Haven (Paul Lahote Fanfiction)

Promises

There was no reason for me to remain in LaPush. My business was complete, the house could be up for rent or sale in the future. All my friends were actually my ex-boyfriends friends and family or pack.

As I sat on my dining table and stuffed myself with pizza, I realised that LaPush didn't really make me happy. It was him. It was his presence that made me want to remain here. And he wasn't a part of my life anymore. So I ran upstairs and called Mandy's assistant and told her to book an afternoon flight for Paris tomorrow. I would see Valentin, then I would go home.

I had to do a little thing first. I went and threw the doors of my closet open. I hadn't cried since I came back from Emily's; I thought my tears had ran out. But as my gaze roamed over the few clothes he left here, I couldn't help myself. I broke down.

I reached out and pulled his two shirts from their hangers and felt the fabric between my fingers. I will not smell it. I brought the fabric to my face and inhaled deeply. It smelled like laundry detergent. Thank god. I shoved them in my least favourite tote bag. I did the same with his one pair of pants and jeans, and two soft cotton shorts. I wiped at my tears and reached into the back of my closet. It was his jacket. The one he had given me a night before our first official date. And that made me think of when we had gone on our first unofficial date. The diner, the questions. The truck rides, and the heated looks. The way he smiled, the way he grabbed my hand, possessively, gently, full of affection, for me. The way he touched me, kissed me, worshipped me. The way he made me laugh, and especially the way he made me cry.

I felt like I might drown in these memories. And this time, he won't be here to save me.

I snatched the jacket out and pushed it into the bag. I was so sure it would smell like him, so I threw the bag on the bed, before I did something stupid like wear the jacket and crawl into bed and die. Because that is exactly what I wanted to do.

I pulled a cardigan out and threw it over the my dress(picture above), then I went to the bathroom and cleaned up. I could do nothing about the puffiness under my eyes and my swollen cheeks, nor anything about the redness in my eyes and my mouth. I grabbed the bag and stuffed his copy of 'Clockwork Angel' by Cassandra Clare, that he had bought to impress me, and had reach till page seventy-four. Good God, why did I know that? I chucked in his journal too. I had told him I would never read it, and I would not break his trust. My face was wet with tears again, and I wiped them away hastily. I was about to step out of my room with the bag, before I realised I forgot his fucking toothbrush. I went back to get it, but instead of putting it in the bag, I threw it out the window.

I grabbed the bag and headed downstairs, out the house, and inside my car.

I started the car, sobbing like a crazy person, and backed out, when it suddenly hit me. I shouldn't have thrown his toothbrush out like that. It will probably be the last toothbrush he uses, and it didn't deserve to lie in the grass like that. I parked the car in my driveway and went to retrieve it. For some reason I took the bag with me.

I dropped it hastily on the grass behind my house and began looking for the brush. The grass was sort of long, reaching my ankles, and his toothbrush was bluish green for fuck's sake. I searched and searched and searched, but I couldn't find it. At this point I wondered if the amount of tears I had cried could fill a bucket. Probably.

I dropped to my knees in the grass and ripped of my cardigan. I reached the bag and pulled out his jacket. And I inhaled his scent, deeply. Woodsy and masculine and lies and pine. His fragrance was dark, and sweet and intimate and possessive. It was Paul. Paul Paul Paul Paul Paul Paul Paul Paul Paul Paul Paul.

I slipped the jacket and on and lay back in the grass, and looked up at the sky. Cloudy and misty. It was chilly today, and everything was vividly green. The grass, the trees, the moss. I pulled the bag close to me and hugged it. The movement caused his journal to slip out, and softly hit my chin. I lifted it up and ran my fingers over the hard black cover.

Something tells me I have every right to break his trust; he broke mine. Our promises didn't mean anything anymore, so I opened the diary and began to read.