𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍
— 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃𝓈 𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇𝓈 —

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 across the horizon, stealing the rose-colored clouds and tucking them away for safety. A storm blossoms in the west, threatening to suffocate the rainless day with an endless shower of fog and heavy teardrops from the crying beings that live in the sky. The ghost of Graham Torine awaits his sister's departure from the cottage, knowing something that she doesn't — perhaps the heavy wind and frantic tree branches can feel it too. Maybe they, too, know that the unwinding afternoon will bring nothing but hurt to the supernatural couple. Whispers brush against Graham's cheeks, and though he cannot feel them, he senses their presence and braces his hands in the dying grass around him. His twin finally stumbles from the foyer, her hand placed within Quil's, giggling with flushed cheeks and a smile that he can hardly recognize. Graham has always known that his sister would survive without him; but here, watching her find her place in the world with friends that could last forever, he fully embraces that relief. She could smile like this every day, she could think about he and their mother without crying until she can no longer do so. But he also knows that something is going to happen tonight that could potentially break every bond she has formed.

Oakley finds the eyes of her brother when she steps away from the door, but she turns to Emily Young before he can make any gestures. "Thank you for such an amazing day," the Torine girl tugs her so gracefully into an embrace, a natural one that feels too good to be true. And perhaps it is. "I appreciate you for taking the time to listen, and for making me feel at home . . . " she trails off, hardly able to finish her own sentence, "for what feels like the first time in a long while."

"There's no need to thank me," Emily tugs a piece of lent from Oakley's jacket, her actions reminding the girl of her own mother. "I will always be here for you, no matter what. But don't be a stranger, make sure you convince Quil to bring you around again — I'm always free, and I really enjoy the company."

Oakley nods, murmuring a goodbye as she and Quil Ateara fall back into their steps on the dying leaves. They break underneath the weight, dispersing like the pieces of a broken heart that might never be sewn back together. But instead of tugging her to his truck, Quil leads her into the dimly lit forest, brushing past the walking corpse that practically begs for his sister's attention in silence. "Where are we going?" Oakley questions him as he rubs soothing circles onto the skin of her hand.

"I promised you that I would never keep secrets," his grasp on her hand tightens a bit, as if he's afraid that she might let go. Once the couple reaches a clearing where branches part to allow their company, they halt in their steps. "And I intend to keep that promise, despite the fact that you might leave me for it."

She notices a tremor in his touch, the way that his skin shakes in the slightest and the fear lying within his eyes. "Quil, I'm not going to leave you," Oakley reasons, brushing a stray, dark curl from his line of vision. "You don't have to tell me anything you are not ready for. It can wait."

Graham is behind Quil now, practically reaching a hand out for his sister — something isn't right. But Oakley tucks his beckon away in the back of her mind and focuses on the boy with the russet skin. Her brother's presence, however, makes her wonder for the slightest of moments . . . why would he be here, right this second, while Quil is trying to tell her the secrets that lie so heavily on his heart?

"Listen to me, Oakley," the ghost pries her attention away, "you need to leave now. Something is not right, I can feel it and I know you can too. Just go home and talk about it there. Please."

The Torine twin looks to him with furrowed brows, which doesn't go unnoticed by Quil. "Do you see something?" He questions the girl, turning with a protective stance to stare into the woodland of nothingness. When he finds the clearing and its surrounding shrubbery abandoned, he relaxes in his place.

"No," Oakley waves away the chill that travels through her spine like thick snow. "Just thinking, I guess . . . I have secrets too, and I meant what I said earlier. I think it is far past time that you hear about them."

Though his touch is vacant, Graham moves to touch the shoulder of his sister, willing her to leave. And yet she stays, her heart coiled within the hand of Quil Ateara with the hope that he will not break it. Perhaps he will, she thinks to herself — the past few days will have been in vain because his absence will overbear all of their beautiful memories together. Instead of remembering their walk through the pumpkin patch, or the twinkling laugh of his mother, a cloud of pain will suffocate her. It will break the skin of her chest like a searing knife, cutting through layers of skin and flesh, but never quite piercing her heart. And maybe that would hurt more than a clean stab ever would.

"I could go first if you want," Quil swallows the fear that wraps within his throat, tightening with each passing second and threatening to smother him.

With a slight shake of her head, Oakley lowers herself to the forest floor and tugs him down with her. "No, I . . . I need to do this." She pulls her knees to her chest, cradling them in the presence of her brother's spirit. "Graham and my mother died in a yacht accident a few months ago. He was receiving an award for academics, we were all so proud of him, and it was supposed to be a special occasion for all of us. But I wasn't feeling well that moment, so father and I stayed behind. So they went alone." Graham sinks to the ground beside his sister, remembering every second, every painstaking, terrifying moment as she recalled the police report and paired it with her own memories. "There was a storm, no one expected it — just out of the blue, it was pouring. Even looking from the window, father and I could not see. The tide got too high, the waves were too strong." Her eyes brim with tears, and Quil reaches out to take her shaking hands within his. "It capsized before they could make it back to the dock."

"I don't remember how many died that day," she continues, feeling guilty, "but my twin, my mommy," Oakley breaks into a million pieces. "I couldn't believe it, I didn't want to. How are you supposed to say goodbye to someone who is already gone?"

Quil does not dare to interrupt when she pauses, wondering what part of this comprised a secret. She is mourning, reopening new wounds. He nearly tells her that she can wait to tell him — but a part of the boy insists that he listen and be here for her. No matter how broken she seems to be, she is finally ready to tell another soul the very thing that has clawed at her each and every day.

"I still remember how it all felt, something like that never goes away. But that night, I saw him," Oakley clenches the Quileute boy's hand with desperation. "My brother was in the room — his ghost, looking just as he did when he left. It was like he hadn't really gone. Graham has yet to cross over, Quil. He is still here, his ghost follows me every day. I see him. And I know how crazy that must sound, because my own father can hardly look at me since I told him. Even my therapist dismissed me, but I swear . . . he is here with us, even now. I talk to him, and he converses back." A short breath falls from her lips before she begins to plead, "I sincerely hope you believe me. Please believe me." Her voice breaks, and her tears seem so much more meaningful now. "Because if you don't, I'm not sure what I will do."

Quil stares at her, his eyes unreadable and his posture unwavering. The seconds of silence burn on as she cries, and his quiet lips bring agony to her chest. Oakley's heart is on fire; not a kindling flame, but a raging one that will leave no trace of ashes. The forest will spare her no mercy as it crushes every ounce of her hope.

Perhaps the ghost of her brother was right.

"Look at me," his words are gentle when his rough fingertips brush her stained cheeks. And when their eyes meet, a small promise shared between the two, she releases a soft breath of relief. "Of course I believe you. I will always believe you, Oakley. I may not be able to see the dead, but I have no doubts that it exists and you hold the ability. I am so, so sorry that no one else would take the time to empathize. You don't deserve to be alone. I am here for you."

Quil believes her?

Although Oakley thought that his words earlier on that day were the only things she needed to hear, she finds herself mistaken. Had she so desperately needed someone to speak to, someone to believe what she experienced every day?

Wiping at her cheeks, she sniffs, "I must sound delusional, regardless. I talk to him every day, and I beg him to stay with me. He feels so real," her eyes fall onto a faraway place, not quite looking at anything but finding a home too astray to reach. "Sometimes I wonder if my mother is out there too, somewhere where I, and even Graham, cannot see her. Maybe she hears me when I speak to him, or she is aware of how much I think about her. Maybe she has read all the letters I have written for her, and tucked away under the dock." Oakley closes her eyes, dismissing her own thoughts. "I would prefer it if she were resting. Perhaps she would be disappointed if she saw us now, with such a declining state of mental health and no father to provide a stable support system."

"It may take a lifetime, but I have faith that your father will come around," Quil tugs her closer to him, ensuring that she can feel his warmth and grow calm. "And if he doesn't, you should know that it isn't a fault of yours. Everyone copes differently, and his method is shutting people out. As wrong as it is, I think it makes him feel better to pretend that it didn't happen."

Sometimes Oakley pretended the same thing — even in her dreams, she created scenarios of her perfect family in their perfect home, living the perfect lives that they deserved. And when she woke to find it fake, it hurt a little bit more than the time before. Would she do that forever? Would the cycle of heartbreak ever stop? She felt as though it wouldn't, and she would be trapped within the past for the rest of her life.

"I am beyond proud of you." Graham's voice is strong with truth, but something else lies behind his voice as he cautiously gestures to the path back to Emily's cottage. "But I'm afraid that you should go now, with or without him. I meant what I said earlier, Oakley. Something isn't right here." The sincerity in his golden eyes almost makes her stand and obey, but Quil's presence pulls her back down to earth.

When the Quileute boy notices the shift in her attention, his lips part in concentration. "Is he here with us right now? Do you see him?"

The Torine twin hesitates, before nodding her head slowly, "Um, yes — he is."

"What is he saying?" Quil bites his lip, hoping that he had made a good impression on the ghost. How many times had Graham shared a space with he and Oakley? Had he always been there?

"Nothing important." Oakley is quick to shut down her brother's request as she corrects her previous emotions and settles into neutrality. "He is just as relieved as I am to hear that someone finally understands." Though she does not lie, it nearly breaks her heart to dismiss her deceased twin and not directly answer Quil's question. Perhaps she should listen — what would it hurt for them to find a new place to gather and reveal the secrets they are dying to tell?

This forest, so calm and serene, seems like a haven that would not disrupt their time together. So Oakley, still curious about her brother's intuition, continues. "I think that I can help him cross over. And if that is what he wishes, I won't spare another second to avoid the inevitable."

"How would you help him?"

With an unclear sigh, her shoulders pull into a shrug of defeat. "He thinks that you might be involved, as well as your friends and family. He appears more often when I am with you and that has to mean something." Does she think her own words to be true? It seems nearly impossible that Quil is intertwined with the fate of her brother, and yet her twin believes so strongly in it. "I understand that it sounds a bit off putting, but I trust his judgment and I will do anything I can to assist him."

A faint nod is all she requires and Quil does just that. "If you need anything from me, I would be more than happy to help."

"Thank you," the sincerity nearly breaks her voice, sweeter than honey and warm enough to boil. "I . . . I have no idea where I would be without your kindness." If the girl were to lean closer, perhaps their lips would touch — she would melt into him and embrace his frame with urgency because no one could know how much longer they have together. The smallest of accidents could sweep these dimly lit, intimate moments from under their unsuspecting bodies. If she wishes hard enough, maybe the leaves will swallow them up whole, tug them into the rotting soil and bury them forever. At least then, they could be together; they could last, suspending into the space where Oakley's mother is resting.

The forest, now growing bitterly cold and dark, insists otherwise.

"Take him to our home, father is not there," Graham's cold hand grasps her exposed arm, creating a wave of goosebumps that the girl examines. "Oakley, please, I'm begging you. I know you feel the atmosphere changing around you, something isn't right."

Oakley stays, unwavering, and mindlessly tousles the material of her own top. "What is it that you wanted to tell me?" She questions the Quileute boy. The warning signs are all around her; dark clouds looming in the sky that threaten an unforgiving storm, towering oak trees that groan with the harsh wind, and the fear that flashes within Quil Ateara's eyes when she asks the question.

"I have to admit," a lump forms in Quil's throat and he wonders if he should continue or keep this secret a little longer. But that would hurt his imprint, wouldn't it? "What I have to admit is a little more unorthodox." He would do anything for her.

Even if it made her hate him.

"Whatever you have to say, I vow that it will not change the way I feel for you." Her eyes are concentrated, studying every inch of his expression but with a type of understanding that he cannot turn from. But oh, how he wishes that he could.

Her promise motivates his sigh of relief and he holds onto her hand as if they are the last two beings in the universe. "I grew up on the Quileute Reservation, where my ancestors have watched over and cherished the land for generations. My mother used to tell me stories about them — they did more than nourish nature, they protected it, in a way that I didn't understand until . . . " Quil stops, surveying the leaves around them as if they, themselves, could finish for him.

"The supernatural exist, and you are no stranger to it," he slowly enters the dangerous territory. "But there is so much more than individuals who can see the dead and spirits who still walk the earth. There are palefaces — vampires — who would have destroyed everything if it weren't for my ancestors. They called themselves shapeshifters, after the forms they fluctuate between. While the palefaces tore through humans and wreaked havoc upon the villages, my family line changed. Something within them snapped, they became something more. Something that could protect, something more invincible than our fragile, earthly bodies."

Oakley shakes her head as she listens, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. Vampires? A stretch, she admits — Quil reaches desperately to connect an imaginable world of immortal beings to seeing ghosts. Though she knows one exists, the other seems more wild, more fake. Is this a way to to humiliate her? Is Quil using this delusional story to prove how foolish she sounded when she revealed her ability? Though she does not want to believe he would do this to her, she has no other option.

"Oh, Oakley," Graham sympathizes with her, his eyes downcast as her eyes brim with angry tears. "I am so sorry." He, too, thinks the same: a boy pretended to believe. Perhaps this was Quil's breaking point within their relationship, the moment when she becomes most vulnerable and is desperate for a shoulder to cry on. Maybe she should have feared Quil's presence more than she originally had.

She knew from the first seconds at the rainy beach that he would be the very thing to break her.

Had this been the awful event that Graham anticipated? Though the ghost feels the hurt that is unfolding due to Quil's seeming betrayal, he cannot help but feel as though there is something else. He does not bring himself to speak another word to his sister — he only presses a gentle hand to her back.

"I get it," Oakley snaps, jumping to her feet without allowing the boy to continue. "You don't have to make up a tale to prove that I sound insane. Demeaning me, Quil, really? I thought you were better than this." Hot tears fall from her eyes now, and Quil's eyes widen with realization. "I thought you actually believed me. I have never lied to you, nor is any of what I told you untrue. I live in agony every day, passing my father in the hallway and pretending as though he doesn't see me as mentally unfit. I opened up to you, I told you everything that I was scared to tell anyone else. And this . . . this is how you admit that you see me as a fool?"

Her cheeks sting against the brutal wind, against the raw tear tracks that stain with the threat of staying forever. Perhaps he is right, she is foolish. Foolish for believing that a living person could understand what she went through every painful day. Whipping thoughts create lashes in her head as she jerks away from his outreached hand, wishing things that she knows she should never.

Oakley should have drowned with her family that day. She should be six feet under with her twin and mother, so far away from the world that has done nothing but ridicule her and beat her into nothing. The earth that bows for no one, spares no mercy, and has destined Oakley Torine for a life of torment.

"No, Oakley, I'm telling you the truth," Quil insists, his voice pained as he tries to hold her. "I am not completely human, the presence of immortals awakened something inside of me. I shapeshift just like those who came before me, and I can prove it if you will just listen—"

"Don't touch me!" Oakley backs away, placing a hand in front of her, "I am done with being mocked. It's over, Quil."

As she turns to leave, her face a cherry red from both embarrassment and deception, the Ateara boy runs his fingers through his hair. Graham Torine stares at the angry clouds that thunder above them, the nature that blocks his sister's path and almost forces her to go back to him. Suddenly he is in front of Oakley, stopping her in her furious tracks and gripping her shoulders with urgency.

"He is telling the truth," Graham confirms, his chest simultaneously full of certainty and worry. "Take him with you and get the hell away from here." Again, he finds the need to repeat himself, "he is telling the truth."

The thunder and wind are growing louder with each second, lightening crashing against the ground in the distance as Quil continues to speak. Oakley only stares at her brother, scanning the truth that laces in his eyes like an imprint on soft satin.

"Oakley, please," Quil begs, the rest of his sentence getting overpowered by the chaos.

She does not turn, she only walks.

The ripping begins slowly — the seams of fabric rip one by one, stitches popping, a button dropping to the grass before his clothing completely drops to the ground. Bones shatter effortlessly but painfully, each seeming like a twig in the shapeshifting process. From Quil's russet skin sprouts patches of dark, inhuman fur. Graham watches with amazement and terror as the boy's limbs extend, his hands and feet transitioning to large paws that resemble a dog's. When his full form basks within the new rainfall, the Torine twin is unsure of what to do, of what to think.

Only then does Oakley's bottom lip tremble, her gasp of incredulity inaudible when she slowly turns to meet the eyes of a creature that resembles Quil's mocha ones. A wolf the size of a grizzly bear is only feet away from her, taking the place of the boy she loves in secret.

A shapeshifter, he had called himself. And as the creature whimpers to prove its pure intentions, bowing to present her with the opportunity to touch its soft forehead, Oakley begins to shake uncontrollably. The cold rain paired with the breeze and this newfound information makes her frigid. Although Quil was not demeaning her after all, perhaps that was a better alternative to this truth.

"Run," Graham mutters breathlessly.

And so she does.

Tree branches scrape her cheeks, drawing blood in the hopes that these conditions would make her turn around.

Go back to him, fate urges her.

She trips on a tree stump once, mud coating her clothing and getting trapped beneath her fingernails.
Leaves stick to the bottoms of her shoes, sticky and following her closely like the image of the wolf that is stuck within Oakley's mind. Her heartbeat is too heavy, her eyes filled with a mixture of tears and rain, and her body is too plagued with fear.

Quil Ateara only watches, heartbroken, as Oakley Torine runs so desperately away from him, horror radiating from her body and plaguing nature. He does not stop her. He does not chase her.

This is the end, and his efforts cannot save them now.

❝ we'll just pretend that i didn't go on
a really long hiatus haha ❞