Clearer (J.HALE)

05

I flicked through a magazine I'd found discarded on the kitchen counter, not really paying attention.

All the books I'd brought with me, I'd already read, and I couldn't sleep. I rolled onto my back and let out a defeated sigh, proceeding to stare at the ceiling. The weather had been, somehow, even more gloomy than before. There was a storm coming, so the clouds were denser, and the sea churned a deep, bluish grey. I liked storms, but they made me skittish.

There was a storm the first time I ran away to Forks. I walked from the bus stop in pouring rain, without a coat, and turned up on Meg's doorstep shivering and delirious. Forks was no stranger to torrential rain, but that night it was particularly cutting—icy and determined.

I could hear Aunt Meg walking around downstairs, the floorboards whining and crackling under the weight of each step. Light switches snapped and the stairs groaned, and then her bedroom door clicked shut.

The sky was inky and glimmering—completely clear—and reflected in the glassy sea. I sat up and looked over at the window; a window that happened to open onto the flat roof of the cottage's outhouse, where the washing machine and dryer were.

I pulled a cardigan onto my shoulders and slid open the window, cringing at the gust of cold wind that slithered in through the gap. I carefully looped one leg over the sill, gaging the metre or so drop, before slipping down. The roof dipped slightly under my weight and I braced myself to fall through, but I remained stationery. I sank down into a crouch and crept across the roof to the edge, holding onto the drainpipe and shimmying down to the ground. I'd managed to not make much noise, surprisingly.

Night-time was my favourite, especially in Forks.

It was so quiet. So, so quiet, that my own breathing made me jump sometimes. Noise helped me to focus, but quiet helped me breathe.

I tugged the cardigan tighter around my body and tiptoed down to the coastal path, peeking over the edge of the cliff at the sea. Stretched ashen grey with white ruffles wiggling across the bay, wind skimming the surface of the sea in a gentle rush. The walk down to the beach was easy and the decline gentle. It looked so different at night, dipped in starlight and laced with silver. There was something ghostly about it. When my foot sank into the shingle and a jingling sound followed, I couldn't help but smile.

In that moment, I wasn't as scared. I was away from everything. Away from him.

For the first time in weeks, I let his face enter my mind. His eyes.

"Excuse me? Are you okay?"

I yelped and whirled around. A tall shape cautiously moved toward me.

"Oh," I breathed, pressing a hand to my chest. "Paul, you scared me."

"Imogen?" He squinted at me as he approached. "What are you doing out here?"

"Walking," I said, suddenly a little defensive. "I could ask you the same thing."

His face shut down and his back went up.

We looked at each other for a few moments, unsure as to whether to simply walk around each other, head back the separate ways we came, or attempt to hold a conversation.

"I'm avoiding family dinner," he blurted out, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

I blinked. "Cool."

Then he turned and walked away.

I watched his retreating figure, mildly baffled. His shoulders were slumped inward and his pace rushed, and for some reason I found myself following him. I had to jog a little to catch up, and the clinking shingle made my approach painfully conspicuous.

"Do you dislike me, Paul?"

His steps faltered and he turned his head sharply, meeting me eyes as I stopped beside him.

"What?"

I shrugged. "I mean, we've only met, like, twice, so you can't really hate me yet. But I just want to know where we stand. If you don't like me, I'll leave you alone."

He reeled back slightly and blinked at me; lips parted.

I waited. "Paul?"

"I, uh..." he said finally, shaking his head. "No, I don't dislike you."

I raised an eyebrow at him, the distasteful expression on his face less than encouraging. "You might want to tell your face."

He dipped his head and furrowed his brow. "Sorry. I'm not exactly approachable."

"Doesn't bother me," I said, shooting him a small smile as he looked up, before slipping into a slow stroll.

I hadn't realised how relieved I'd feel knowing that he didn't actively dislike me. I'd never been hugely bothered with strangers' opinions of me, but the last couple of months seemed to have flipped that on its head.

"Aren't you cold?"

He looked down at his shorts as he fell into step beside me. "No."

"It's freezing."

"I have good blood circulation."

I shook my head and smiled, watching the silvery water crawl up the beach only to slide back down.

"Why did you move to Forks?"

I sucked in a breath, the air rattling through my ribcage a little too loudly. "I needed a break."

He didn't say anything for a few moments, before his voice got very quiet. "I get that."

I glanced sideways at him. "Why haven't you left Forks?"

His eyebrows flew up at my question and his lips broke into a wry smile. "Can't catch a break." \

I chuckled. "I get that."

"What makes you think I want to leave?"

I shrugged. "Something's keeping you up a night, obviously."

"Perceptive," he sighed, smile dulling.

"Or I could just be projecting."

"A possibility."

We didn't speak for the next few minutes. The sea shushed us as it trundled over the shingle and our footfalls fell into time with one another. He put me at ease, oddly. Having only met him once and not being particularly fond of spending time one-on-one in an isolated space with a man twice my size, I'd expected to panic.

But I didn't.