I'll Teach You How To Love (Me)
One of the werewolves imprints on a mysterious woman. He travels to the ends of the earth to find her, and then discovers he has an impossible task. He doesn't just have to convince her to love him. He has to convince her love exists at all.
Right- this is a multi-chapter fic. I own nothing. It's in second person, so you can really pick a werewolf besides Jake, Quil, Sam, and Jared. In my mind, it's Embry, and that may be established later. Each chapter has a song which inspired it. I will provide links to the songs. You need to listen to them to get the right mood. I own nothing. REVIEW.
4. Dear Jenny
Rating 0/5 Word Count 940 Review this Chapter
She sits beside you on her black leather couch, her smile not budging as she offers you potato chips in a big blue bowl. Shamelessly, you dig in, the delectable salt and grease heavy in your empty stomach.
“You eat like a pig, kid,” she says, and you nod.
“Mmm-hmm…” you mutter around the Lay’s. She laughs again. You gasp and try very hard not to choke on your potato chips.
Once you swallow, choking down the food, you say, “So, what’s your name?”
She stares, her deep blue eyes widening, and then starts to crack up. “You’re kidding!”
“You’ve been stalking me for six years and you don’t know my name!”
“The guy upstairs said you called yourself Rachel, but he made it sound like that wasn’t your real name,” you explain.
“It isn’t. He the one that gave you my address?”
“That bastard,” she comments blandly. “I think I’ll kick his ass when you leave. Nothing against you-“ she interrupts when you wince- “But I don’t think he needs to be giving my digits to a bunch of random stalkers.”
“That’s what I thought… Wait. That guy you were with, when I saw you the first time. You said you don’t date.”
She stares for a second. “You mean you don’t know?”
“No.” What is she talking about? “I don’t know anything about you.”
“Except what I look like… so you mean you didn’t even know, when you started following me? You’ve been after me for six years and you don’t even know what I do?”
“You could call it that.”
You wonder what she’s talking about. Is she frustrating you on purpose? She seems to be taunting you. So you tease, just a little gently, in response. “You are the most annoying woman in the world.”
“You never did tell me your name.”
She scowls. “I choose not to divulge that information at this time, kid. That answer your question?”
“What am I supposed to call you, then?” you prod, still- desperately, hoping- that she’ll open up, that she’ll trust you.
“Whatever the hell ya want. Man upstairs likes it when I’m Rachel. Tim at two on Fridays calls me Mandy. Eli every other Tuesday thinks I’m Lynn. Na, tell ya what. Call me Jenny- I heard it in a song. And that isn’t taken yet.”
“What?” You are even more bewildered now.
“Oh, that’s right. You don’t know. Kid, when you work like I do, who you are doesn’t matter. It’s who they think you are that counts.”
“What do you do?” You finally ask.
“Why the hell are ya stalking me? See, I can ask rude questions you don’t wanna answer too!” she exclaims, irritated.
You gasp at having failed so. It is a totally unexpected emotion. The strength of it blows you away. She’s annoyed at you, and you would gladly die right now, just sink into the floor so you can never inconvenience her again. But you can’t reveal that to her, it’ll scare her, and that would be even worth. So you reply lightly. “Okay. Let’s play twenty questions, my friend.”
“Deal. Me first.” You nod, glad her anger has faded. She seems teasing again, sweet, and on top of that quite happy to have gotten her on way. You have no intention of withholding that from her, not ever. “Where’re you from, kid?”
“La Push. The reservation near Forks,” you clarify.”
“You one of ‘em giant kids that doesn’t grow up but doesn’t stop growing?” You stare. “There was an article in the paper ‘bout y’all.”
You nod. “I… I guess… what about you? Where are you from, pretty lady?”
She mock-blushes and says, “Can’t you tell?” You shake your head. “Boy, you are a fool. I thought I had the most noticable accent ever. Well, I’m from North Carolina- a down-South girl. Why are you stalking me?”
“I’m in love with you. Why don’t you believe in love?” The questions change in tone, suddenly.
“Cause of my childhood trauma. Why are you in love with me?”
“I don’t know. What was your childhood trauma?”
“My dad got drunk and beat the crap outta me- and my siblings. Amber, Ashley, Amanda, Andy- my mum was one for alliteration. One day I got sick of his shit and beat back. Why’d you decide to hunt me down?” she says, all of it so matter-of-fact. You wince at the thought that anyone would dare to hurt her. You’d comfort her, but it seems wrong for the situation. Instead, you answer her question.
“I couldn’t forget about you-believe me, I tried. How’d you end up here?”
“Police came after me for kicking my dad’s ass. Tried to haul me away. I ran. I was thirteen, and I wound up here with no skills, no money, no nothin’… too young to get a legal job, too dumb to work the drug runs…” she trails off. “What where your parents like?”
“My mom’s… not exactly… chaste.” She snorts aloud when you say this, and you’re glad to hear the sound after her pain being revealed. “I don’t know my dad. If you couldn’t get a job, what do you do?”
She stares right in my eyes- I hear the beat my heart skips- and says quite clearly, and in no uncertain terms, “I’m a hooker.”
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- 12 Jun 08
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