Between the Perennial Blooms || Paul Lahote

Twenty Eight | Gardenia

"And I loved him
as I eventually came to
love all artifacts
of violence done to me."
—Leila Chatti | Liriope

• • •

It felt like years had passed by in their presence. Though Bailey hadn't known the Quileute pack for very long, as she sat there with her lips stretched taunt in a wide grin and eyes beaming bright with unsupressed affection, it felt as if she had been apart of their lives for the short entirety of her own. It made no sense to her — how she could look upon so many people with such blatant fondness when, prior to moving to Forks, she had never established a lasting friendship in her childhood, in her adolescence, and, subsequently, in her adult years that she had always assumed would follow in uniform. However, perhaps the culprit to blame could be chalked down to fate, destiny, Moirai, or whatever other higher power one might find themselves believing in. Because surely, if sentiments like soulmates and Imprints were real, then why wouldn't predestined paths follow suit? And that was what this felt like to Bailey: the untimely passing of her Gran, the unceremonious drop-off in Forks, the unabiding loss in her sister's heart, and, as a result, the events that led to her meeting Paul for the very first time (even if she had remained unaware it was him in that moment). Perhaps it had all happened accordingly — each event fell victim to the cycle set in motion before it. Perhaps she had been meant for this: meant to trip and cut her arm that day in the forest, meant to witness that fight in the clearing, meant to return to Acoma after that afternoon out on the Uley's back porch, meant to follow Bella off the edge of the cliff-face, and meant to walk through the door of Quil's home two weeks ago to the date. Perhaps, in some sad, terrific way, this had been fate's plan all along — to consistently tear her down only to build her back up. After all, what was happiness if it was not preceded by heartbreak first? Bailey couldn't say if she were asked. In her experience, she had only ever known bliss at the expense of misery.

But with Paul looking down on her like a gift he had never before believed himself worthy of receiving, Bailey wondered if, in some way, misery was a form of bliss all in its own. Because though her Gran had passed and taken a piece of Bailey's heart along with her, her death had opened up the opportunity to reconnect with both Charlie and Bella, and through them, Jacob as well. And though the Cullens had abandoned Bella in a heartless, nearly unforgivable manner all those months ago in September, it had led to the series of events that unfolded to reveal yet another kind of creature lurking in the forest of the Olympic Peninsula — these far more influential than the first. And though Quil had all but ripped her thigh apart to the point of nonrecognition that fateful afternoon in his living room, perhaps something good would become of it too. Because Bailey didn't want to believe that it had all been for nothing. She didn't want to believe that it had all been just another tally mark on the long list of unfortunate events in her time. She didn't want to believe that it had all been just another scar.

She didn't think she'd be able to handle it if it was.

"Let's get out of here," Paul's sudden gruff whisper wafted against the skin of her ear. It pulled her from her reverie — brought her attention off of Quil's empty chair at the end of the dinner table that she hadn't realized she had been staring at until she looked away from it now. "I know," Paul murmured with a soft look on his face, mahogany eyes dark with understanding when she peered up at him from beneath long, tear-brimmed lashes. "Didn't realize you were so perceptive," he admitted, inclining his head toward the empty seat while his lips pulled up into a faint, sad smile that contradicted the fiery spark of anger that briefly flashed through his eyes. The arm that had been resting along the back of her chair lifted so that he could run his hand soothingly across the top of her head and he absentmindedly brushed a few wayward curls of gold back from where they had fallen across her forehead like they so often tended to in all their untamable frenzy. "But let's get out of here now, yeah? Sam let me off patrols for the day and I don't want you to have to look at that seat any longer than you already have been." His fingers tugged lightly on a coil of hair. "So lets say our goodbyes and blow this joint, hm?"