much of our wardrobe. Not to mention that our body heat is so high that wearing too many layers makes us feel all stuffy and uncomfortable. She noticed me and gave me a little nod and then did a double take when she saw that my shirt was soaked.

Seth Clearwater Imprinted With TroubleWhere stories live. Discover now