Leah/Emily One-sided one-shot. banner by the gorgeous iris!
Just an angsty little one-shot. Creative pairing, because as lovely as canon is sometimes it gets a little tedious. REVIEW!
Rating 5/5 Word Count 1131 Review this Chapter
She still thinks it’s Sam. Why not. Just as well this way. She’d hate you if she knew…
Though hating you might be better than the guilt that spears you whenever you see the guilt in her eyes.
Everything in your world has told you again and again how wrong it is. Girls don’t fall in love with other girls, especially not their childhood playmates, especially not their second cousins.
Everything about it is wrong.
And no one in the world is more unattainable to you than Emily Uley.
That’s her name now.
She’s not the Emily Young that was your childhood friend, your playmate.
You tell myself that over and over again, hoping someday it’ll hurt less.
She’s his now.
Not that she was ever really yours.
But she could have been, and it kills you to see how close you were in memories.
You think you know the day you fell in love with Emily Young. You didn’t know it at the time, of course. You just thought it was fun. You didn’t notice the stirring behind that beautiful, simple day.
You are thirteen, and you’re wearing make-up for the first time. Well, trying to, anyway. You have bright red lipstick on and are trying to make your eyelashes even longer. You, like every girl, want to be spectacular.
Emily is subtler- she always was. And she is even more beautiful than you fancy yourself to be. She isn’t wearing much of your mothers’ make-up, just a little gold shimmer. You’re fascinated by the way that color shines against her eyes. It makes the dark pools even deeper. She is lovely.
Her skin is rich and had a pink tone underneath the brown. The contrast brings it out.
“What are you looking at?” she asks, and you notice for the first time how pretty her voice is.
“I like that color. Pass it here, would you?”
You never loved Sam. You didn’t know it at the time.
When he asked you to the dance, you said yes. Every other girl had a boyfriend, and you’d never so much as wanted one. So of course you said yes.
You never thought it would go so far, get so serious. His devotion was obvious, and it was easy to fall into the trap of pretending to return his love.
But you, eventually, realized that it wasn’t just that you weren’t interested in him. You had barely admitted it to yourself, but you knew he would accept your choice. It was part of what Sam was, devoted, accepting, self-sacrificing.
You were just about to tell him when…
“Emily, we need to talk.”
“Yes, we do.” You have a sneaking suspicion he is about to pop the question, and you are dreading saying it.
His shocking answer is… almost… a relief. “Leah, I’m so sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. It’s a lie, and I can’t be a liar. I loved you so much, but… I’m sorry. There’s some things that are more than love. I’m sorry.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” You struggle to keep the relief out of your voice.
“Yes… And maybe I should leave this for Emily to tell you…”
“You dumped me for EMILY!” When you were so close, to telling him, to telling her, to maybe finally realizing what you’d so wanted, for so long.
The analytical, stubborn part of your mind, the part untouched by any emotion, remarks that at least no one will suspect. The grief and jealousy and bitter heartbreak—everyone will think it’s Sam that you’re pining for.
The rest of you is bowed over in woe. That fragile hope, shattered in one word. The irony is that the word that did it were those three so beloved syllables.
And you didn’t quite realize it until there was no chance. Because now there isn’t one. When you first phase, you realize it. The fury builds quicker for you than the others, and they are shocked.
Because you are a woman.
And you are shocked.
Because they know what you are thinking.
But, to your relief, you find they do not look past your bitterness. Your loathing, your anger, your hurt, all are weapons, and they are used against those that pry.
Your love is your secret.
No one need ever know.
No one must ever know.
And one day, he, so guilty, so sorry, looks past the hateful thoughts, and realizes the truth.
At least, you think you do. You think he knows what you see, those half-realized possibilities, in her familiar and beloved eyes.
And you think, when you look into his, he understands. After all, he loves her too.
But he’s the lucky one, the one who’s won in an underhanded contest that you never got a shot at.
Maybe your day will come too. Maybe you’ll find that one and it won’t hurt so damn much because you’ll find something better.
But in the memories of her carefree smile, she is the best thing in the world.
Like Jacob says, you never see anything but her.
The pack must be blind not to see it. Maybe they just don’t want to.
Like you don’t want to.
Don’t want to move on, don’t want to find the one, don’t want their to be someone else.
Because it would devalue what you could have had, what you’ve given her to get nothing in return, to find something else.
And so you’re bound, hiding your grief, pretending, hating, longing.
It hurts and they know and understand.
It doesn’t really matter who you want. You can’t have either of them, the two that practically sing in one another’s presence.
You wish you had the strength to be happy for her, but you don’t. Every time you try, your mind insidiously whispers that you could have been the one. You could have brought that smile to her face. You could have been the one whose lips gave that kiss, whose heart was accepted.
But your heart was an unworthy offering. She did not want it.
She didn’t even know you gave it to her.
Some days you consider telling her, but what good would that do?
Only make her guiltier.
Only make her sad.
Only make her more uncomfortable.
If you ever imprint, you’ll tell her.
Until then, you must remain