Vesper // Paul Lahote

Chapter 4: Pigheaded

Strobe lights flashed across the room, casting a mosaic of blues, reds, greens and yellows on the wall. The glass bottle in my hand felt heavy and I took another drag from my joint. The grassy and bitter smoke filled my lungs and I titled my head back, closing my eyes.

For the better part of the day, Sam and Jared had followed me around the forest, telling me how lucky I was to find my imprint, and to give into the predestined bond. Fuck that. Olivia was pretty, drop dead beautiful, but I promised myself that I would never imprint. I never wanted this life, I never wanted to be cursed with shape-shifting blood. My life as I knew it ended the day I shifted for the first time; my life was no longer my own, instead, I was a soldier in a supernatural war, one that I wanted nothing to do with. I was a pawn. 

Sam told me about imprints and imprinting a few days after I shifted for the first time, and I nearly vomited. It was bad enough knowing that my identity and free will was stripped, but knowing that I had a 'soulmate' that I was promised to, made the entire situation worse.

Love and lust were nothing more than fancy terms that some idiot came up with to explain the chemical rush of dopamine and other hormonal shit that someone felt when they have and want sex. And the word, soulmate, was just a word that Hallmark created to make the whole fucking hormonal process seem more magical than it actually was. Love and all that soulmate bullshit caused nothing but pain and heartache, and yeah, lust could cause pain, too, but that pain was nothing compared to having your heart broken by someone you loved.

A sickly sweet scent, like that of artificial cotton candy, reached my nose. I slowly opened my eyes and saw a petite, bleach blonde standing in front of me. Her red painted lips were pulled into a demure smile and she nervously tugged at the short hem of her dress. She reminded me of the stereotypical girl next door who was playing dress up.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, voice thick with alcohol.

"It's a free world." I took another drag and closed my eyes once more.

The sofa shifted slightly and her tacky perfume grew stronger. My head began to spin and I took a swig of beer hoping that it would help dull my nerves.

"I'm Heather."

"Paul."

"So, Paul, come here often?"

She scooted closer and I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. Her hand brushed against my arm and a sharp burning pain radiated up it, ending at the base of my shoulder. My body moved on its own volition and before I could think too much of it, Heather scooted closer to me, pressing her arm into mine. The pain increased and my stomach tensed. What the fuck was wrong with me?

Heather lowered her eyes and she pointed to my joint. "Could I?"

I took another drag, held the smoke in my mouth, and passed her the joint. Instead of grabbing the joint, she lurched forward, grabbed my face with her manicured hands, and pressed her lips against mine. My entire body tensed and the pain I had initially felt in my arm shot through my entire body; it felt like I was being stabbed with thousands of heated, barbed needles.

Heather gently squeezed my jaw, causing my mouth to open, and she greedily sucked the cloud of smoke that danced across my tongue. Every nerve in my body was jolted awake and the numbing high that I had worked so hard to reach disappeared. The pain morphed into something hotter and sharper, and it reached all the way into the marrow of my bones. A sharp, grating sound rang in my ears, making my teeth ache and heart beat painfully, which in turn caused the hair on my body to stand up. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard, but ten times worse. I had to get out of here.

The joint and beer fell from my hands, and I could faintly hear the glass bottle shatter. I pushed Heather off of me and she whined. "What was that for?"