Previously French Class. A series of one-shots beween chapters 3 and 4 of Protect Her. Based off actual instances in my life, Quil's POV.
Review. I disclaim. None of this is mine.
Rating 0/5 Word Count 566 Review this Chapter
It’s kind of hard to shop for clothes as a werewolf. There’s a lot of specifics. Light, easy to carry, tastes good to wolves (not something you can say to even the most helpful salesperson. I mean, “Hi, I’m looking for a pair of jeans.” “Any in particular?” “Well, it has to taste good to wolves.”), easy to get in and out of, very stretchy, able to withstand changes in physical shape, inexpensive, and huge. Seriously, I can’t shop just anywhere.
I was in Kohl’s, trying on about two hundred pairs of jeans. As I groaned and failed to buckle the seventh pair, I heard an alarming voice.
I gasped. Instinctively, I knew it wasn’t her, not the real her, but it still sent a strong feeling down my spine. I wasn’t sure what. It was intense, however.
“Hi, honey.” There was a noise… a kiss. This Claire had a high, sweet voice.
I heard the young male voice, clearly happy, say, “I brought you that shirt you wanted.”
“You’re the best.”
Closing my eyes, I imagined the scene on the other side of the door. In my mind, of course, the girl is my Claire, her skin smooth and dark, hair dark red-brown, eyes heavily lidded and green as the sea just before a storm sweeps through it.
And the male voice is me. I can just see it, my arms wrapping around her, her leaning back into my chest.
“You look hot in that,” he said, so normally, but I sensed in his voice a lovely note of protective awe.
It was, of course, familiar. And I heard behind the words what he really meant. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world. I love you.
I smiled bitterly. It was the only way I could express my own devotion, through some random strangers meeting. I couldn’t have the only one I would ever want, but I could imagine.
“Claire, I’ll get that for you if you want.”
I imagined her taking his hand, his grin widening. It made me sigh wistfully, fogging up the mirror. I continued to place the clothing in neat piles after trying it on. It was a tedious chore. I didn’t have money to spend on things I actually liked, not when I ripped through an outfit a week, (though I was getting better) so I just wore whatever I could.
It made the whole idea of clothing boring.
There was another loud kiss behind the door. I felt my skin growing even hotter with a blush. It wasn’t right to admit just how much I’d like to kiss my Claire. She’s still only four years old. A baby. I couldn’t do anything like that, not yet.
And yet even though she was a child, she was the only woman in my world.
Cautiously, I left the little gray dressing room. Claire was standing there, holding her boyfriend’s hand.
She looked nothing like my Claire, and it was a relief. I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate being embraced by an utter stranger, so it was all for the best.
I watched her walk away and grasped the jeans tighter against my chest.
“Good-bye, Claire,” I whispered, attracting some stares. I didn’t really care.