A/N: Jacob Black N Pack devoted the month of January to Leah Clearwater. They also hosted a writing challenge. The mission: write something pre-phase when she had hopes and dreams and her whole life in front of her. I hope I accomplished that in this really short story.
Disclaimer: Twilight characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is just one interpretation of how Sam saw the beautiful Leah Clearwater.
If You Only Knew
If you only knew how infatuated I am with you, how your laughter brightens up my day and makes me smile. It is the sole reason I hang around the school library after class every day. I know you volunteer, and it's an opportunity to be near you.
I try to be inconspicuous as I watch you shelve books in their proper place, but your essence draws me in. You're wearing a white short sleeved t-shirt and blue jeans that hug your curves sensually skirting the line between sexy and classy. Your long, black hair tumbles just a few inches shy of your waist. You catch me staring and you smile shyly. You look away, and I move my eyes briefly to my chemistry book so I don't seem like a complete psycho. I'm not really reading it, but it's the book I grabbed before I showed up here.
After you are done shelving books, you walk past me. You smell so good, like a coconut and sunshine. A vision of you and me on the beach watching the sun set flashes in front of me. We're lying in each other's arms without a care in the world, watching the ocean meet the sand.
I laugh to myself, because my friends think I'm nuts. They tell me that although you're "hot as fuck", you seem high maintenance and probably won't give it up until you hear those magic words. It's not like I haven't imagined your long legs wrapped around my waist, while you scream my name. That's a recurring dream I have every night.
But I don't care what they think. There's something intriguing about you. You don't let others dictate who you are. While most of the girls here belong to a clique and let others determine their happiness, you find your own. Your group of friends is small, consisting of mostly the Black twins, and you can trust them. They're loyal and won't stab you in the back by sleeping with your boyfriend.
I glance at the clock and groan. My mother will be expecting me home soon. I reluctantly pack up my things and take one last look at you. You're on a ladder, your arms stretched above your head to place a book on the top shelf. It's difficult, but I pull myself away and head to my locker.
The hallway is empty and quiet when I get to my locker. After I enter the right combination, I open the locker door to grab books for my homework tonight. Due to my lack of organizational skills, the book I need is all the way in the back.
With my head buried in the maze of my locker, I hear your voice behind me.
"Sam?" you say, timidly. In my shock, I crack my head on the sharp end of the locker.
"Ow!" I howl and pull my head out as pain soars through my skull. Your beautiful face is a mask of worry as you look at me cautiously.
"Oh, I'm sorry," you say as your eyes widen and your fingers brush over your lips.
"It's okay," I mutter. I'm embarrassed that you've seen how your presence chases away my coordination. "I'm okay." I try to reassure you, but the horrified look doesn't leave your face.
"Oh Sam, you're bleeding," you say urgently. I feel a slight trickle, but the pain is slowly receding. Your hand urgently grabs my wrist and you stand up on your toes to get a better look. It is then that I realize that the sight of blood isn't causing your distress; it's guilt. You are more concerned with making sure I'm okay. I think I'm in love.
"It's just a little blood." I reach to wipe it away, but you stop me.
"Don't touch that." You pull on my arm for me to follow. "Come with me. Miss Johnson has a first-aid kit in her classroom. Sometimes she stays late to grade papers."
Your hand still grasps my arm as you tug me down the hall, not that I offer resistance. If you only knew that I was wrapped around your pinky. You could be leading me into a tornado and I wouldn't care as long as I am with you.
"Miss Johnson?" you call out, but the classroom is empty. "She must have left already," you mutter as we step inside. You flick the lights on and direct me to the teacher's chair. "Sit down." The command isn't harsh, but firm enough to get my blood pumping. More fantasies of you commanding me to do other things flash in my mind.
I follow directions, but insist, "Leah, you don't have to do this. I'm fine."
You head to the cabinet near the window. "It's my fault you hit your head to begin with. Let me help."
I watch as you reach up to grab a white box with a red cross on the front and quickly make your way back over to me. You squeeze some sanitizer on your hands.
"Tilt your head back." Your hand gently helps, and I revel in your touch. It's better than I've ever dreamed. Your touch is gentle, careful as you examine the wound. If I would have known that this is all I needed to get you touch me, I'd have hit my head a long time ago and on something harder.
"It's not too bad." You step away to open the box and grab an alcohol swab and then move in between my open legs. My breath freezes in my throat as your scent forms an invisible cloud around me. Some of your hair brushes against my shoulder, and I want my fingers to get lost in those ebony strains. "This might sting a little."
I flinch as the swab touches my skin, and you blow on it to help soothe the sting. You carefully clean the wound, being as gentle as possible. I am in heaven.
"You're pretty good with this stuff," I comment. It's my attempt to make small talk and ignore the fact that your breasts are right in front of my face. It takes all the strength that I have to not wrap your legs around my waist to soothe the growing ache in my groin.
Instead, my knuckles strain as they grip the arms of Miss Johnson's chair.
You smile, as you toss your hair over your shoulder. "My little brother falls off his bike a lot. Plus, I like doing it. I'd like to study medicine after I graduate, so I figure I'd practice whenever I get the chance."
I don't mind. You can practice on me whenever, wherever. I'm already thinking of ways to hurt myself so you can fix me up.
The wrapper of Band-Aid crinkles in your hand, and you push my hair aside so you can apply it.
"All better." You smile at me and reach down to throw the paper away. Then you grab the bottle of hand sanitizer and squeeze some in your hand. "I actually wanted to ask you a favor."
"So this was a part of your master plan. Injure me so I'd have to listen." I am relieved to see the slow smile spread over your lips.
"Well, I wanted to get your attention," you answer playfully as you lift a leg to rest on the desk. "You're pretty good in trigonometry, right?"
"Yeah." Not to toot my own horn, but I could do it in my sleep. Math is my best subject. I haven't come across one of its branches that I couldn't climb.
You look away, ashamed. "I'm not doing so well. I got a 'D' on the last quiz."
I see the frustration in your face, and I want to wipe it away. I know your grades are important to you and I know how hard you study.
"I was wondering if you'd tutor me. Mr. Sanderson said you were one of his best students and that sometimes you tutor others." You breathe out deeply and move until you're sitting on the desk completely, your long legs swinging idly. "I signed up for Trigonometry because I thought it would look good on my transcripts. I got A's in Algebra and Geometry, but things aren't working out well in Trig. If I want to go to college, my best option is to get a scholarship, so I need to keep my grades up."
I am speechless and I think my mouth has fallen open. You're only asking for my help, but I see an opportunity. Studying together means more time together, which means I can really get to know you.
"I could pay you," you offer, bringing me back to the current conversation. "I have a little money saved up."
"No, you don't have to pay me, Leah." I shake my head and smile. "I'd be glad to help."
"Great!" You jump off the desk in elation, and your beautiful smile causes you to glow. You open one of Miss Johnson's desk drawers, pull out a notepad and pen, and begin scribbling. "Here's my number."
You absently hand me the pen and paper and I jot down my own information.
"Thanks for doing this, Sam." My name sounds so sweet as it tumbles from your lips. I want to hear you say it over and over again, preferable when my hands are on you and you're begging me not to stop.
"Thanks for patching me up." I rise and gently touch the bandage on my head.
"It's the least I could do." You shrug nonchalantly. If you only knew what it meant that you did that for me. "Well, I should get back to the library. Call me tonight and we'll schedule a time to meet."
"Definitely." I fold the paper and stick it in my pocket.
You wave goodbye and head back to the library and I head back to my locker.
Thanks for reading!