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Being Her

A series of one-shots in Claire's perspective throughout the series For Her.

Um, will not go in any order. they come as i get bored enough to write them. PSSSTTT if you want a new story, go review with her!

58. Owe Him More

Rating 5/5   Word Count 948   Review this Chapter

A silence dawned in the room. Quietly, Claire smiled up at me, and I saw a bright future of pleasant contentment lying ahead.

Quil is on the phone with Sam. I’m sitting at the table, reading the notes from some famous lecture that apparently pertains in some mysterious way to my life.

I eavesdrop a little on their conversation, because the work is just so boring. Besides, I’m pretty sure Quil wouldn’t mind.

Apparently, there are vampires invited to my wedding. Apparently, Sam isn’t really very happy with this.

Since when is it any of his business? I mean, he’s my uncle and I love him and all that, but honestly, it’s my wedding, and he isn’t the Alpha of anything anymore, and he needs to mind his own business.

Well, that’s not exactly one of Sam’s strong points.

I don’t really care whether the vampires come. I have nothing but fond memories of Carlisle. He was the person who inspired this ridiculously arduous career, after all. One of the first people I trusted, after Quil, Sam, and Emily. I’d actually like to have him there, but I didn’t think Quil would really be that fond of the idea.

I’m proud of him. He seems pretty open-minded about this. Not that he’s at all a prejudiced person, but werewolves don’t like vampires, and wow, this sounds bizarre.

I smile a little and look down at my paper.

Oh, the joy of irony.

“Seventeen-year-old Native American male presents with symptoms of uncontrollable rage, muscle tremors, and high fever. Your diagnosis:”

There’s a list of options beneath that I’m too amused to even look at. My diagnosis: werewolf.

I’m still grinning when I hear Quil say, “See you, brother.” After another second, the phone clicks.

I stand up and walk over to him. He looks really tense, so I rub his temples gently. “Hey, Quil.”

He wraps his arms around me for a moment. “I love you.”

I laugh. “All my friends are always whining about their relationship problems. They don’t know how to express affection, they’re never noticing you, they never do anything romantic, all they want is to get in your pants… good thing I don’t have to worry about any of that.”

His voice fills with softness and he whispers, “Glad I can make it easy for you.” The words are carefree, but the meaning isn’t.

I decide to lighten the mood. “My biggest problem in our relationship is me and all my baggage. You’re perfect.”

The tone he speaks in is husky again. His burning hot hands trail from my back to my waist, and I can feel him shake his head, almost a foot above mine. “No. You are.”


He laughs, his huge body shaking, and I join in.

I reach my arms around his neck and stretch onto my tiptoes. He bends down a little, so I can meet his lips. We kiss for a single instant, and then I pull away, whispering, “I love you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. I don’t feel at all rejected. I know, somehow, that he’s simply too overwhelmed to speak. And then he says, “I can’t wait until our wedding.”

“Neither can I. It seems silly to wait at all, doesn’t it? Like this is such a formality. Even though I was being an idiot and leaving you just a few weeks before we got engaged… now it seems like this is how it’s supposed to be.” The sentiment is a little bit tricky to put into words, but I think I’ve got it. Just the right mix of love and desire and regret. And determination, because I know, I am absolutely certain, that I belong here, in Quil’s arms, more than anywhere else in the universe.

“That’s how it’s always seemed to me.” He’s nonchalant, but I sigh.

“I haven’t made this easy for you. I know that. I wish I could have… I wish you hadn’t had to wait.” I don’t apologize, but I try to show him my regret. I’m sure he planned, when he imprinted on me, to wait until I was sixteen, maybe eighteen, around his age. We were supposed to start this life straight out of high school. But I had to go and be all traumatized and terrified and stupid and now he’s had to wait another decade.

He disagrees vehemently. “I wasn’t waiting, not really. We had a different relationship then, one just as special. I don’t regret a minute I’ve spent with you.”

I pause, and then say, “Thank you… for everything.” And I mean it. From saving me to taking me in to shaking me out of my fear to making me laugh to the birthday parties to the stupid dates he insists on to being the perfect boyfriend to waiting all this time to loving me, completely, unconditionally, through it all… I owe him more than I can ever repay.

“Thank you, for being everything,” he responds, and I know then I don’t have to make restitution. All he wants is to be near me.

Right now, that pretty much feels like all I want, too. “Silly Quil. You’re such a romantic fool.”

“And proud to be it, so long as I’m yours.”

“You are.” And, though I’m not quite brave enough to say it, I’m his. For the rest of my life, I belong to him in a way I can’t quantify.

A way I never want to change.