? DISCONTINUED ? Between the Perennial Blooms || Paul Lahote

Thirty One | Wisteria

Bailey nodded and allowed him to help her back down to her feet. His eyes widened ever so slightly when she began to tug on the waistband of her leggings and he turned his back on her quickly. "I'll just..." He shook his head and made for the door, however he only managed to travel a few feet away before his hasty departure was halted by a tiny hand wrapped around his forearm.

"No," Bailey mumbled, cheeks flushed and fleece leggings discarded in a heap at her heels. She gestured toward the tub with an inclination of her head and stared up at Paul with hazy, pleading eyes as a newfound courage filled her to the brim. "Together."

"Wh- are you sure?"

Bailey nodded once, resolute. Her tiny fingers wrapped around the hem of her soft mauve sweater and lifted it up over her head. As she added it to the pile at her feet, Paul's breath caught in the back of his throat and his wide eyes dared not look anywhere but her own. "I'm sure," she reassured him in a whisper, bending down to take off her fuzzy pink socks and display her periwinkle painted toes. Her eyes met his once again and this time it was Paul's turn to nod. He did so once, twice, three times; then he reached behind him and pulled his shirt up over his head.

"It's okay," she assuaged once more when his hand darted out to stop hers from removing the gauze around her thigh after he unbuttoned his cargo shorts. "I'm- I'm not scared anymore," she added, seeing the disbelief flash across his handsome face. "I saw it earlier."

"That's why your eyes were so red..." he realized, face contorting in both guilt and pain as he gazed down at her now uncovered wound sadly. "You'd been crying."

With the gentlest of touches, Bailey ran the tips of her fingers over the raised expanse of bright pink scar tissue and dark multicolored flesh. A lump formed in the base of her throat at the sight of it, but the well of tears in her eyes from earlier seemed to have run dry. So this time, as she stared down at the disfigured appendage she would have to spend the remainder of her life coping with, no tears trailed down her cheeks and no sobs escaped her trembling lips. Instead, she smiled small, sad, with a resigned sort of acceptance that was in no way comforting, and sucked in a breath through her teeth. "It's okay," she told him — though the words were mainly geared toward her own self-assurance rather than his. Her hands reached around and unclasped the hooks of her bra, and she left the conversation at that. She let her panties slide down her legs to the floor and stepped out of them gingerly, and then she reached up to unfurl her mass of blonde curls from their two braids while her heart hammered in her chest.

"Come on," she whispered as her hair circled down around her waist, unwilling to give in to the creeping self-consciousness that loomed over her head as she stood naked before the boy she was destined to be with. From just in front of the bath, she looked over her shoulder at him as he stood staring respectfully down at the floor with his lips pressed together tight. "L-Let's get in before the water gets cold," she added, then she stepped into the tub.

In silence, the Imprint pair relaxed under weight of the steam. Paul had pulled Bailey so that her her back leaned against his chest and outstretched his legs on either side of her own, and he splayed his hands across the soft skin of her belly whilst his thumbs rubbed a gentle motion against the muscles of her abdomen. All was quiet between them — peaceful as they basked in the warm water that turned their skin pink whilst soft music played in the background from the radio Paul had scrounged up from the living room cabinets.

I will go if you ask me to,

Bailey sang along softly under her breath as Paul simply listened in bliss.

I will stay if you dare,

Paul leaned his head back against the wall as he was suddenly overcome with feeling, tears of long-suppressed emotion stinging at the backs of his eyelids that he dared not let fall. The tenderness of the moment seemed to catch him off-guard and send him into a state of instability. God his heart ached, he acknowledged freely, feeling the central muscle squeeze tight in his chest. It ached in a way it never had before — as if everything he had ever wanted was standing directly in front of him and, for some reason he knew not the origin of, he couldn't seem to grasp it no matter how hard he tried. He likened the sensation to grains of sand slipping through the spaces between his fingers — most of it falling at his feet, but some managing to stick to the creases of his knuckles. And maybe that was the perfect analogy for a girl like Bailey Swan, because it seemed every time he made to take one step closer, he somehow always ended up two steps back. And no matter how many pieces of her he uncovered and held in the palms of his hands, parts of her would always wind up slipping through his grasp. Because she was wonderful — beautiful and bashful and full of so much light and depth — and if anyone was worthy of someone as amazing as Little Bailey-Wren, Paul knew it sure as hell wasn't him. So as he sat there with her in his arms as she sang softly in that sweet, tinkling voice of hers, he embraced the ache in his chest. He would take it, he resolved himself — the knowing that no matter how hard he tried, he would never be good enough for her. After all, just look at what he had done today. He had hurt her, called her names and pushed her to the point that she felt the need to defend herself against the only person who should've never been able to reduce her to so little in the first place. And that hurt him — the memory of those tears and the broken look on her face and the pleading and the hysterical 'I'm not stupid's and the way she had rejected his embrace when it was all over. It hurt him. Made that ache flare up in his chest like a brand freshly pressed. But he would take it, would carry it around gratefully, and would do so without burden because as he looked down at her cerulean orbs that didn't even need to be open for him to recall their exact shade of blue, he realized it was an ache he wouldn't trade for anything in the world. So he closed his eyes and listened, and he let her voice wash over him like a wave of sweet serenity.

And if I go, I'm goin' crazy,

She sang, and his arms unconsciously squeezed tighter around her as he heaved a deep sigh through his nose. He felt like he was going crazy. God, there he sat nearly reduced to tears as the love of his life relaxed quietly in his arms. He felt like he was losing his mind with all the racing his thoughts were doing inside his head and he almost longed for the days where he lived mindlessly — where he went about day-by-day with not a worry in the world save for what t-shirt he would throw on in the morning, what microwaveable dinner he would heat up for lunch, and which girl he would be stealing away with at night.

Because he'd had a life before Bailey. One that was filled with the drunken fists of a father who only walked through the door every few weeks and a line of girls that answered at his every beck and call. He'd had a mother who abandoned him when he was nine and a group of friends who were more alcohol than brains, and he'd had something to occupy his time every Friday night and Saturday evening. He'd had fun, he'd had thrill, he'd had recklessness and no responsibility. But what he'd also had was loneliness, and there was no greater way to kill a spirit than to force it into solitude when surrounded by ways to appease it. So he'd tried and he'd failed, and then he'd tried again only to realize that he would keep failing endlessly, and then just as he'd resigned himself to accept the fact that he only had a future in settling, something wonderful had happened — Bailey Swan had happened — and suddenly his monotonous world had undergone great change. Goodbye were the parties and the girls and the wallowing in his own drunken stupor so unsettlingly similar to his father, and in its place burned a desire to be more, to be better, to be everything he had never thought himself capable of being before. Because Bailey was wonderful — beautiful and bashful and full of so much light and depth — and Paul loved her. Oh god, he loved her, he loved her, he loved her. And today's spat had only proven that realization correct.

Let my darling take me there,

Bailey sang, and as he listened to the words he found that he related, because in that moment with her in his arms and that familiar ache in his chest, he realized that he would follow her anywhere. Here or there, near or far, around the world or across the universe, he would be standing at her side. Because she could ask anything of him and he would do it for her — would be it for her — and he finally understood what his pack brothers meant when they described the Imprint.

...It's not like love at first sight; it's more like... gravity moves. When you see her, suddenly it's not the earth holding you here anymore. She does. And nothing matters more than her. And you would do anything for her, be anything for her... You become whatever she needs you to be...

And from that moment on, he vowed to bend himself over backward and turn himself inside out if only to ensure she'd be happy.

• • •

Author's Note:

Bit of fluff for you all (and a bit of insight into Paul's POV?!), but I figured this was long overdue after the rollercoaster ride I put y'all through in 'Amaryllis'! On the other hand though, I'd just like to say that the response to Chapter Thirty was totally wild and the sense of empowerment everyone seemed to feel as a result of Bailey finally standing up for herself was absolutely amazing!!! Also, Between The Perennial Blooms has officially reached 100k reads and can I just say WOW you guys are so amazing and wonderful and sweet and supportive and I never, ever, ever imagined this story would receive such a wonderful response from so many people and such a wide audience but it has! You're all such total babes and I'm truly so grateful for everything you readers have done for me and I simply cannot thank you enough! All I can say is wow, wow, wow! 💕💕

P.S. — For those of you who were wondering, the song Bailey sings is If I Go, I'm Goin' by Gregory Alan Isakov (highly recommend btw!). And it's not crucial to the story of course, but the song I listened to on repeat while writing this chapter was A Heavy Crown by Sam Airey. It's such a beautiful song and it really just set the tone for this entire scene! Very slow, very calm, and quite bittersweet if you listen to the lyrics which fit absolutely perfect!