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feel_humanBe safe.
That's the last thing Bill says to her before he leaves, the last thing she hears before her own grief and shock and pain take over. She feels too much: this is not the unending emptiness of losing Gran or the numb but no less poisonous anger at the death of her parents -- when Bill walks away, she feels his going as if she were being ripped apart.
The rest of the day passes in a haze. She's grateful for Alcide, who provides a strong and quiet steadiness, a hand at her back and a wall between her and Tara's fears and passions, or Jason's well-meaning but hurtful protectiveness. He settles her on the couch at home and tucks a blanket around her shoulders, sits at her feet without a single word. He's big and rangy on her little couch, awkward trying to keep his thick boots from messing up the carpet, and she doesn't think he seems like a wolf so much as a big, well-meaning dog, the kind that might accidentally break a chair by trying to jump into it. Part of her wishes she could put her hand into his hair, tuck herself into the curve of arm and chest and go to sleep, but she can't do that to Alcide, who's been hurt just as badly as she. He deserves someone who likes him for who he is after meeting him normally, and not because in a crisis he's a steady place to stand.
Had she really fooled herself into thinking she could have a life with Bill? Had she thought it could be different? Where on earth is the blood and pain and revenge going to end, who else will it take before it's all over?
"If you need to go back to Jackson," she says, making sure she meets his eyes, "I understand." She tries a little smile, feels around its edges until it's nearly comfortable on her face. "I'll be fine."
He gives her a look over his shoulder, lifts his eyebrows. "Sookie, I know you're tougher'n a one-eared alley cat, but I ain't leaving you alone right now."
Telling herself it's not a test, that she really would be fine to be left alone with her thoughts, she still can't help the gratitude and relief that rush through her at the sound of his matter-of-fact voice, but when he reaches out and brushes her hair from her face, she makes sure she doesn't lean into the touch. "Someday it won't hurt so bad," he says, his voice as gentle as he can make it.
She's not sure she believes him. Especially when Jason goes storming out, swearing to kill Bill if he can, leaving her with nothing but a slammed door and an empty house.
So when does it end?
____
The next day, she isn't any kind of surprised to hear Alcide say he needs to go, and is even less surprised when he asks her to come with him, but she stands by what she knows is true: Russell and his pack of weres aren't going to stop at anything to get to her. They will find her, there will be a fight, and she doesn't want Alcide getting caught in the crossfire any more than he has already.
It's sad to see him go and he lingers a little on the porch step, looking at her like he's looking for a reason to stay: she could give him one but she doesn't take that last step needed, say the word that would make sure he stayed and make sure she had someone with her tonight.
If I knew what was best for me, I would've fallen in love with someone like you, she'd said, and meant it. It still hurts, watching him go, but it's only the hurt of a vanished potential, instead of something cherished irretrievably broken. Maybe she could have loved Alcide and he could have loved her, but it seems like just another chance she's missed.
Because of Bill, who had better have been worth it.
That's the last thing Bill says to her before he leaves, the last thing she hears before her own grief and shock and pain take over. She feels too much: this is not the unending emptiness of losing Gran or the numb but no less poisonous anger at the death of her parents -- when Bill walks away, she feels his going as if she were being ripped apart.
The rest of the day passes in a haze. She's grateful for Alcide, who provides a strong and quiet steadiness, a hand at her back and a wall between her and Tara's fears and passions, or Jason's well-meaning but hurtful protectiveness. He settles her on the couch at home and tucks a blanket around her shoulders, sits at her feet without a single word. He's big and rangy on her little couch, awkward trying to keep his thick boots from messing up the carpet, and she doesn't think he seems like a wolf so much as a big, well-meaning dog, the kind that might accidentally break a chair by trying to jump into it. Part of her wishes she could put her hand into his hair, tuck herself into the curve of arm and chest and go to sleep, but she can't do that to Alcide, who's been hurt just as badly as she. He deserves someone who likes him for who he is after meeting him normally, and not because in a crisis he's a steady place to stand.
Had she really fooled herself into thinking she could have a life with Bill? Had she thought it could be different? Where on earth is the blood and pain and revenge going to end, who else will it take before it's all over?
"If you need to go back to Jackson," she says, making sure she meets his eyes, "I understand." She tries a little smile, feels around its edges until it's nearly comfortable on her face. "I'll be fine."
He gives her a look over his shoulder, lifts his eyebrows. "Sookie, I know you're tougher'n a one-eared alley cat, but I ain't leaving you alone right now."
Telling herself it's not a test, that she really would be fine to be left alone with her thoughts, she still can't help the gratitude and relief that rush through her at the sound of his matter-of-fact voice, but when he reaches out and brushes her hair from her face, she makes sure she doesn't lean into the touch. "Someday it won't hurt so bad," he says, his voice as gentle as he can make it.
She's not sure she believes him. Especially when Jason goes storming out, swearing to kill Bill if he can, leaving her with nothing but a slammed door and an empty house.
So when does it end?
____
The next day, she isn't any kind of surprised to hear Alcide say he needs to go, and is even less surprised when he asks her to come with him, but she stands by what she knows is true: Russell and his pack of weres aren't going to stop at anything to get to her. They will find her, there will be a fight, and she doesn't want Alcide getting caught in the crossfire any more than he has already.
It's sad to see him go and he lingers a little on the porch step, looking at her like he's looking for a reason to stay: she could give him one but she doesn't take that last step needed, say the word that would make sure he stayed and make sure she had someone with her tonight.
If I knew what was best for me, I would've fallen in love with someone like you, she'd said, and meant it. It still hurts, watching him go, but it's only the hurt of a vanished potential, instead of something cherished irretrievably broken. Maybe she could have loved Alcide and he could have loved her, but it seems like just another chance she's missed.
Because of Bill, who had better have been worth it.
