A/N This is my entry to Lolly's March Contest - "What If...?"

What if things hadn't stopped like they had back in Paul's bedroom that day? I tell you, you'll be glad Meg Cabot kept things that way once you've finished reading this. I felt like J.K. Rowling killing off all her characters whilst writing it.

The bruises and the cuts I had obtained have long since faded, but the pain I am about to cause will never been forgiven, and the heart I am about to break will never mend.

Sanction for Sin

"All I ever wanted was to be loved by him," I whispered into his neck, glancing up at him through jewelled eyelashes.

"I know," he said softly back, before sliding a finger beneath my chin and pressing his lips to mine.

"That's a dollar-fifty, please."

I handed over the money and took the bag, my fingers shaking. I didn't dare peek into the plastic interior – I didn't dare examine the contents outside the confines of my room. Instead, I shuffled back to my car, staring morosely ahead and clutching the bag tight like I was afraid it would be stolen from my grasp.

Sliding into the driver's seat, I reluctantly dropped the bag onto the passenger seat, inserted the keys into the ignition and twisted. Resting my hands on the steering wheel as the engine roared to life, I burst into tears, every gunshot sob causing my whole body to convulse violently.

I took the keys out again, and sank back into the seat as the car became quiet. I pressed the metal as far as I could into my palm angrily, before losing all control and hurling the keys at the passenger window, creating a whirlpool effect and a few shards of glass to fall onto the leather seat.

A loss of control. That was what had lost it all for me. It was what had caused me to throw the keys, and it was what had caused me to be sitting here right now, with no hope for my future.

"Did I happen to mention," Paul asked, as I fastened my seatbelt, "that I think those shoes are flickin'?"

I swallowed. I didn't even know what flicking meant. I could only assume from his tone that it meant something good.

Did I really want to do this? Was it worth it?

The answer came from deep within… so deep, I realized that I had known it all along: Yes. Oh, yes.

"Just drive," I said, my voice coming out huskier than usual because I was trying not to let my nervousness show.

And so he did.

The house he drove me to was an impressive two-storey structure built into the side of a cliff right off Carmel Beach. It was made almost entirely of glass in order to take advantage of its ocean and sunset views.

Paul seemed to notice that I was impressed, since he said, "It's my grandfather's place. He wanted a little place on the beach to retire to."

"Right," I said, swallowing hard. His fingers brushed mine as he came to stand next to me and admire the house. I yanked mine from out of his reach immediately. From the corner of my eye I saw him smirk.

"Having second thoughts?" he asked me. I twitched, just a little. I hoped it was unnoticeable.

"No," I snapped back. "It's just… is your grandfather around?" Paul frowned at me, before starting to walk into the house. I trotted alongside him, looking for any other signs of life.

"Relax, Simon," Paul drawled. "Your virtue's in no danger from me." I grumbled, knowing even then that this was entirely untrue. "Unless, of course…" he trailed off suggestively. "You're offering. Then I couldn't possibly say no."

I turned a mortified shade of magenta. "No!" I hissed, as we came in through the front door. "Paul, that's not even funny. It's just-" He interrupted me, almost immediately, waving a hand dismissively.

"Oh, I get it," he said. "Well, I guess old guys always were your territory." I refrained from answering verbally, choosing instead to bite my tongue in disgust and try desperately to erase the mentally-scarring image I was presented with.

"Just show me your room," I replied, no longer trying to hide my exasperation. Paul grinned, and started leading the way up a twisted steel staircase up into an extremely intimidating and high-tech kitchen.

"Alright," he said, rubbing his hands together evocatively. "Now you're talking."

I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and started tapping in numbers. It took me three attempts to finish my mom's number with my trembling hands, though finally I got it right and the phone started ringing. I counted the rings; desperate for something to take my mind off the current situation.

"Susie?"

"Mom…" My voice was quiet to stop it from cracking or wobbling audibly. "Can you pick me up? I'm at the drug store." I couldn't drive, not with the agitated state I was in. I could drive the car off the edge of a cliff or something.

Maybe even accidentally.

"Sure, honey." My mom's tone was as sweet as the endearment. "I'll be right there. Wait ten minutes, O.K?"

"O.K." I snapped the phone shut and reached into my pocket again for a Kleenex. The result, however, was an empty packet. I was all out.

Choosing to dry my tears with the sleeve of my jacket instead, I pulled the car door open and swiped the drug store bag from the seat, before locking all the doors. Jake or Brad could come and collect it later. I'd tell them some thug threw an empty bottle of Bud at the window, or something.

I followed him into what was, clearly, his bedroom. It was about five times as big as my own – and Paul's bed was about five times bigger than mine, as well. Like the rest of the house, everything was very streamlined and modern, with a lot of metal and glass. There was even a glass desk – or Plexiglas, probably – on which rested a brand-new, top-of-the-line laptop.

I whistled appreciatively. "Nice," I said. I had stopped in the doorway, in awe. Paul however, had already settled on that massive big bed of his and was stretching across, rubbing the space next to him invitingly.

"This is it," he said. "What I wanted to show you." I raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," I replied, with a snort. "Sure it is." He rolled his eyes and reached beneath the bed and pulled out a clear plastic box, the kind you would store wool sweaters in over the summer… or at least you would, if you lived in a place where it got cold enough in the winter to wear wool sweaters. I edged forward, cautiously.

"I'm serious." He pulled off the lid and lifted out several newspaper cuttings, all very carefully clipped. The Times, read one. It was dated June 18, 1952, and was from London. My eyes scoured the headline: Archaeologist's Theory Scoffed by Sceptics.

"Dr. Oliver Slaski," presented Paul, smoothing the curled and crinkly yellow edges. "An Egyptologist who worked for years to translate the complicated text on this particular wall here…" He gestured to the photo that accompanied it, and then carried on so that his fingers grazed mine, which were resting next to the newspaper article. This time, I remained frozen to the spot.

"Paul," I said, warningly. So far, my vocal chords were still functioning fine. He removed his hand, but reluctantly. I shot him a meaningful look.

"Suze," he said, coaxingly. "Jesse's dead, both you and I know that." My heart stung at his blunt delivery, but he continued anyway. "It doesn't mean you have to act that way too."

"I don't," I protested. "I-"

But I didn't get to finish my little speech, because right in the middle of it, Paul leaned over.

And kissed me.

"Oh, Susie," my mom said, as I climbed into the passenger seat. "You look like hell." I finger-combed my fringe defensively. "You want me to make you some alphabet soup when we get home? We can pick some up on the way…"

"No." I was short. "I'm not six years old anymore, Mom." She frowned, her feelings hurt, but I didn't say anything more. Instead, I dropped the plastic bag between my feet and closed the door. My mom started the engine.

"What's in the bag?" she asked, looking over her shoulder to check the on-coming traffic. I thought fast.

"Midol," I explained, and clutched my swollen stomach. "Cramps. Who'd be a woman, right?"

"Right," my mom repeated, not thoroughly convinced. "Well, I hope you're feeling better soon. You know that Andy's mother is coming down from Oregon tomorrow, and I can't be worrying about you moping around whilst she's here." My stomach twisted slightly with guilt, but I remained tight-lipped.

"Sure," was all I said. My fingers wrapped themselves in the plastic material at my feet nervously.

We drove in silence back to the house. I was up and out of the car within seconds of the car pulling to a stop, snatching the bag before my mother could. Once I was inside, I was greeted with David, who was babbling on about some news report he'd seen on television.

"I haven't got time for it right now, David," I snapped irritably. "Leave me alone." His freckled skin flushed pink, and he persistently followed me up the stairs. "I said leave me alone!"

"But Suze-" he argued, but by this time I was in my bedroom.

"Leave," I reminded him, before slamming the door in his face.

"No…" I moaned, prising my lips from his. "Paul, don't be like this. Can't we just…" My mind was a little fuzzy. "…go back to what we were reading?" Paul swept the papers off his bed and instead pressed his palm to mine. I closed my eyes – just for a second – and tried to pretend that Paul was somebody else.

"What's wrong?" Paul asked, his lips moving against mine. I tilted my head backwards gently, and his teeth rested on his bottom lip in anticipation. "You kissed me back, Suze, don't deny it."

"I know I did," I replied. "But it was a mistake. I think I'm just going to-" I moved to stand up, but he struck out an arm across my lap and I was pushed backwards. His eyes were on me, his stare unnerving.

"You think we're different," he said, his voice low. "You think we're from two completely different worlds, but you're wrong. You just don't understand." I tried to remove his arm from my lap, but it was like it was made from iron.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded. "I mean, we're both mediators, but that was where I'd drawn the line-" Paul shook his head.

"No." He removed his arm slowly. "We're not mediators." He bent down to pick up the papers and showed one to me, his fingers tracing the faded words. "Not mediators," he repeated. "Shifters." I didn't understand.

"Shifters?" He nodded.

"And we're both lonely," he continued. "You won't admit it, Suze, but I know it. You're lonely because that boyfriend of yours won't go any further than the nineteenth century will allow him." He brought his face close to mine, and lowered his voice. "But I will."

"No!" I yelled, forcing myself off the bed and against the wall. "I love Jesse, Paul, and you have to accept that." Instead of looking disheartened, Paul smiled.

"Did I touch a nerve?" he asked, smoothly.

With goosebumps erect on my skin, I reached inside the plastic bag. Glancing upwards to check the door was bolted, I retrieved it, and ran a finger down one edge, before dropping it onto my bed like it was on fire, sobbing uncontrollably again.

"I can't – I can't…"

"Querida?"

I snatched it up again and hid it under my pillow, rubbing my eyes with my sleeve again to hide my tears. But it was too late. Jesse had seen them. He sat on my bed, reaching my hand concernedly.

"Querida, what's the matter?" I shook my head, unable to answer.

His dark eyes watched me intently, before he shifted up the bed so that I was in his arms. I reluctantly let go of what I had been concealing, leaving it under my pillow. I buried my face in his lacy white shirt, kidding myself that I could hear a heartbeat.

"Susannah…" Jesse's voice was stern. "Something is wrong. And you need to tell me."

"It's nothing," I protested, finally releasing myself from the invisible choke-hold on my voice-box. "I… I just had a bad day, that's all." Jesse was still beside me.

"I don't believe you." His voice was cold, and I detected hurt in his tone too. Hurt that I hadn't told him the truth. "Is it Paul?" Just the mention of his name sent my whole body into a vicious shudder, and I felt Jesse tense. "I see. I'll be back right now, Susannah."

"No!" I cried, grabbing hold of his cuffs. "Please, Jesse, no…" I started to cry again. "Please don't go and visit him. Please just stay with me…" He removed a curl that was falling across my face and placed it behind my ear.

"Susannah, if he did something to you he can't just get away it."

"He didn't do anything," I said, firmly, and forcing myself to sit up to face him. "Honestly. It was completely my fault. So promise me you won't go to him…" I took his hand in mine and squeezed it. "Please." My voice fell apart on that one last syllable.

"If you insist, Susannah," Jesse replied, uncomfortably. He got off the bed and leant against one of the posts of my bed. "But you're O.K?" I ground my teeth to hold back the tears.

"I'm fine."

"He doesn't love you," Paul taunted, getting off the bed and coming towards me. "Does he? You told him how you feel and he rejected you… didn't he?"

"No," I answered, though what he had just said was pretty much what had happened. Back in my room, just after I'd saved Jesse from being exorcised. He'd kissed me, and I'd kissed him back. And now he knew how I felt. He knew that every single scrap of me was irrevocably in love with him, and yet he hadn't done anything about it since that day.

"No," I said again. But Paul had already seen through me.

"Anything you want, Suze," he said, seductively. "Anything he won't give you, I can. I have everything he doesn't – money, a date on my birth certificate within the last 20 years… a heartbeat…." He was dangerous close.

"I know," I said, watching as Paul laced my fingers with his. "I know you have all of that. But… I don't want it."

I should have known that was the wrong thing to say. Not that it had the desired effect. He should have backed away, yelled at me, told me to get out. Or at the very least tried to persuade me verbally.

But instead he pushed me backwards against the wall, kissing me deeply and intrusively, his hot fingers fighting their way up the bottom half of my shirt. If I tried to push him away, I didn't remember it. All I could remember was how good it felt, and how easy it was to pretend that this was someone else – Jesse, to be more exact. It was Jesse's hands now pressed against my lower abdomen, I told myself, his lips exploring the base of my neck. His hair that my hands were running through as I lost all feeling in the rest of my body.

"Suze…" Paul groaned in my ear.

"Paul," I said, as smoothly as I could.

Paul was suddenly all out of buttons to undo and my shirt ended up on the floor. I broke my lips away from Paul's to stare at it for a second, before making my final choice.

"Jesse?" I asked, after a while. I'd been deep in thought, sitting on my bed, whilst he stood against my bed, almost like he was keeping guard. He turned to look at me, his gaze searching. "I need to tell you something."

He said nothing to begin with, and instead came to sit beside me, taking my hand in his. "I need to say something too," he replied, his voice low. When he released one of my hands to run a hand through his hair, his fingers were shaking.

Why were his fingers shaking?

"You go first," I encouraged him, not quite brave enough yet. He glanced up at me to double-check I was sure, before fixing his gaze on the duvet space between us. "Jesse?" I asked. "Are you O.K?"

"I haven't been O.K since you moved here," he replied, quietly. "Halfway through last year." I smiled weakly, remembering the day. "You were the first person I'd talked for 150 years."

"I guess I would have been lonely without someone to talk to, too-" I began to say, but he cut me off.

"I started feeling things," he said, with a frown. His forehead was crinkled, and there was a deep line between his eyebrows. "Things… I'd never felt before, even when I was alive." My stomach flipped, and I stood up, dropping his hands.

"Jesse, I can't-"

He was going to tell me. Tell me what I had needed to hear three weeks ago, back in Paul's room. And I couldn't hear it now. I couldn't. It would make everything so much worse.

"Querida…" He looked up with a pained expression. "I need to tell you this."

"No, no, no…" I shook my head, before sobbing into my hands. "You can't tell me! Not now!"

"Susannah," Jesse said, coming to comfort me. "Susannah, I love you." I cried harder. "It's O.K, querida, I'm scared too..." I was howling so hard that it felt like my heart was going to come out of my mouth any second.

"It's not, it's not," I told him, repeating my words like a mantra. "Nothing is ever going to be alright, ever, ever again."

"Here," Jesse said, shushing me soothingly. He brought my head up to his, and kissed me gently. "I love you, Susannah. And it feels so good to say it."

"You can't love me," I told him. "Not now. You won't." He was confused.

"What do you mean?"

I pulled myself away from him and fetched what I had hidden desperately under my pillow. I showed him, and he read out the bold print on the front. I nodded, huge tears rolling down my cheeks.

He didn't say anything at first, and just continued to stare at it. When he eventually did speak, I could tell he was seconds for crying. But he remained strong, squeezing my hand. "Go... go do it," he encouraged me. "I...I'll stay here. You do it in the bathroom, and then when you're done, I'll be here."

I nodded, opening the bathroom door. "I…" I gripped the door handle. "Thank you, Jesse." He bowed his head.

"I'll be here," he repeated.

"Jesse never finds out," I whispered, as Paul shrugged out of his jeans. I grasped his face and kissed him hard. "Never." My breathing was uneven.

"You can count on that," he said. "Rico Suave would have my head." I nodded, as we moved across the room together. "You know, Suze, you might not believe it but…"

"But what?" I asked. We sat on his bed.

"I love you," he said, quietly. A single tear rolled down my cheek, followed by another, and another.

"All I ever wanted was to be loved by him," I whispered into his neck, glancing up at him through jewelled eyelashes.

"I know," he said softly back, before sliding a finger beneath my chin and pressing his lips to mine. He laid me back against his pillow, and kissed my collarbone, before leaning over to his bed stand and turning out the light.

I threw the cardboard box into the trash can, the print on the side illegible through a screen of tears. Instead, I followed the instructions inside and then waited. I examined my wrist, a faint blue mark there from where Paul had seized my wrist and shoved me against the wall.

I lifted up my shirt to find another faint one on my hipbone, obtained when he struck out his arm. I watched the seconds tick by on my watch and listened to the dull thudding of my heart in the painful silence of the bathroom. I knew Jesse was outside, waiting, but I didn't invite him inside. Instead, I closed my clammy fingers around the slim white tube and took it into my room, not looking at the result.

Jesse looked up at me, trying to read my face. I shook my head.

"I haven't seen it yet." He took a deep breath, and rubbed my shoulder.

"Are you ready?" he asked me. I paused before answering.

The voice in my head told me, scolding me for my sin. The bruises and the cuts I had obtained were fading, but the pain I was about to cause would never been forgiven, and the heart I am about to break would never mend.

"Yes."

I released the tube, one finger at a time until Jesse could read what it said. He took another deep breath, before looking at me, his dark eyes unreadable.

"It's positive."

The pregnancy test fell to the floor with a clatter.