A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the wait! I started this chapter a while ago but it didn't seem right so I scrapped it and started over...and it took on a life of it's own. It's shorter because it's really only meant to be a snippet into Paul's mind and the actual imprintation (is that a word?). Anyway, I actually really enjoyed writing in Paul's POV so there will definitely be more in the future. I love the idea of a mysterious past but we'll find out what this little wolf has been through soon enough :)

NEW POLL: So I've also put a new poll on my profile about the future series connected to this story so please check that out and vote! Thanks and enjoy the chapter!

Rescue me from everything. I just want to live. I wish I could breathe.

Rescue Me by Hawthorne Heights

Chapter Three—Control (Paul's POV)

I winced. I don't think I'd ever get used to the sharp pain of my bones grinding together and the loud popping that accompanied the shift. I pulled a pair of cutoffs from the cord around my ankle and slipped them on. Tilting my head up, I smelled the air.

"Ah, Emily's been baking again."

I turned to see Leah step out from behind a tree after shifting and changing back into her clothes. Embry stepped into the clearing of Sam and Emily's backyard, stretching his arms and yawning.

"I could go for a cookie and a nap after that patrol," he said.

"No doubt the first batch is already gone—you guys are animals," Leah commented, running a hand through her hair and starting toward the house.

I snorted. "Like you're any better?"

She turned to glare at me. "I may have the same appetite, however, I can be civilized when I eat. Like using utensils and not stuffing four cookies into my mouth at once."

I just rolled my eyes. "You're no fun anymore. I blame Owen."

"Blame him?" Embry asked incredulously. "I'd like to kneel down and kiss the ground he walks on. The man is a miracle worker. I only get insulted three times a week now instead of seven," he quipped, grinning teasingly.

Leah frowned, opening the front door to Sam and Emily's house. "Charming, really."

Sam was standing in the front hall with Brady and Dakota. His face was its usual serious with some anger thrown in for good measure. They all spoke in hushed voices, and my eyebrows knit together in confusion. Sam knew that we, along with the rest of our furry friends in the next room, would be able to hear him no matter how low he whispered, and all of the imprints were already in the know.

"You shouldn't have brought her here, Dakota," Sam was saying. "What happens when she starts to get suspicious or someone"—his eyes darted to me and then back—"loses their temper?"

I growled, partly offended at what he'd implied but mostly pissed off that he was right.

"She's not like you—she's not allowed to know."

"But, Sam," Dakota pleaded, "she's a really sweet girl and she's gonna have enough trouble as it is making friends. All the other kids have grown up being in the same classes, hanging out with the same people for their entire lives basically."

"I know." Sam rubbed a hand down his face. "Our job as a pack is to protect the people on the reservation, but we can't protect them from everything and part of our job description is to lay low and avoid suspicion."

I watched Dakota ball her fists and lean up to get in Sam's face. The girl sure lived up to her hair color. "You're wrong. She is like me…she's like all of us. You see the way we're treated by people who don't know us. You guys are the druggies, the outcasts, and we're the trash that tags along for the downward spiral."

Brady's eyes clenched shut and he squeezed the redhead closer to him. "Dakota—"

"No, it's true but I don't care. They're all gonna treat her the same way. She'll be an outcast because she's different, strange. You have a job to protect her, too. And if you won't, I will."

Sam sighed in exasperation. "Dakota, listen—"

"Okay," I said, interrupting, "this is getting just a little too Dawson's Creek for me so I'm gonna head into the kitchen and grab some of Emily's cooking."

"Same," Embry said, following behind me. "I smell chocolate chip cookies."

I frowned, turning my head to look at him as I walked through the doorway to the kitchen. "Are you sure? Because I smell vanilla…"

My voice trailed off as I zeroed in on the stranger sitting at the kitchen table. Reddish-blonde hair fell in pin-straight strands across her rounded face, and I could see the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks from where I was standing. Small but full, pink lips were slightly agape and sat under a cute, button nose. Cute, button nose? What the hell was wrong with me? As my eyes travelled back up her face, I got this tight feeling in the pit of my stomach—like I had swallowed a ball of ice and now it was melting, sending subzero water through my veins. And I wasn't entirely sure I liked it.

My line of vision got closer to her eyes and the tight feeling got worse. A voice in the back of my head just kept telling me, No, don't look…stop…just turn around and run right back outside. But I wasn't exactly known for outstanding achievement in obedience. Then it happened. I saw those moss green eyes with the ring of brown around the irises and boom. Everything I had ever cared about before that moment disappeared, ceased to exist, dissolved into thin air. This girl—I didn't even know her damn name—tethered me to the world now. I felt and heard my own breathing and heartbeat shift to match the rhythm of hers.

The voice was there again, though, hauling me back to reality. What are you doing? You don't even know her. You swore you weren't gonna let this thing choose for you. Don't let it tell you what to do.

"Fuck," I swore. I was never going to let someone tell me what to do again. Never.

I watched black irises dilate and emerald eyes widen as they stared at my mouth forming the curse word. I felt a sharp sting in my chest but forced it down until it became just a dull ache. I reversed out of the kitchen, back pedaling until I reached the still-open front door. Then I turned and ran. The last thing I heard before exploding was Dakota's smug voice.

"I told you she was like us, Sam. I told you she belonged."

You have to go home, Paul, Seth said through the mind-link. Jared was over at your place and your parents are worried about you.

I let out a derisive snort, not even needing to sniff out the lie. The last time my parents worried about me it was because the couple they were gonna give me to backed out of the adoption agreement.

I felt the young wolf's pity and let out a sharp bark, snapping at his heels. If that's all you needed I suggest you change back and fuck off.

I watched Seth's wolf walk away into the woods, but as soon as he was gone I felt another one shift and enter the link. Look, Jared, I thought, already knowing who it was by his thoughts (of Kim), I just want some time by myself to think. I want everyone to stop trying to psychoanalyze me and to get out of my head.

We've been friends for a long time, Paul. Jared's wolf walked to my side and sat down. Well, clearly he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. No, I'm not. It doesn't seem like it now and it might not seem like it for a long time, but…imprinting? It's a good thing.

I rolled my eyes internally. You're a little—cough a lot—biased, Jared.

Yeah, but I wasn't always. I felt kinda like you at one point. I felt the skepticism and reluctance he felt after his first phase when Sam explained the truth in the legends, including imprinting. I saw what it did to people like Sam, Emily, and Leah, and I wanted no part in that. I thought it destroyed people's lives.

I let out a frustrated whine and stood up, pacing the forest floor anxiously. You know that's not what this is about.

I know, he thought patiently. It's about control.

Or a lack thereof.

You know…that, what happened, that won't happen again. That's not what this is about. This is good for you, she's good for you.

I saw the images of Jared first meeting her, when she came to Sam and Emily's house. Máire. That was her name…Máire. Máire. The name sounded nice in my head. I briefly wondered what it would sound like if I said it out loud.

I shook my head, trying to get rid of the thoughts, but Jared kept thinking about her. My eyes snapped to his. She's deaf?

Yeah, she knows sign language and she reads lips. Pen knows sign language too apparently so she helped translate.

Do you know how—

I don't know her story, Paul, he interrupted. That's for you to find out.

More images of the tiny blonde filled my head. She smiled as she moved her arms around in the air, creating words with her hands.

Go home, Paul, Jared said through the link. No one's making you decide anything tonight. Just go home and think about everything.

I laid in bed that night, hands behind my head on the pillow and eyes staring at the peeling paint on the ceiling. I heard voices coming from the TV downstairs and knew my dad was probably passed out on the couch, still dressed in the paint and grease stained jeans and t-shirt from work. I heard the scraping of glass against stainless steel that told me my mom was washing dishes in the kitchen sink. It all sounded normal but the fact remained that my family was seriously screwed up.

My parents had both lived on the reservation since they were born. I think they were like most kids who grew up on the rez; they only knew this one, small town all their lives so they had theses big dreams, big plans that all involved getting far away as fast as they could. And then the usual clichéd stuff, you know, a kid doesn't fit anywhere into those plans but it comes along anyway—I came along anyway. So they agreed to put everything on hold for nine months then they had a couple lined up over in Forks who couldn't have kids that had agreed to take me after I was born. But shit happens in life, and the couple—through some miracle, they'd said—conceived their own child, and my parents were stuck with a newborn baby and no way to get out of La Push.

When I got to be about ten I realized my family was different. I mean, I noticed stuff before then like how my dad never showed at any of my baseball games or how my mom didn't do the normal maternal stuff (packing my lunches, seeing me off on the bus, etc.). I wasn't blind as a kid. I saw what the other kids' parents did and knew mine didn't do that and never would. But in fourth grade I started to understand why. They resented me. They blamed me for never leaving God forsaken La Push, Washington. I was the one flaw in their plan, and I don't think they'll ever forgive me for it.

I pushed myself up off my bed, shedding my cutoffs and boxers as I walked toward the bathroom in my room. I flipped the light and turned the shower on. I looked in the mirror while I waited for the water to warm and rubbed a hand across the stubble that had begun to grow. I should probably shave…I was beginning to look like a lumberjack.

I hopped in the shower, sliding the frosted glass door closed and cranking the dial to the highest temperature. The spray was warm at best against the feverish temperature of my body but it still felt nice. I let out a sigh and pressed my forehead against the wall beneath the showerhead. I felt every single drop of water hit my head, seep to the ends of my slightly shaggy hair, drip onto my cheeks and nose, roll across the tense muscles of my neck and shoulders, down the ridges of my stomach until they reached my ankles and dripped to the floor with a sound similar to rain against a window.

"Dammit," I whispered through gritted teeth, bringing a fist up to slam into the tile wall. I felt some of the ceramic crumble under my hand, and I hoped I hadn't damaged it so badly that my mom would notice.

I felt the familiar tremors run through my body. I clenched both my hands, bringing them up to push against the wall in front of me. I attempted to focus on uncoiling each and every one of my muscles, breathing in deeply and blowing out as I let my body relax. I felt the shaking subside and stretched out my cramping hands to lay flat against the cool tile. I pushed off the wall in front of me only to lean back against the one behind me. I tilted my head up, staring at the ceiling, and blew out a heavy breath.

"Control, dammit. Stay in control."

Ending A/N: So I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please review (if you do I might even give you a hint as to Paul's past IF you want to know). And again PLEASE VOTE on the new poll on my profile. It'll help me choose what to write next and give you the opportunity to increase the chance of getting the story you want to read with the characters you want to read about! Thanks :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight (characters, setting, plot, ect.) because it belongs to Stephenie Meyer, and I do not own the song Rescue Me because it belongs to Hawthorne Heights.