Whee. I've always wanted to write a Quil and Claire story, so this is my take on it. I hope you enjoy it! NOTE: Written before Breaking Dawn was released.

Just like a tattoo, I'll always have you... -Jordin Sparks

Chapter One: Haunted House

I feigned excitement. I was good at it; I always appeared convincing. Quil was the only one who ever saw right through it. I was dealing with Rachel at the moment, though, and she didn't notice, too caught up in telling me all about her new dress. I'd swear she did this on purpose, knowing how paranoid and upset she made me. Not to mention jealous. Wouldn't we all love to be as rich as her, and be able to afford designer dresses?

I squealed at the right moments and gushed over how perfect it would look on her, as expected of a best friend. I wasn't going to make her uncomfortable by pointing out that my dress had been purchased cheaply last summer while staying at Dad's. Why would I do that, anyway?

I found my attention wandering, as Rachel proceeded to describe the intricate embroidery on the bodice of the dress. I had bigger things to worry about than whether or not Zach would find it sexy on her. (Of course he would. Zach, her adoring boyfriend, would find her sexy even if she suddenly sprouted an extra nose.)

Problems. Number one: my parents had had another argument over me. And number two: Quil was mad at me.

I started both problems, like always. I always started the fights. I honestly didn't intend to screw everything up again, but it just happened, and then I was left with another huge mess to deal with and a list of apologies to make. I pissed off my mother by ignoring my curfew, and the next thing I knew she was on the phone to Dad, claiming that she couldn't handle me anymore. She wanted him to travel down here and deal with me, as was his duty.

But of course, Dad was too busy to do any travelling, what with his job and his new pregnant wife. Why would he really care about me, his daughter? It left a bitter taste in my mouth to know that if it were Jack instead, he would be on a plane straightaway. He had never hidden his preference for my brother.

So my parents had fought, hissing at each other down the phone. I didn't really grasp what they were saying, but I knew it was something to do with me. It always was.

My parent's history was a long and complicated one. I didn't even understand half of it. We had all lived in New York - Mom, Dad, me and my older sister, Denise - and then when I was two, we took a vacation down to Forks to visit my Aunt Emily and her fiancé. And we never went back home. My mother was always vague whenever I asked her about it, saying stuff like she had never really liked New York anyway, and wanted to stay close to her sister. I knew she was keeping something from me, and I didn't know how much longer I had to wait before I found out what it was. I mean, I was seventeen; I was mature enough to handle the real reason.

I winced. I guess my behaviour hadn't been all that mature over the past couple of months.

Dad moved back to New York without us after six years, bringing fourteen-year-old Denise with him. He left my mother pregnant with Jack, and my eight-year-old self confused. My mother hated him for that, calling him selfish, for not putting his family before himself. They ended up divorcing. But I didn't really understand what was so selfish about his decision. Forks was a hellhole. There was nothing to do, and the sun was so rare, even in summer. I would leave in a minute, if it weren't for Quil.

I'd known him all my life. Ever since I could remember, he'd been there. I seriously couldn't imagine life without him. He was my best friend. I could tell him anything. And even though half the time I didn't deserve it, he would do anything at all for me.

Which was why I felt so guilty now, because once again, I had made him mad at me. I was such a bitch to him yesterday; he had been shaking, he was so angry. He just stormed out of the house and left me to stew in my own guilt and self-hatred. I wouldn't blame him if he decided not to forgive me this time. And no matter what I said to him, Quil always forgave me.

So now I was worried that when I got home, there would be no Quil waiting to hang out with me and watch movies, and I'd have to deal with a phone call from Dad trying to convince me to move to New York and live with him. If there was no Quil waiting for me, I'd have to tell him yes. Quil was the only thing keeping me in Forks.

"So, what do you think, Claire?" Rachel's voice brought me back to the present, and I struggled to catch up with the conversation.

"Eh, yeah, it's going to be great," I said vaguely.

"I know," Rachel agreed smugly, pacified. She sighed wistfully. "I can't wait for the party already."

"Me too," I said, my heart sinking a little bit. Oh, here's another exciting topic. Zach's party. The reason for the dresses. Being the supportive girlfriend that she was, Rachel had thought this an astounding idea on his behalf, and proceeded to invite the whole school to what looked like the party of the year. It was all anyone ever talked about at the moment. For me, it was just another event to attend where I had to wear a mask and act like I was blissfully happy with life. Ugh.

"Aaron's definitely going," Rachel added, winking at me. I half smiled at her, lifted out of my black mood, just a little.

"Really?" I asked, attempting nonchalance.

"Yes. It's the perfect situation for you to talk to him!"

I rolled my eyes. "Rache, I see him everyday at lunch. He ignores me totally. Why would he talk to me at the party at all?"

"It'll be a different atmosphere! And you'll be wearing an incredibly sexy dress! Right?"

I shrugged.

"Right. He won't be able to resist."

I sighed. I would have loved to have told Rachel to wake up and live in the real world, but the bitchy side of me was taking a rest, worn out from tormenting Quil yesterday. Aaron was Zach's best friend, and he was way out of my league. I'd always had a little crush on him, ever since Rachel and Zach got together. It was something Rachel wouldn't let me forget.

The bell rang, saving me from any further discussion over Aaron. I packed my bag gratefully, almost afraid to go home. Our teacher yelled over the babble of talk, reminding us of our homework. He liked to think he was one of the cool teachers, because he let us talk for the last five minutes of class. It didn't make any kind of difference with me; I hated all teachers.

I asked Rachel if she needed a lift home.

"Nah, I'm going to Zach's, I think. Do you want to come with me, hang out with us?"

"No, I think Quil's waiting for me." Well, I desperately hoped he was.

"Oh, right," Rachel said, her eyes widening a little. She had never really gotten over her own little crush on Quil. She thought he was absolutely gorgeous. He was, I suppose, but I had never really looked at him in that way. He was my friend. To take it any further than that would just be weird.

"Have fun."

"You too."

"Talk to you later."

I headed in the direction of my car, dragging my feet a little. I kicked at a small stone. I really, really hoped Quil wasn't still mad at me. Life always sucked that little bit extra when we weren't talking. Yet, it was always me to start our fights, always me who made him unhappy. What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I just appreciate what I had? Quil was the most amazing person ever, and I really didn't deserve him.

My face crumpled as climbed into my car and started the engine. I furiously blinked the tears away. I hated crying; I saw it as an immense sign of weakness. I didn't want to think myself as weak. I wanted to be a strong person. I tried to pull myself together. I didn't know what was wrong with me lately. Everything was upsetting me.

I stuck a Linkin Park CD on and turned it up loud - something with a lot of guitars and screaming. It matched my mood. Quil had gotten me into the band, exasperated at the boy bands and dance music I used to listen to.

I struggled with myself the whole way home. I was trying not to feel too hopeful, in case Quil wasn't there. The logical part of me was screaming at me that he would be there, because he was always there. I could be as bitchy as hell to him but he always came over to watch another movie. But then I was afraid that finally, I had taken things too far, pushed him right over the edge. And I was trying to prepare myself for an empty driveway.

I sighed in relief as I pulled into my drive, and Quil's jeep was parked outside, the man himself leaning against it. I parked the car hastily, threw off my seatbelt and leapt out. He beamed at me as I rushed over and threw my arms around his waist.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"I am too," he said, his warm arms wrapping themselves gently around me.

"What the hell are you sorry for?"

"I stormed out. That was rude."

"I don't blame you. I was a bitch."

Quil laughed; I could feel the vibrations of it against my cheek. I pulled away from him, vowing to myself that I wasn't going to do anything to screw this up again. I was sick of being the person who caused all the commotion. I was sick of hurting Quil.

"I admire the park job," he commented, staring with amused eyes over at my car. I glanced over at it, sighing at the diagonal parking. I'd have to move it before my mother came home.

"Thank you," I said, and he laughed again.

"I brought another thriller. It promises lots of gore. Interested?" He held up a DVD with an ominous-looking house on the cover. Quil and I were both horror movie fanatics - the creepier, the better.

"Sure."

He wrapped his arm around my waist and messed up my hair as we walked towards the front door.

"What would I do without you, Claire? No one else will watch scary movies with me."

"It would be a tough existence for you, that's for sure," I said dryly.

"Yes," Quil said dramatically. "No one to hold me when I scream at the jumpy bits…"

I laughed. I was the one to scream at the jumpy bits; Quil usually jumped whenever I screamed. Nothing scared that guy, except for me screaming in his ear when he wasn't expecting it.

"So, what's this one about?" I asked, settling myself on the couch while he fiddled with the DVD player. "Ghosts? Zombies? Werewolves?"

Quil dropped the DVD on the ground.

"You big oaf," I said. It was weird; werewolf horror movies were the only films he absolutely refused to watch. He wouldn't let me watch them either. And he wouldn't tell me his big problem with them. He was reluctant to let me watch Harry Potter, for God's sake. I kept on at him though, wheedling about how much I loved the books and how stupid he was being. He finally gave in, and when Lupin transformed into a werewolf, he scoffed and kept throwing words around like "fake" and "idiotic".

"I'm not an oaf," he said, suddenly quiet. I was worried that I had annoyed him again. I hadn't meant what I said at all. But after pressing play, he collapsed on the couch next to me and put his arm around me like always. I sighed with relief.

"I think this house is supposed to be haunted," Quil said, as the camera focussed on the same house from the cover of the DVD box.

I snorted. "That's original."

"Isn't it? No one else has ever come up with that idea."

"I wonder how many clichés they reused."

"All of them, probably."

I snuggled closer to Quil as the creepy piano music started. He was roasting, like usual, my own personal radiator.

"She should win an award for acting so terribly," Quil commented, as the supposedly frightened girl on the screen explored a room she wasn't supposed to be in.

"Oh, like you could do so much better," I said. I bit my lip. Why did I say that? Why was I always such a bitch to him? That was uncalled for.

But Quil just sniggered. "You wound me, Claire. But I love you anyway."