"1. You must let the pain visit.
2. You must allow it to teach you.
3. You must not allow it to overstay."
—Ijeoma Umebinyuo | three routes to healing
• • •
The Imprint pair had been slow to say their goodbyes after the last embers of the fire died down to naught but the gray ash it left behind. Bailey had wanted to stay and converse with the wolf pack she hadn't seen in so many days — inquire to Jared about his new Imprint Kim, further get to know Seth and his exuberant personality, make a new friend out of Leah if she replied enough to allow it, and speak with Quil if only to double check that they still stood on level ground. She had wanted to stay — immerse herself in the second family she had never imagined she would be lucky enough to gain — and after observing Jacob and Bella make their way out of the circle and into the trees with parting kisses to her head as a goodbye, she felt more than saw the many eyes looking to her for acknowledgement. They each wanted to have their moment to speak with her — some more so than others if the wide smile on Emily's face and the imploring glint in Kim's eyes proved any indication to go by — and Bailey, being the sweet, compliant girl she was, found herself more than flattered to grant it to them.
In the beginning, Paul had been reluctant to release her from his grip. I haven't seen you in days either, he'd pouted like the petulant child his overgrown, muscular stature so often hid deep inside. Then he'd continued to pout and whine and grumble aggravatingly beneath his breath until Bailey finally promised to spend the night with him just as she had so many times before. Go ahead then, he'd grinned, seemingly placated by her compromise as he settled more comfortably on his wooden perch. Shortly after though, his smile morphed into a smirk and he leaned forward to press his hot lips hard against her ear. Just know that after we leave here tonight, I'm having you all to myself. Then after nipping sharply at her earlobe and swinging his hand in a firm swat to her butt in his version of a parting gift, he quickly sent her on her way.
Two hours and many conversations later however, Paul had reached the max on his capacity for patience. With a grunt, he stood from his seat beside Jared and, having never truly taken his eyes off the sweet sight of his little Imprint before him, he ambled his way over in her direction.
"It's a quarter past midnight, baby," he came up to whisper against her ear as Bailey helped clean the folding table set up off to the side that had once housed the food and paper goods the pack had quickly devoured as per Sue's polite request. His arms snuck forward to wrap around Bailey's waist and he pressed a quick kiss to the side of her head as she threw the last of the hamburger and hot dog wrappers in the black trash bag at her side. "And I'd say you've visited with everyone here at least twice since the fire died down, so I think it's only fair that I cash in my turn now."
"Oh..." Bailey whispered while she melted into his embrace. Seeing the opportunity for what it was, Paul wasted no time in ducking down to pepper wet kisses down the exposed part of her neck after he'd tugged off her scarf with one hand and tucked it into her coat pocket with the other. "W-Well I just need to finish helping Sue clean up real quick and then we can-"
"Oh don't worry about me," Sue piped up from across the way. Her hands worked quick as she finished loading the last of the bottles of ketchup and various other condiments into a cardboard box at her feet. "You go ahead, sweetheart. I can take care of the rest myself."
"But- I mean- are you su-"
"Little Wrenning-bird," Sue interrupted, an exasperated smile adorning her thin lips as she did. "Go."
Then after sharing round after round of mutual words of parting and many a tight hug goodbye, Bailey followed Paul away from the dead bonfire and out into the chilly night.
"So what did you think?" Paul asked after a while of walking in comfortable silence. He held Bailey's small hand firmly in his own and smiled fondly as she absentmindedly swung them back in forth between their bodies while traipsing noisily in her little brown boots. "Was it everything you expected it to be and more?"
"Well you didn't exactly give me much to go on," she teased, recalling the phone conversation they'd had the day before wherein he'd simply told her to dress warm and expect the best hotdogs and hamburgers of her life. "But I really enjoyed it," she answered anyway, looking to Paul with a soft smile and a heart melting twinkle in her pretty blue eyes. "And I really liked hearing your history, too."
Mirroring her smile, Paul tugged Bailey closer to his side. "Yeah, Old Quil used to tell the stories before Billy took over when he got too old for it. Back when I was little — before I knew the legends were true — I used to bike down to the barbecue the Atearas put on every month in their backyard. Just about the whole community on the east end of the Rez would show up and the women would all make the food in the kitchen while the men waited outside to grill it. Us kids usually got suckered into playing ball just to get us out of their hair and the games used to last for hours before-"
Entranced by the story of a part of his past, Bailey listened with deft ears. It was a rare occasion that Paul ever spoke about the life he led before Bailey had stumbled her way into it, but as he recalled the memory of the Quileute bonfires of his childhood now, it was clear to see how highly regarded he upheld the memory in his mind from back then. His voice was wistful when he spoke, filled with a sort of bittersweet acceptance that alluded to the idea that he knew those days were long behind him and that the simplicities of childhood had far been outgrown and never to be relived. And though she would never negate his melancholy, Bailey still found herself surprised by it. Because she had always thought Paul straightforward — quick to anger yet easy to calm — and that his difficulty in sharing much about himself stemmed from the traits of his personality that made him both resilient and allowed him to remain so effortlessly unattached. However, because she was so in tune with him after so much time spent at his side, Bailey could sense his hesitation — could sense his reluctance to vocalize the memories he shined in light in fear of them dulling as soon as he let them slip past his lips. So as she listened to him speak in that deep, gruff grumble of his, Bailey delved deeper into the reverb of his tone. She listened to him with adept ears, and soon came to a realization that left her both in awe and aching. Because though she had always thought Paul simple, she quickly found that Paul was infinitely more complex and multifarious. He had layers beneath his belt — little parts and pieces that made up the very essence of the person who stood before her today — and despite initial thought, Paul wasn't unforthcoming with his past because it made him uncomfortable to speak it aloud.
Rather, Paul was reluctant to share because he knew that whenever he did, he always wound up sharing a piece of his heart he knew he would never be able to get back again.
Opting to keep her newfound realization to herself though, instead of acting on it, Bailey simply shook her head and tuned back into his words.
"-all the food'd been cooked and the beers drank, and after everybody finished eating the older guys would build this huge freakin' bonfire down on the beach front while everyone else helped clean up. Eventually everybody would sit around it and wait, and when Old Quil finally walked up with his old blue lawn chair he always used to sit in, he'd set up camp right at the head and start singin' this little song..."
"How did it go?" Bailey murmured softly, snuggling closer against his arm with both of her own holding his tightly to her chest. "What did it sound like?"
"I don't really remember much of it anymore," Paul admitted upon a shrug and a sweet kiss pressed down to his Imprint's head. "A part of it went something like: 'kay-o-kay-nah, aya-way' maybe? That's probably butchered, but now that I'm thinking about it, I guess it was more of a chant than a song anyway."
"Do you know what it means?" Bailey questioned curiously, noting to herself that if the younger generation of Quileutes still sang the traditional songs of their predecessors, Paul would've had a marvelous voice for it.
Shrugging once again, Paul hummed. "Umm, something about a watenay* becoming a guitain* and saving a menawa* from yunke-lo*."
Bailey blinked owlishly up at the boy she adored. "U-Um...excuse me?"
Laughing heartily at her obvious confusion, Paul grinned and amended his words respectively. "Sorry," he apologized, though the lack of sincerity failed in slipping by unnoticed. "What the song's about is — basically— a small thing, not a child but not really an adult either, becoming the heart of a wolf. Now if that's literally or figuratively, I don't really know; I mean, it's not like our ancestors — hoax-y fuckers that they were — have ever really been clear in their meanings anyway, y'know? But whatever. Doesn't matter." Paul shook his head and got back on topic. "So anyway, there's this big battle that takes the tribe to war and while their fighting, this great warrior is, like, cut down or something and the watenay–" He looked to Bailey. "The little one," he clarified. "–makes a great sacrifice that saves the warrior from death."
"Kind of like the Third Wife!" Bailey likened smartly, happy to express her comprehension of the tale Billy had told only hours ago.
Chuckling faintly under his breath, Paul nodded. "Yeah, I guess the stories are pretty similar," he agreed just as the pair came upon the backside of his house from their walk amongst the trees. Rounding the front, Paul gently pulled his arm from Bailey's grip and ambled up the porch steps in search of the spare key he kept hidden below. He searched the ground beneath his feet; then, upon finding what he was looking for, Paul bent down and dug his fingers into the cracks of one particular plank of wood and began to pry up the edges when they caught.
Meanwhile, still lingering on the tale Paul had just told her, Bailey's curiosity got the better of her. "Hey Paul?" She called softly, giggling to herself at the sound of his angry grumbling under his breath when a splinter made itself at home in the pad of his thumb. "Do you remember the name of the song?"
Absentmindedly, Paul nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Old Quil called it 'Aho Ashkii Dighin'."
Startled, Bailey's brows furrowed. She had heard those words before. In fact, just a few hours prior, Old Quil had called her that very name upon their first meeting. Maybe it's just a coincidence, Bailey remarked to herself, trying in vain to slow the sudden quickened pace of her heart as it began to beat anxiously in her chest. Maybe it doesn't mean anything. However, upon vocalization of her question, Bailey couldn't ignore the cold sense of foreboding that washed over her at the hands of Paul's clarification.
"What, exactly, does that- does that mean?" She questioned faintly.
"'Aho Ashkii Dighin?'" Paul echoed.
Bailey nodded even though he couldn't see her.
"Well the song's an ode to quietus, so I guess the translation's pretty literal."
Biting harshly into the flesh of her bottom lip, Bailey tried hard to swallow past the growing swirl of discomfort in her belly. "Which is...?" she prodded, hesitant to know the answer.
Paul turned to look at her from over his shoulder.
"'End of the Sacred Child'."
Then, before he had the chance to take note of the peculiar look that befell his Imprint's face, Paul had already turned back around to unlock the front door both oblivious and none the wiser.
---
Later that night, well into the early hours of the next morning, Bailey found herself unable to stop the rampage of thoughts whirling around in her mind. All throughout her shower she had stared at the blank porcelain walls while robotically washing her hair and body, and even after she had stepped out and found Paul waiting on the bed with a half-smile and a comb at the ready, she still hadn't been able to quiet her thoughts long enough to truly enjoy the gentle feeling of the wide-toothed comb running through her wily mane of curls. Part of her was upset with herself over it. After all, in her mind, she should've been able to — should've been able to relish in the warm feeling that encompassed her at the hands of Paul's sweet gesture and the sensual feeling of the one not holding the comb softly massaging at her scalp instead. In an alternate reality the night should've been peaceful and calm, but unlike a switch her mind couldn't be turned off with a flick of a finger, and so instead of sitting serenely, her many unanswered questions only plagued her.
'What did Old Quil mean by spirits?' was one of the many thoughts to frequent her mind. Was her Gran one of them? Why did they favor her? Why had he called her a 'sacred child'? Was she the one from the song he sang in Paul's memories? Why had Billy looked to her and Bella specifically after the story of the Third Wife? Had she really seen the stories in the fire or was she just going crazy? Was she already crazy? Why did one spirit talk about her in particular? How did Old Quil know she would see anything at all? Did Billy know something she and Bella didn't? What was the something terrible coming that they needed to be ready for?
Instead of prying for answers to any of those questions however, Bailey chose to go a different route and inquire to the boy she adored about something that had been festering in her mind for weeks now.
"Paul?" Bailey murmured as she lay curled up against his side with the blankets of his bed strewn about the mattress beneath them. "Can I... Can I ask you something?"
Paul's eyes were glued to his fingers, watching almost in awe as they glided across the silky expanse of Bailey's tanned skin. They were greedy in their travels — the pads of his fingertips soaking up every inch of bare stomach they could find beneath the soft fabric of her oversized gray sweatshirt that had ridden up just a few modest inches below her chest. He was entranced —utterly so— and as she spoke to him softly, he only registered she was doing so because of the vibrations that passed through her belly and up into his connected digits.
"Hmm?"
"Why isn't anyone ever home when we are? I-I mean, I was just wondering, but..." her voice lowered down to a whisper and she looked to him in earnest. "Where's your father?"
Sighing, Paul shuffled closer on the bed and slithered his unoccupied arm under her neck so that her head was cradled in the crook of his shoulder instead of the pillow. "My old man likes to drink, y'know?" He grumbled softly as his fingers continued their exploration. "Every now and then he goes on these benders —bad ones— and he gets so messed up that he wakes up one morning and finds himself in a ditch or a back alley somewhere and realizes he's, like, two states over." He explained while Bailey observed his handsome, stoic face. "First couple a' times I picked him up. Would take the keys to the truck and drive hours in the middle of the night just to haul him off the ground and into the backseat because he was too fucked up to walk on his own. I'd get him home, put him to bed, and for a few days after he slept off his hangover, he'd be okay, y'know?" Paul sighed. "But it wouldn't last long —never would no matter how hard I wished it did— because at some point during the week he'd go down to the diner across the Rez for a bite to eat and then next thing I knew, he'd be stumbling up the porch steps drunk all over again." Paul explained hoarsely, dropping down to press a placating kiss to Bailey's belly button when she made a sound of empathetic sorrow.
"I started missin' a lot of school trying to take care of him. I was probably —what?— fourteen the first time I took the truck? Anyway, sometimes I'd have to drive so far that I'd be gone three or four days out of the school week, so when I got back I got into the habit of just skipping the other few. I didn't see the point, y'know? Why did I need to bother goin' to school when I already had so much going on at home? Felt like a huge waste of fucking time if you ask me. Not to mention my mom had always wanted to be a teacher —I remember that much— and I guess it was the kid in me she left out on the porch the day she left that came out during my teens and felt the need to spite her for it. I didn't want to go to school, not with all those assholes who had no idea what it was like to get a call at three in the morning and have to crawl out of bed whether they wanted to or not, and with my anger issues and the number of fights I got into so often, I already didn't have the best track record as it was, y'know?
"But then I turned sixteen and things started looking up. The tribe Elders found out about my old man and started helping me. When he'd come home drunk and rearing his fists they'd give me a place to crash. I finally got my license so I didn't have to worry about gettin' in trouble for driving underage and I started ignoring the calls that used to always wake me up. Got my act together for the most part, stopped skipping so much school, and made in with a new group of guys that always took me out when I needed them to. Things got better," Paul admitted on a shrug. "Then I shifted for the first time about a year ago and my old man found out, and after that he took off with the truck and hasn't really come back around since."
"So he left?" Bailey whispered, reluctant to raise her voice any louder in fear that it would disrupt the calm atmosphere surrounding them and cause Paul's mood to escalate. "He just packed up his things and went?"
"Not really," Paul refuted with a slight shake of his head. "All his shit's still here and I've seen him around town once or twice. I think knowing that he can't beat down on me like he used to really fucks with him so he extended his week-long benders to months."
"Paul, I- I'm so sorry." Bailey murmured as the first few drops of the endless supply of tears she had for him began to drip down her cheeks. The apology was weak —a failed attempt at consolation on her part— but after hearing of the hardships he'd had to face growing up on his own, Bailey found that she was at a loss as to what else there was left for her to say. Because she was sorry. She was so sorry. Sorry that someone as bright and brilliant and beautiful as Paul had been subjected to so much pain in his young life. Sorry that of all the fathers he could have been graced with, it was one who was too cowardly to love his son the way he deserved to be loved. Sorry that of all the mothers he could have been graced with, he ended up with one who was too cowardly to stay and love him at all. Bailey was sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, and upon witnessing Paul's clear indifference to his own suffering, Bailey allowed her tears to fall a little faster. His eyes were dry and his voice was rough, but there was no mistaking the trembling of his fingertips as they traced along her abdomen with the lightest of touches. So knowing that he was either too complacent or too prideful to cry, Bailey cried for him.
And though she didn't know it at the time, one day Paul would tell her that her tears were the greatest kindness she could ever bestow upon him, because though they were tears of heartbreak that dripped down her cheeks, to Paul tears were precious, sacred things, and in all his nineteen years of life, no one had ever cried for him before.
---
It was around ten the next morning when Bailey finally left Paul. He had been reluctant to let her go, but at the prospect of the ass chewing he'd receive from Sam if he missed his scheduled patrols for the day, Paul found the strength to allow her a twenty four hour reprieve from his arms.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he told her as they shared one last goodbye.
Meanwhile, parked just across the road where the treaty line cut between the two territories, Bella and Edward watched them from inside the front seats of the latter's car.
"Sam's got Embry and I on watch duty at your place tomorrow night and I bribed Embry with the newest version of GTO to cover for me so I can hang in your room instead."
"Paul," Bailey giggled. She blushed at the sight of his eyebrows wiggling suggestively and prodded his chest in a half-hearted attempt to scold him. "You didn't have to do that just to spend time with me," she murmured around a quick peck to the underside of his chin.
Huffing, Paul reciprocated her kiss with one placed chastely to the middle of her forehead all the while remaining conscious of the two pairs of diligent eyes watching them from afar. "Yes I did. With Sam running us on patrols 24/7, I feel like I've barely gotten to see you." He fixed Bailey with a look when she went to protest and nodded smugly when she simply settled for pouting in that cute way she often did instead. "Exactly. Sam and Emily see each other every day. Jared and Kim now, too. So call me a little bitch all you want, but I feel like wanting see my Imprint more than just once a week isn't all that much to ask for."
Frowning, Bailey made no attempt to conceal her guilt. "I'm sorry Paul. I-"
"Shh." Paul interrupted with a hard, hot press of his lips against hers. He kissed her solidly, wildly, and mustered up just enough self-control to pull back when their tongues began to unconsciously seek the other out. "It's not your fault, baby." He panted as he looked down at Bailey's flushed, dazed little face with a fondness only a girl like her could evoke from a guy like him. "I'm just saying that I've never had to do the long distance thing before, and I know we're only fifteen miles away from each other, but here we are having to do it anyway."
"Maybe I could ask Papa to let me stay over more often?" Bailey offered.
Though Paul grinned, he still shook his head 'no'. "Don't worry about it baby. Once we get that redheaded bitch and whatever motherfucker was in your room, we won't have to worry about not seeing each other often ever again."
"Potty mouth," Bailey grumbled under her breath with a halfhearted glare his way. Nevertheless, she acquiesced to his reassurances and snuck her arms around him for one last hug. "I've gotta go now." She murmured against his skin. "Don't think Bells and Edward will be very happy if I keep them waiting any longer."
Paul looked to the two mentioned from over Bailey's head and sent a blank look in the vampire's direction. "You said they're taking you back to the family crypt, right?"
Bailey scowled and poked his back with her finger. "Don't be rude," she scolded as had become habit whenever mention of the Cullen family came up in conversation between them. "But yes," she amended, blinking haughtily up at him from where her chin rested against his sternum. "They are."
"Well be careful, yeah?" Paul grumbled while looking down to meet her gaze with unprecedented concern shining through the dark mahogany of his eyes. "I know you like them —trust them— but I don't, okay? You're little baby, and I know you're strong and can take care of yourself, but they're stronger, alright? So just... for my sake, be on guard, yeah?" He told her. "Text me when you get there." He requested. "And call me if you need me."
Sighing out of frustration but also grateful for his concern, Bailey conceded easily. "Okay." She murmured.
Then after one last parting kiss, Bailey crawled into the backseat of Edward's shiny silver car and waved her Imprint goodbye.
• • •
*watenay – Ojibwa word for 'little one'
*guitain – Kiowa translation for 'heart of a young wolf'
*menawa – Muscogee word for 'great warrior'
*yunke-lo – Lakota word for 'death'
*aho – Cherokee word used as goodbye or when something has come to a close
• • •
Author's Note
So this was a bit of a short chapter and mainly focused on Paul and Bailey, but things are finally getting interesting and I'm so incredibly excited to take all of you readers on the rocky journey ahead!! Nevertheless, sorry for the wait and let me know how you feel about this chapter if you have the time (or, let's be honest, the drive) to comment! I super freakin' appreciate every sweet, funny, passionate comment all y'all leave and I couldn't be more grateful for getting to know such wonderful readers through such a wonderful writing platform! Y'all are so spectacular and I can't thank you enough for it!
All the love and well wishes,
—Vanillarain13
P.S. — I just wanted to take a moment to acknowledge that I in no way shape or form speak any of the Native American languages of our great ancestors and therefore all translations used in this story have been pulled from online research only! So some of it is wrong (i.e. mixed languages, languages used by tribes settled nowhere near the Olympic Peninsula much less Quileute in origin). However, this is just for aesthetic purposes only and as long as the meaning is relayed effectively in my eyes, I'm not really bothered by accuracy in the long run!