Elbow Room - Twilight Fic (with Jacob/Bella. OF COURSE)
Well, here she is. I mean, I warned you about this monster. It's not too late to turn around and run in the other direction. REALLY.
Basically, a brief summary of what happens in the madness that follows is that: Bella returns to Forks, human and everything, for reasons not fully disclosed yet. Mostly because I'm not quite sure either... SAD I KNOW. The story picks up five years after she's returned, as the healing begins after the years of being dependent on Edward, being dependent on someone else to define her. Thus, our Bella is starting to GROW UP. FINALLY. However, lately she's getting phone calls from our favorite vampirical stalker. And Jacob would like to GET IT ON ALREADY, but she's got her hesitations. DUH DUH DUUUUUUHH. I know, right? Basically, if you want to understand that random fanmix I made awhile ago, read this fic. YEP.
I also apologize about the title. It's was either this or Libertarianism and NO ONE wants to see that.
Anyways, I'm posting this more or less for my own sanity. Beware, it is a multi-part ordeal. Other... chapters are coming later. Ugh. CHAPTERS PEOPLE. CHAPTERS.
I make myself sick.
elbow room
For one brief, never-ending second, an entirely different path expanded behind the lids of my tear-wet eyes. As if I were looking through the filter of Jacob’s thoughts, I could see exactly what I was going to give up, exactly what this new self-knowledge would not save me from losing. I could see Charlie and Renée mixed into a strange collage with Billy and Sam and La Push. I could see years passing, and meaning something as they passed, changing me.
~Bella Swann, Eclipse
preface
his presence is almost oppressive; she can feel him from the moment she knows that his car has driven up the gravel driveway to her house. it's more than the crunchy sound of the tires on the road, it's more than the sound of his engine purring against the foggy morning.
she can feel him, feel him more intensely now that she's done without him for so long, like an addict getting a hit after years and years of sobriety. and for the first time she realizes why it's making her light-headed-- she can't breathe, it's drowning her, it's smothering her.
his footsteps are at the door and her mind only has seconds, but it's like she really is drowning, like she’s underwater and her thoughts are suspended in the thick, cool waters of the pacific. everything is slower for a few seconds and when she closes her eyes she sees it all:
the fire began swelling in her bottom lip and then found its way to drumming into her ears. her body arched in pain as the fire made its way to her neck, her chest, to the tips of her fingers. she wanted to scream but she couldn't, she felt like her face was scorched to ashes, wasn't really there, all the feeling there was simply phantom pain.
the first time she actually could find a noise was a protesting growl in her throat at the touch of his skin on her wrist; it was so cold, it burned, like dry ice.
it was the third night that she had heard her heart start to slow in her chest, could hear her blood start to drill softer and softer in her veins. then, his soothing words started to fade from her ears ("it's almost over, bella. you're almost finished") like she was going deaf. the fire shooting through every nerve in her body stood still, there, but as if put on pause.
then, it happened: the room faded, his face near hers fell away, made of sand. then, an explosion of pain rocketed through her body, bright blood red behind her eyelids, encompassing her whole body-her whole body felt like it was made simply and only of this color.
however, the red instantly flew away, as if she had gone through a tunnel only to emerge to the cool sight of a starry, starry night; it felt like she was weightless, floating soundlessly in nothing. then, as if tugged by a cord, she was yanked from that place. and, then, images, but they looked like over-exposed photographs, the colors too brilliant, the sun too bright.
1) charlie and her on the beach when she was five, him showing her how to wash the seashells they found with the wibbering tide.
2) renee and her laughing loudly at the fact that they could take a swim on christmas in phoenix.
3) her first kiss to an awkward boy named phillip, behind the school building, his fingers sticky from eating peanut butter and jelly for lunch.
4) the sight of her father as he made coffee in the morning.
5) edward blowing a dandelion with a delicacy that surprised her.
6) a football field, jessica and angela walking across it. angela turns, waves at her.
7) jacob laughing at her as she asks, in confusion and a little aggitation, what a caliper even is.
8) alice's face as she concentrates on painting her toenails a brilliant shade of pink.
9) the sound of rain falling on the slated roof of the house, her fingers holding her place in a book-sense and sensibility.
10) victoria's face.
11) the feeling of jacob's hair as she pulls it angrily, passionately, her lips crashing against his, urgent, her whole body urgent.
12) the sunset the night before, an odd shade of purple.
and then all the images, thousands upon thousands of them flashed through her head in the seconds (maybe hours, she will never really know) that passed, as if they are being pulled forcefully out of her brain, as if she was on a train and she was trying to catch a glimpse of some flowers outside, but everything had just become a blur of earth and sky and the horizon.
and then, her heart almost still, something in her head spoke, but in a voice she has always heard but never really heard, not really. it sounded like her voice, like charlie's voice, like renee's voice, like angela's and mike's and billy's and alice's and edward's and jacob's voice, but one voice, as if jumbled into one coherent vocalization.
it is a simple question, but it held so much weight, the fire seemed to cease from her body.
"is this what you want, bella? is this what you really want?"
she watched as the images started to get further and further away from her and suddenly it dawned on her, as she felt her breathing become hallow in her chest. she was almost completely floating in the nothing again, watching the images glide away from her like a jellyfish in the ocean.
"is this what you want?" it asked again, this time more distant, hallow.
"no," she whispered because she had no more air for any other sort of vocalization. "no."
the images came crashing back into her brain with a velocity that seared. the brightness of them become nothing more than a searing white.
when she awoke the next morning, the breaking dawn was the most brilliant shade of blue she had ever seen.
he is here, she can hear him stepping onto the porch. the door bell rings.
one
it was a quiet morning when she decides to finish it out.
the soft plinkering of rain echoes throughout the room and when she opens the blinds the light that floods into the room is gray, dull, filtered; she leaves the blinds open and smiles halfly into the cool dampness.
a quick glance around displays that little has changed: the quiet neatness of her stacked CDs (none of them thrown out, discarded); the blankets of her bed folded softly into place; the sparseness of her computer desk, although now void of the sometimes-clutter of textbooks, still minimalistic, almost primative. however, now, on her bedroom door hangs a calender, thin green ballpoint-pen lines through the days finished, bright yellow circles surrounding the ones still coming. the green and yellow mix in a fit of bright ink that contrasts with the deep calm palette of blue throughout the rest of the room; wherever she shifts, her eyes catch the lines and, when it does, there is sometimes a small, small smile that graces her face.
she glances at her clock and notices that the morning is still young, infantile. rolling her feet slowly off her heels, she waits for the quiet rumble of charlie's habitual morning ordeals but hears none. glancing at her clock, she nods in agreement with it, as if they are having silent conversations, as if time is the one thing that her brain can truly connect with.
tip-toeing to the bathroom, she closes the door discreetly, only wincing once as it creaks arthritically in the clammy chilliness of the early morning. then, only glancing once in the mirror, she reaches in the medicine cabinet before finding the hair-cutting shears. she unbuttons the cover before unsheathing the scissors from their casing, half-expecting it to make a sharp, metallic sound. instead, it slides out quietly, almost silently, and the only sounds she hears distinctly is the soft humming of the lights hanging above the mirror.
she stares into the mirror more intently this time and notices the change, unlike her room, is more noticable: there are small, seemingly invisible, lines near the corners of her mouth that bear witness to too much smiling in a twenty-four year old young woman; her eyes are brighter, softer, wiser, although still a chocolatey brown; her skin freckled lightly around the bridge of her nose and her hair’s a soft caramel color from days spent out unguardedly out in the sun.
her hair now barely tickles the tops of her shoulders, but she manages to rangle it into a short ponytail just above the nape of her neck. then, uncerimoneously, she reaches back and slices through the thick knot of hair, shivering slightly at the soft crunch produced as the scissors glide through.
she takes a shower and laughs lightly at her confused hands as they move to finish running through her hair and are stopped short by the velvety leather of the skin at her neck.
when she meets charlie in the kitchen later, he looks up at her and then furrows his eyebrows. leaning back into his chair, his words are muffled by his napkin as he wipes his mouth. "you... get a tan, bella?"
she twirls her wet hair and just grins at him. "yes, daddy. a tan."
charlie smiles, one of his crinkly smiles that have become more folded as the years have marched on. "well, that's... you look nice, bella." he pauses, picks up the spoon, shovels in a large mouthful of oatmeal, and then says over his food, "you look... happy."
bending to kiss his forehead, she mumbles, "that's because i am. i'm very happy."
when she looks at charlie's face, she is surprised once again to find the small explosion of happiness in the pit of her stomach when his smile reaches his eyes.
---
mike is ready for her at the front door, him holding an umbrella with small pink ducks littered all over the material.
she runs in the now-steady rain before reaching him, her head ducking low underneath the umbrella.
smiling at him deviously, she nudges him lightly in the ribs. "rubber ducky, you're the one?"
"oh, shut-up, bella," he mumbles, a little grin grabbing the corners of his face before his eyes roll. he reaches inside his rain jacket before pulling out the store keys, them tinkling lightly in contrast to the muffled drop of rain above them. "jessica borrowed mine to take the kids to school, so i got stuck with mickey's."
"ah," she responds, suddenly looking down on the tops of her feet. "that's right… mike jr's in kindergarten now, huh."
she feels mike respond brightly to this question, as if his body physically warmed at the mention of his children. "yep, that's right. crazy, huh! can't hardly believe it myself!"
the store's lights are a dull green as they warm and as she hangs her jacket in the break room, she feels oddly sleepy. through the store's large front windows she can see the blue haze of rain as it comes down steadily. she walks closer towards the windows and peers outside, raising her hand to touch the glass ever so gently, as if she were afraid that is might crumble like sand. the dark forests surrounding the store are almost grey through the shield of rain and she can see the trees dancing in the weather, the leaves bobbing. slowly, she sways to her left, then her right before humming a soft tune. she knows distantly in her brain to stop, to stop very soon or else she might feel the sadness burn like bile in her throat, but instead she keeps going, suddenly feeling slightly more stubborn than usual.
the distant trilling of a phone ringing finally snaps her out her reverie along with the rumble of mike's voice from the back of the store asking her if she will answer it. she pauses for a second, then removes her fingertips from the window before quietly rolling herself towards the nearest register to answer the phone.
"we're not open yet, mr. fillmore," she rattles off quickly, knowing the usual early morning patron who had a quirk for hiking when the weather was tempermental.
however, the line is silent. she frowns into the mouthpiece before rolling her eyes. as she's about to hang up, her ear away from the phone, the receiver an arms-length away, she hears him, once again.
"bella?"
her arm freezes in place, her pupils suddenly constricting. she finds her breathing shorter, erratic and her heart beats in short, unfinished notes.
"bella," the voice says again, this time as a statement, not a question.
she quickly looks out the window, as if she expects something to come barrelling in. however, nothing comes, just rain.
"bella... talk to me. please."
her mouth forms into a small circle, a small "oh." and then, she hangs up.
when mike comes in later, he says, "mr. fillmore again?" he grins up at at her but when he catches her face, his smile fades and his eyes quickly shift away, as if he's seen someone crying at a funeral. his face contorts in a grimace and he mumbles quickly, "you cut your hair. it's nice... i like it."
she frowns at the phone and then up at him before cracking a small, almost indistinct, smile. "yes, mr. fillmore again."
she finds the window cleaner in the break room and starts to clean the massive front windows, scrubbing until her fingers are red and her elbows ache.
---
sometimes, she dreams again. mostly, she just lies awake and stares at the tree shadows scraping softly against her windowpane; the long dark tendrils of shadows crawl into her room and embrace her over her blanketed shape in bed.
she turns and stares at the ceiling, rubbing her hands over her exposed collarbone, somehow pleased to find the bone there, in tact, alive. the shadows are spongy and vivid on the ceiling too, and she realizes then that the moon is full tonight. turning over on her side, she stares again out the window and breathes in the only slightly cool air leaking into the house.
although she doesn't remember her eyes slowly shutting, methodically, she does remember her dream. she is in the meadow once again, but this time the world isn't swimming, shifting, seemingly underwater. this time, it is pleasant, the sun beating down unashamedly. she is lying down in the grass and it tickles the bare skin of her elbows and when she turns to look at him (because she knows he is there, she knows this as if this was the same knowledge as knowing the sun is out), she sees him laying there close enough to touch.
she does not touch him.
he smiles at her and she feels her dream-body and her real body shiver from this action. he reaches as if to touch her but his hand stops an inch from her face, as if caught by something far stronger than him, although she can't imagine what that possibly could be. his eyebrows furrow, as if confused, and then the expression is one of frustration, of sadness, of tilted anger. he draws away slowly, as if he might be resisting some invisible force pulling him back.
she knows that his skin should sparkle, dazzle her to the very pit of her stomach, but instead its as if there is some invisible cloud over him and him only... he glows with only the dull pallor of marble. it is the image of him that she remembers clearest and it sends a small shiver down to her toes, but for reasons she isn't quite sure if she's ready to think about.
they stare at each other for a second and when she smiles at him finally, he frowns. "bella? are you okay? bella, are you okay?" he asks, his voice soft, creamy.
she stares off to the side and watches the breeze rustle the trees' leaves. the forest stirs with something vibrant, something bright and desperatly lively. then, turning back to him, she pulls her lips up a little and answers, "i'm... alive." she wonders if it would be okay to reach out and trace her fingers along his jawline, but she stops that thought quite easily, easier than she thought herself capable of.
this answer doesn't seem satisfactory to him though and his eyebrows just knit tighter together. "i don't know what that means, bella. i just. i want you to be happy."
this time the smile is easier. "i know that."
"are you? are you happy?"
she turns to look at the sky but the sky is suddenly a shade of the brightest red she's ever seen. her face contorts in pain and she whimpers and instantly knows that she's whimpered back in her room, back in that far distant place that feels so disconnected from her right now it feels like she's died.
died.
the sky is red. blood red.
she remembers quickly and vastly: the red, the red that shook behind her eyes, her ears, the feeling as if fire might explode every limb in her body. she remembers and her body winces, balls itself together.
his voice is just an echo now, but it seems to blur with the red, become part of it somehow, as if the color itself was speaking to her; "bella! oh bella, what ever are you thinking? what are you thinking?"
"yes, that... that was always the problem."
she finds herself awaking to her speaking the words and, when they are out, the room is so deathly quiet it hurts her ears. her throat burns like she has drunk far too much and her head swims like it also. her breathing is even though and she finds that she is more surprised at the steadiness of her inhaling and exhaling rather than the reason her breath should be erratic.
chewing her bottom lip, she wonders if she will be able to go back to sleep. there is a few seconds of contemplation before she decides that she cannot, and, after a few haphazard seconds of trying to find her slippers, she wanders downstairs to the kitchen.
it feels like the kitchen hums anxiously, but she supposes that it is nothing more than the uneasy rumble in the pit of her stomach. she rummages around the fridge for a second before deciding she's not really that hungry. instead, she reaches for a glass in the cupboard and then quickly fills it under the faucet. she contemplates raiding the small closet next to charlie's bedroom in search of the whiskey hiding there, the bottle dusty and yellow-stained; she quickly gulps the water and stares out the kitchen window.
when the phone rings, she jumps a little in her skin and the water in her cup spills over and onto the tops of her bare feet. she stares at the phone for a second, not sure if she's made up the noise, but when it rings again, she casts a furtive look towards charlie's room before quickly picking it up.
"hello," she says breathlessly into the mouthpiece, as if her lungs are holding their last ounce of air while she is drowning.
the voice on the other end is quicker to respond than she thought (it pains her that her thoughts are so easily drawn to this), "hey, bella?" a pause. "what's up?"
hearing the voice, something warm and comfortable runs down the length of her body and suddenly she wants to go melt in her bed, drift peacefully into a deep, deep sleep. instead, however, she manages to sound like she is frowning, agitated, "jacob! are you out of your mind? charlie's still sleeping."
a gruff laughter resounds in her ear but it quickly fades and it is replaced by responding, "funny that you aren't doing the same thing."
"huh, well," she responds, suddenly very guilty. she twirls the phone cord around her pinky finger, sucks in a lungful of air. "i... uh, well." they both know the reason she isn’t awake, but neither one speaks of it; silence reigns and is filled with only her thoughts of how he knows, how he knows the exact nights she wakes up with her heart in her ears.
"alright," he responds, and the line is silent, but it isn't awkward; the white-noise is pleasant, warm. "is it alright if i come over?"
instantly, she wants to object, but instead, she simply shuffles her slippered feet before saying, as if not thinking, "yeah, sure. that would be nice."
"okay," he responds too quickly, enthusiasm so apparant in his voice, she winces a little. "be there in a couple of seconds." then the line dies.
she knows he's being quite literal about arriving momentarily and when she looks down, she sighs; she has recently taken up the comfortable if not inconvenient habit of sleeping in just her t-shirt and undergarments. she moves as if to go upstairs and change but then shrugs when she already hears the porch stairs creaking. she barely has time to open a cabinet drawer before he's in the front hallway; she can hear him shaking his head to remove the raindrops.
"don't be getting my hallway sopping wet, jacob black," she scolds over her shoulder as she looks into a drawer, rummaging around until she finds a crinkled package of coffee. unfolding the bag carefully, she takes out a scoopful before pouring it into the coffee maker. his breathing behind her is steady, so she knows he is there, but he isn't saying anything.
she turns and stares at him, raising an appraising eyebrow. "what's up? cat got your tongue?" she asks before she can properly gauge his expression. leaning against the kitchen drawers, she follows his gaze down her body until she realizes what he's so quiet for; a small, shameful shade of rose creeps up her cheeks.
finally, he comments, a smug grin plastered on his face, "did you forget something, bella?"
"oh shut-up," she snaps, her face turning an even more vivid shade that she's quite sure he can see even in the kitchen's dim pale-blue lighting. "how is it fair that you get to be half-naked all the time and i don't?" her voice sounds somewhat teasing, but then, almost whiny.
his eyes light up mischievously and he runs a hand over his newly-cropped hair. "you know what? i'd say it isn't fair. tell you what: you can be as naked as you want around me, from now on. as much as you'd like." he laughs at her expression, which is a little bit a mix between exasperation and growing agitation. "hey now! i'm just being fair." he mimics her whine, cocking his head while doing so.
she reaches over and throws a dish towel at him and when he ducks it easily, still laughing, she simply snorts in his direction, "you're incorrigible."
he chuckles, a throaty, coughing laugh; she finds every time he laughs this ways she has to double-take in surprise, as if she is isn't quite sure what she should expect to see in front of her. shrugging, he lumbers over to the fridge, opens it before pulling out some bread, then reaches effortlessly with his impossibly long limbs to grab a jar of peanut butter in the cabinet over her head.
waving the jar in front of her, he says through a wide smile, "bon appetite, mon amie."
"mmm. delicious," she remarks, pulling her shoulders up in mock-excitement. they both laugh at it, even though it isn't all that funny, but all the same, they laugh at it, as if it is some sort of very indescribable inside joke.
she watches him as he pulls out a knife from another drawer, some dishes and sets about his work of making both of them sandwiches. little has changed about jacob, and she knows that this will be true for probably many, many years, how many years neither him nor her know exactly. he still towers over her, his shoulders so wide she wonders is she could even wrap her arms around the full width of them (although she knows that she isn't allowed to try). he's shirtless, once again, but she supposes that it's because he been off with the pack, only goofing off because there's no real threat right now. she can see every movement that the muscles in the middle of his back make, and for once she doesn't feel any blood rush to her face while she watches them move, as if she is watching a sort of dance before her, very objective.
when he smiles, she still feels the same, warm and soft, but now there is a hint of sadness in the pit of her stomach along with the former emotion.
he hands her the plate, a messy, gooey mess of a peanut butter sandwich on it. "voila," he says in a accent that she supposes is supposed to be french but ends up sounding british. she curtsies but it ends up looking more like she is tripping and they both laugh and how horrible they are at two apparently easy things. she hands both of them a mug of coffee and they sit at the kitchen table, eating their sandwiches in relative silence. every once in awhile, jacob will say something about future plans during the week,
("wanna go to olympia this saturday? catch one of your ridiculously awful horror films?"
"you're never going to forgive me for that, are you?"
"what? give you the pleasure of being in movie-debt to me for the rest of your life? not a chance!")
but mostly they stay in a comfortable silence, sometimes stealing a glance at each other, trying hard not laugh at his overstuffed mouth, at her trying hard to lick the soft bread and sticky peanut butter off the roof of her mouth. he gets up to make another sandwich, offers to make her another one; she just shakes her head, holding up a hand.
her eyes follow him as he wanders around her kitchen as if he had lived here all his life, which wasn't too far from the truth-- their midnight snack sessions had become regular as of recently, ever since the dreams returned.
her nights had been blank, completely black and empty, in the beginning, when she first returned to forks. she shudders remembering it, remembering the night she came back, remembering the pouring rain that fell down her back, down her face, got into her eyes as she sped to la push, her body shaking, absolutely trembling.
"bella?!" he had half-asked, half-exclaimed as he opened the front door of his house; she had heard billy in the background ask who it was and the sounds and smells of normal human life hit her so hard, her head swam.
he had shut the door and tried to steady her shaking, which she supposed had probably looked like she was having a semi-seizure. "bella? what... are you serious? what are you doing here?" he hissed these last words as if he were afraid they might be caught by something undesirable.
she remembers saying, "i... i've just driven from kanai... 1500 miles... i cannot die. i am not a vampire. i will not die. make me some coffee, please." and then everything went black.
in the months, years that followed, it seemed like her mind had shut down, rebooted like a mechanical instrument. her sleep had been filled with nothing but emptiness, pure weightlessness. now, it was humming again, ready to function.
"so," his voice interrupts her thoughts and when she awakens from her regression, he is standing near the kitchen window, his shape a silhouette behind the early gray morning light, "when you gonna tell me your secret?"
she blinks, stares at him in the face, grimacing. "what secret?" she mumbles into her coffee cup before stirring the contents with the tip of her thumb.
he sighs, a melodramatic sigh before sitting opposite her at the table. "you're kind of a piss-poor liar, bella."
"thanks for the reminder."
he laughs before nodding towards her coffee. "it's gonna be cold," he tells her.
"yeah," she mumbles before shrugging. "tastes the same to me."
he rolls his eyes before reaching out and encompassing the cup around his hands as if he were picking up an egg. then, he brings it closer towards his chest and stares at her, one eyebrow raised. "i'm serious though, bella. you're gonna have to tell me sometime... something's out of the ordinary with you." he smiles mischievously. "i mean, other than usual."
"hey!" she retorts, eying her coffee cup, sitting so close this bare chest she thinks it must be boiling by now. "what does that mean?"
"it means that you're kind of a freak."
she snorts before saying, "look who's talking wolf-boy."
he shrugs before handing her back her cup; she was right, the contents are nearly sizzling. "doesn't change anything. you're still going to tell me."
she raises an eyebrow before unconsciously taking a sip of the scalding liquid. "is that so?"
"that's so. i'm jacob black, as it were," he says jokingly, leaning forward then, he stands up as if he is going to leave, and just when she suspects that he might just trot right out of the house, join the pack in the forest for a bit of jot, he stops right in front of her, reaching down and lightly, hesitantly, touches her face. "and i work hard for the things i want," he says gutterally, his thumb moving cautiously over the bare skin covering her jawline.
she gasps at his steaming touch, and swallows the coffee; it suddenly feels like her whole body is on fire. shock hits her like a freight train, since it had been forever since he had first tried. since then, he had been careful, unsure, tip-toeing the boundaries, as if a dog with a new electric fence.
"jacob..." she whispers warningly, desperately, her eyes averting quickly away from him, towards the wall opposite her. her eyes suddenly swim with the threat of tears and her hands grip the coffee cup tighter in response, to keep her tears at bay, despite the pain followed by this action. "please. jacob. jacob, please..."
he stiffens at her words and he retracts his hand from her face at if he were the one burnt. she looks at his face in the muted reflection of the kitchen window, sees the pain and frustration there and she instantly hates herself, hates herself more deeply than she has in a couple of days.
running a hand over his hair, he only says, gruffly, "better go. billy'll be worried." they both know that billy could care less, would hardly blink, but still they both accept this statement.
he leaves quickly, quicker than any human being should ever be able to and she hardly has time to think about begging him to stay. but, as she stumbles out of the chair, nearly mating her face and the floor together, she knows, somewhere deep in her chest that he didn't want her to beg.
the first time, they had been standing in the front yard of embry’s house in la push, helping emily's little cousins capture fireflies in a mason jar. taking a break, they had been leaning against a large oak in the front yard. the weather was balmy and she had been drinking in the little things: the way the sky changed from a brilliant shade of orange to pink to a deep vermillion; the way the tree's bark was scratchy and sturdy against her bare skin; the way the trees made a sad noise every time the wind from an approaching storm blew through them.
"it's sort of beautiful out here," she had said to him jokingly, looking up and trying to smile crookedly, hoping it didn't look more like a grimace.
his gaze, however, had not been looking at the surroundings-- he had been studying her face with a concentration that she had forgotten existed in his face. with jacob, it wasn't a look like he might forget it at any second. instead, he had looked at her as if he wasn't quite sure if he knew how to hold all of her in. "it is sort of beautiful," he had breathed and her breathe caught in her throat. he'd taken the small of her back captive before she could think, and suddenly his lips had almost pressed upon hers.
"no," she had breathed. "no. jacob. no."
when he had pulled away, he had looked at her with confusion, with a pain that made her ache to the very center of her bones.
"i'm sorry. it's... complicated," was all she had to offer to his pained expression.
"you don't want me," he had murmured in a way that indicated that he understood, as if he had just come to a sad realization. his hands had suddenly dropped his side, his head bowing like a scolded puppy.
"oh, jacob! of course not. no, no." she had bit her lip, looking off to the side. "all this is too complicated."
she wishes she could describe to him why, why exactly they cannot, why it really was all too complicated. she wishes this more than anything as she watches him disappear into the forests surrounding her house.
"i'm sorry," she whispers to his retreating figure, half-hoping he has heard her pathetic apology.
nervously twirling her hair, she turns and leans against the doorframe, closing her eyes. the details surrounding the year she left forks after her high school graduation had been left only for further elaboration by the town gossips.
divorcee. ran off with that cullen boy. no, no, the one with that strange hair color. odd boy. heard she miscarried. heard that he beat her. heard that she had an affair, he kicked her out. heard that he had an affair, she left. heard that he died, heard that she killed him, heard that they had a shotgun wedding, heard she left the baby back in tulsa, heard she's a lesbian, heard she thought her father was dying, heard they got a divorce. divorce divorce divorce.
she shakes her head. the true story still lays buried in her, sits there like a hot coal that she must constantly juggle in the deep inner parts of her so not to get too burned.
"i can help," he had told her one day a couple years ago, his face stubborn like usual. "but then," he had added, his eyes meeting hers, speculative, "i suppose it's best you help yourself. because you can, you know that, bella? you're... you're not made of glass. you don't shatter easily."
"i'm figuring that out, jacob. i'm figuring that out," she whispers to the cool hallway before opening her eyes. suddenly feeling a little volatile, she thinks angrily on what just happened between the two of them and stomps her way to the kitchen, not bothering to worry about waking charlie.
the dishes clatter in the sink as she uncerimoneously drops them in, turns on the faucet, lets the water run at full-blast until steam rises. she puts in the plug in the bottom, squirts some dishsoap in and watches blankly as the sink fills up with thin, cottony bubbles. her fingers drum against the cool linoleum countertop and, as she glares into the quickly filling sink, she thinks about all of it.
"stupid. attractive. half-naked. werewolf," she mutters, turning off the faucet and roughly grabbing a plate, a washcloth, before scrubbing unnecessarily hard.
things were complicated.
so complicated.
she had made a promise.
"be happy, that's all i ask. be happy, bella."
she visibly shivers as the sound of his voice slithers down her spine; she sticks her hands further in the sink, the scalding dishwater up to her elbows.
staring at the ceiling, she thinks about all of this, trying to remember the beginning. it all feels so fuzzy, like waking up in a strange house, or in an airplane, like you're not quite sure where you are, not quite certain if you are floating in space or grounded firmly in the earth. she thinks about his mouth on her mouth, the feeling as things got too far, they both had known it.
then, a fit of passion, her lips between his teeth, the smallest nick.
"ouch," had been her last word before the blood dribbled down her chin. she looked up at him, rubbing the blood off her face; his eyes had been horrified, his hands reaching out towards her but seemingly unable to touch her, as if they were hesitating, not in line with his brain.
then, the fire had started.
the phone breaks her thoughts, jolting her. she realizes that her hands are searing and she quickly removes them from the dishwater, scolding herself for her mental slip. this was not healthy, she kept telling herself that, but at the same time, she kept it stored away like someone might keep old clothes or bedsheets, as if believing them useful once again at some later undisclosed time.
sighing, she grabs a towel, a plate, and walks over to the phone and answers it. "you are in so much trouble, jacob black," she murmurs icily, even though she can find a grin pulling up the very edge of her face.
the line is quiet, and then: "jacob black?" the tone is smooth, calm, but with the barest hint of a growl underneath it. "no, bella, this isn't jacob black."
the last thing she thinks before everything goes black is how she will feel sorry that she will awake charlie with the smashing plate, with the crashing sound of her body against the cool kitchen floor.
Basically, a brief summary of what happens in the madness that follows is that: Bella returns to Forks, human and everything, for reasons not fully disclosed yet. Mostly because I'm not quite sure either... SAD I KNOW. The story picks up five years after she's returned, as the healing begins after the years of being dependent on Edward, being dependent on someone else to define her. Thus, our Bella is starting to GROW UP. FINALLY. However, lately she's getting phone calls from our favorite vampirical stalker. And Jacob would like to GET IT ON ALREADY, but she's got her hesitations. DUH DUH DUUUUUUHH. I know, right? Basically, if you want to understand that random fanmix I made awhile ago, read this fic. YEP.
I also apologize about the title. It's was either this or Libertarianism and NO ONE wants to see that.
Anyways, I'm posting this more or less for my own sanity. Beware, it is a multi-part ordeal. Other... chapters are coming later. Ugh. CHAPTERS PEOPLE. CHAPTERS.
I make myself sick.
elbow room
For one brief, never-ending second, an entirely different path expanded behind the lids of my tear-wet eyes. As if I were looking through the filter of Jacob’s thoughts, I could see exactly what I was going to give up, exactly what this new self-knowledge would not save me from losing. I could see Charlie and Renée mixed into a strange collage with Billy and Sam and La Push. I could see years passing, and meaning something as they passed, changing me.
~Bella Swann, Eclipse
preface
his presence is almost oppressive; she can feel him from the moment she knows that his car has driven up the gravel driveway to her house. it's more than the crunchy sound of the tires on the road, it's more than the sound of his engine purring against the foggy morning.
she can feel him, feel him more intensely now that she's done without him for so long, like an addict getting a hit after years and years of sobriety. and for the first time she realizes why it's making her light-headed-- she can't breathe, it's drowning her, it's smothering her.
his footsteps are at the door and her mind only has seconds, but it's like she really is drowning, like she’s underwater and her thoughts are suspended in the thick, cool waters of the pacific. everything is slower for a few seconds and when she closes her eyes she sees it all:
the fire began swelling in her bottom lip and then found its way to drumming into her ears. her body arched in pain as the fire made its way to her neck, her chest, to the tips of her fingers. she wanted to scream but she couldn't, she felt like her face was scorched to ashes, wasn't really there, all the feeling there was simply phantom pain.
the first time she actually could find a noise was a protesting growl in her throat at the touch of his skin on her wrist; it was so cold, it burned, like dry ice.
it was the third night that she had heard her heart start to slow in her chest, could hear her blood start to drill softer and softer in her veins. then, his soothing words started to fade from her ears ("it's almost over, bella. you're almost finished") like she was going deaf. the fire shooting through every nerve in her body stood still, there, but as if put on pause.
then, it happened: the room faded, his face near hers fell away, made of sand. then, an explosion of pain rocketed through her body, bright blood red behind her eyelids, encompassing her whole body-her whole body felt like it was made simply and only of this color.
however, the red instantly flew away, as if she had gone through a tunnel only to emerge to the cool sight of a starry, starry night; it felt like she was weightless, floating soundlessly in nothing. then, as if tugged by a cord, she was yanked from that place. and, then, images, but they looked like over-exposed photographs, the colors too brilliant, the sun too bright.
1) charlie and her on the beach when she was five, him showing her how to wash the seashells they found with the wibbering tide.
2) renee and her laughing loudly at the fact that they could take a swim on christmas in phoenix.
3) her first kiss to an awkward boy named phillip, behind the school building, his fingers sticky from eating peanut butter and jelly for lunch.
4) the sight of her father as he made coffee in the morning.
5) edward blowing a dandelion with a delicacy that surprised her.
6) a football field, jessica and angela walking across it. angela turns, waves at her.
7) jacob laughing at her as she asks, in confusion and a little aggitation, what a caliper even is.
8) alice's face as she concentrates on painting her toenails a brilliant shade of pink.
9) the sound of rain falling on the slated roof of the house, her fingers holding her place in a book-sense and sensibility.
10) victoria's face.
11) the feeling of jacob's hair as she pulls it angrily, passionately, her lips crashing against his, urgent, her whole body urgent.
12) the sunset the night before, an odd shade of purple.
and then all the images, thousands upon thousands of them flashed through her head in the seconds (maybe hours, she will never really know) that passed, as if they are being pulled forcefully out of her brain, as if she was on a train and she was trying to catch a glimpse of some flowers outside, but everything had just become a blur of earth and sky and the horizon.
and then, her heart almost still, something in her head spoke, but in a voice she has always heard but never really heard, not really. it sounded like her voice, like charlie's voice, like renee's voice, like angela's and mike's and billy's and alice's and edward's and jacob's voice, but one voice, as if jumbled into one coherent vocalization.
it is a simple question, but it held so much weight, the fire seemed to cease from her body.
"is this what you want, bella? is this what you really want?"
she watched as the images started to get further and further away from her and suddenly it dawned on her, as she felt her breathing become hallow in her chest. she was almost completely floating in the nothing again, watching the images glide away from her like a jellyfish in the ocean.
"is this what you want?" it asked again, this time more distant, hallow.
"no," she whispered because she had no more air for any other sort of vocalization. "no."
the images came crashing back into her brain with a velocity that seared. the brightness of them become nothing more than a searing white.
when she awoke the next morning, the breaking dawn was the most brilliant shade of blue she had ever seen.
he is here, she can hear him stepping onto the porch. the door bell rings.
one
it was a quiet morning when she decides to finish it out.
the soft plinkering of rain echoes throughout the room and when she opens the blinds the light that floods into the room is gray, dull, filtered; she leaves the blinds open and smiles halfly into the cool dampness.
a quick glance around displays that little has changed: the quiet neatness of her stacked CDs (none of them thrown out, discarded); the blankets of her bed folded softly into place; the sparseness of her computer desk, although now void of the sometimes-clutter of textbooks, still minimalistic, almost primative. however, now, on her bedroom door hangs a calender, thin green ballpoint-pen lines through the days finished, bright yellow circles surrounding the ones still coming. the green and yellow mix in a fit of bright ink that contrasts with the deep calm palette of blue throughout the rest of the room; wherever she shifts, her eyes catch the lines and, when it does, there is sometimes a small, small smile that graces her face.
she glances at her clock and notices that the morning is still young, infantile. rolling her feet slowly off her heels, she waits for the quiet rumble of charlie's habitual morning ordeals but hears none. glancing at her clock, she nods in agreement with it, as if they are having silent conversations, as if time is the one thing that her brain can truly connect with.
tip-toeing to the bathroom, she closes the door discreetly, only wincing once as it creaks arthritically in the clammy chilliness of the early morning. then, only glancing once in the mirror, she reaches in the medicine cabinet before finding the hair-cutting shears. she unbuttons the cover before unsheathing the scissors from their casing, half-expecting it to make a sharp, metallic sound. instead, it slides out quietly, almost silently, and the only sounds she hears distinctly is the soft humming of the lights hanging above the mirror.
she stares into the mirror more intently this time and notices the change, unlike her room, is more noticable: there are small, seemingly invisible, lines near the corners of her mouth that bear witness to too much smiling in a twenty-four year old young woman; her eyes are brighter, softer, wiser, although still a chocolatey brown; her skin freckled lightly around the bridge of her nose and her hair’s a soft caramel color from days spent out unguardedly out in the sun.
her hair now barely tickles the tops of her shoulders, but she manages to rangle it into a short ponytail just above the nape of her neck. then, uncerimoneously, she reaches back and slices through the thick knot of hair, shivering slightly at the soft crunch produced as the scissors glide through.
she takes a shower and laughs lightly at her confused hands as they move to finish running through her hair and are stopped short by the velvety leather of the skin at her neck.
when she meets charlie in the kitchen later, he looks up at her and then furrows his eyebrows. leaning back into his chair, his words are muffled by his napkin as he wipes his mouth. "you... get a tan, bella?"
she twirls her wet hair and just grins at him. "yes, daddy. a tan."
charlie smiles, one of his crinkly smiles that have become more folded as the years have marched on. "well, that's... you look nice, bella." he pauses, picks up the spoon, shovels in a large mouthful of oatmeal, and then says over his food, "you look... happy."
bending to kiss his forehead, she mumbles, "that's because i am. i'm very happy."
when she looks at charlie's face, she is surprised once again to find the small explosion of happiness in the pit of her stomach when his smile reaches his eyes.
---
mike is ready for her at the front door, him holding an umbrella with small pink ducks littered all over the material.
she runs in the now-steady rain before reaching him, her head ducking low underneath the umbrella.
smiling at him deviously, she nudges him lightly in the ribs. "rubber ducky, you're the one?"
"oh, shut-up, bella," he mumbles, a little grin grabbing the corners of his face before his eyes roll. he reaches inside his rain jacket before pulling out the store keys, them tinkling lightly in contrast to the muffled drop of rain above them. "jessica borrowed mine to take the kids to school, so i got stuck with mickey's."
"ah," she responds, suddenly looking down on the tops of her feet. "that's right… mike jr's in kindergarten now, huh."
she feels mike respond brightly to this question, as if his body physically warmed at the mention of his children. "yep, that's right. crazy, huh! can't hardly believe it myself!"
the store's lights are a dull green as they warm and as she hangs her jacket in the break room, she feels oddly sleepy. through the store's large front windows she can see the blue haze of rain as it comes down steadily. she walks closer towards the windows and peers outside, raising her hand to touch the glass ever so gently, as if she were afraid that is might crumble like sand. the dark forests surrounding the store are almost grey through the shield of rain and she can see the trees dancing in the weather, the leaves bobbing. slowly, she sways to her left, then her right before humming a soft tune. she knows distantly in her brain to stop, to stop very soon or else she might feel the sadness burn like bile in her throat, but instead she keeps going, suddenly feeling slightly more stubborn than usual.
the distant trilling of a phone ringing finally snaps her out her reverie along with the rumble of mike's voice from the back of the store asking her if she will answer it. she pauses for a second, then removes her fingertips from the window before quietly rolling herself towards the nearest register to answer the phone.
"we're not open yet, mr. fillmore," she rattles off quickly, knowing the usual early morning patron who had a quirk for hiking when the weather was tempermental.
however, the line is silent. she frowns into the mouthpiece before rolling her eyes. as she's about to hang up, her ear away from the phone, the receiver an arms-length away, she hears him, once again.
"bella?"
her arm freezes in place, her pupils suddenly constricting. she finds her breathing shorter, erratic and her heart beats in short, unfinished notes.
"bella," the voice says again, this time as a statement, not a question.
she quickly looks out the window, as if she expects something to come barrelling in. however, nothing comes, just rain.
"bella... talk to me. please."
her mouth forms into a small circle, a small "oh." and then, she hangs up.
when mike comes in later, he says, "mr. fillmore again?" he grins up at at her but when he catches her face, his smile fades and his eyes quickly shift away, as if he's seen someone crying at a funeral. his face contorts in a grimace and he mumbles quickly, "you cut your hair. it's nice... i like it."
she frowns at the phone and then up at him before cracking a small, almost indistinct, smile. "yes, mr. fillmore again."
she finds the window cleaner in the break room and starts to clean the massive front windows, scrubbing until her fingers are red and her elbows ache.
---
sometimes, she dreams again. mostly, she just lies awake and stares at the tree shadows scraping softly against her windowpane; the long dark tendrils of shadows crawl into her room and embrace her over her blanketed shape in bed.
she turns and stares at the ceiling, rubbing her hands over her exposed collarbone, somehow pleased to find the bone there, in tact, alive. the shadows are spongy and vivid on the ceiling too, and she realizes then that the moon is full tonight. turning over on her side, she stares again out the window and breathes in the only slightly cool air leaking into the house.
although she doesn't remember her eyes slowly shutting, methodically, she does remember her dream. she is in the meadow once again, but this time the world isn't swimming, shifting, seemingly underwater. this time, it is pleasant, the sun beating down unashamedly. she is lying down in the grass and it tickles the bare skin of her elbows and when she turns to look at him (because she knows he is there, she knows this as if this was the same knowledge as knowing the sun is out), she sees him laying there close enough to touch.
she does not touch him.
he smiles at her and she feels her dream-body and her real body shiver from this action. he reaches as if to touch her but his hand stops an inch from her face, as if caught by something far stronger than him, although she can't imagine what that possibly could be. his eyebrows furrow, as if confused, and then the expression is one of frustration, of sadness, of tilted anger. he draws away slowly, as if he might be resisting some invisible force pulling him back.
she knows that his skin should sparkle, dazzle her to the very pit of her stomach, but instead its as if there is some invisible cloud over him and him only... he glows with only the dull pallor of marble. it is the image of him that she remembers clearest and it sends a small shiver down to her toes, but for reasons she isn't quite sure if she's ready to think about.
they stare at each other for a second and when she smiles at him finally, he frowns. "bella? are you okay? bella, are you okay?" he asks, his voice soft, creamy.
she stares off to the side and watches the breeze rustle the trees' leaves. the forest stirs with something vibrant, something bright and desperatly lively. then, turning back to him, she pulls her lips up a little and answers, "i'm... alive." she wonders if it would be okay to reach out and trace her fingers along his jawline, but she stops that thought quite easily, easier than she thought herself capable of.
this answer doesn't seem satisfactory to him though and his eyebrows just knit tighter together. "i don't know what that means, bella. i just. i want you to be happy."
this time the smile is easier. "i know that."
"are you? are you happy?"
she turns to look at the sky but the sky is suddenly a shade of the brightest red she's ever seen. her face contorts in pain and she whimpers and instantly knows that she's whimpered back in her room, back in that far distant place that feels so disconnected from her right now it feels like she's died.
died.
the sky is red. blood red.
she remembers quickly and vastly: the red, the red that shook behind her eyes, her ears, the feeling as if fire might explode every limb in her body. she remembers and her body winces, balls itself together.
his voice is just an echo now, but it seems to blur with the red, become part of it somehow, as if the color itself was speaking to her; "bella! oh bella, what ever are you thinking? what are you thinking?"
"yes, that... that was always the problem."
she finds herself awaking to her speaking the words and, when they are out, the room is so deathly quiet it hurts her ears. her throat burns like she has drunk far too much and her head swims like it also. her breathing is even though and she finds that she is more surprised at the steadiness of her inhaling and exhaling rather than the reason her breath should be erratic.
chewing her bottom lip, she wonders if she will be able to go back to sleep. there is a few seconds of contemplation before she decides that she cannot, and, after a few haphazard seconds of trying to find her slippers, she wanders downstairs to the kitchen.
it feels like the kitchen hums anxiously, but she supposes that it is nothing more than the uneasy rumble in the pit of her stomach. she rummages around the fridge for a second before deciding she's not really that hungry. instead, she reaches for a glass in the cupboard and then quickly fills it under the faucet. she contemplates raiding the small closet next to charlie's bedroom in search of the whiskey hiding there, the bottle dusty and yellow-stained; she quickly gulps the water and stares out the kitchen window.
when the phone rings, she jumps a little in her skin and the water in her cup spills over and onto the tops of her bare feet. she stares at the phone for a second, not sure if she's made up the noise, but when it rings again, she casts a furtive look towards charlie's room before quickly picking it up.
"hello," she says breathlessly into the mouthpiece, as if her lungs are holding their last ounce of air while she is drowning.
the voice on the other end is quicker to respond than she thought (it pains her that her thoughts are so easily drawn to this), "hey, bella?" a pause. "what's up?"
hearing the voice, something warm and comfortable runs down the length of her body and suddenly she wants to go melt in her bed, drift peacefully into a deep, deep sleep. instead, however, she manages to sound like she is frowning, agitated, "jacob! are you out of your mind? charlie's still sleeping."
a gruff laughter resounds in her ear but it quickly fades and it is replaced by responding, "funny that you aren't doing the same thing."
"huh, well," she responds, suddenly very guilty. she twirls the phone cord around her pinky finger, sucks in a lungful of air. "i... uh, well." they both know the reason she isn’t awake, but neither one speaks of it; silence reigns and is filled with only her thoughts of how he knows, how he knows the exact nights she wakes up with her heart in her ears.
"alright," he responds, and the line is silent, but it isn't awkward; the white-noise is pleasant, warm. "is it alright if i come over?"
instantly, she wants to object, but instead, she simply shuffles her slippered feet before saying, as if not thinking, "yeah, sure. that would be nice."
"okay," he responds too quickly, enthusiasm so apparant in his voice, she winces a little. "be there in a couple of seconds." then the line dies.
she knows he's being quite literal about arriving momentarily and when she looks down, she sighs; she has recently taken up the comfortable if not inconvenient habit of sleeping in just her t-shirt and undergarments. she moves as if to go upstairs and change but then shrugs when she already hears the porch stairs creaking. she barely has time to open a cabinet drawer before he's in the front hallway; she can hear him shaking his head to remove the raindrops.
"don't be getting my hallway sopping wet, jacob black," she scolds over her shoulder as she looks into a drawer, rummaging around until she finds a crinkled package of coffee. unfolding the bag carefully, she takes out a scoopful before pouring it into the coffee maker. his breathing behind her is steady, so she knows he is there, but he isn't saying anything.
she turns and stares at him, raising an appraising eyebrow. "what's up? cat got your tongue?" she asks before she can properly gauge his expression. leaning against the kitchen drawers, she follows his gaze down her body until she realizes what he's so quiet for; a small, shameful shade of rose creeps up her cheeks.
finally, he comments, a smug grin plastered on his face, "did you forget something, bella?"
"oh shut-up," she snaps, her face turning an even more vivid shade that she's quite sure he can see even in the kitchen's dim pale-blue lighting. "how is it fair that you get to be half-naked all the time and i don't?" her voice sounds somewhat teasing, but then, almost whiny.
his eyes light up mischievously and he runs a hand over his newly-cropped hair. "you know what? i'd say it isn't fair. tell you what: you can be as naked as you want around me, from now on. as much as you'd like." he laughs at her expression, which is a little bit a mix between exasperation and growing agitation. "hey now! i'm just being fair." he mimics her whine, cocking his head while doing so.
she reaches over and throws a dish towel at him and when he ducks it easily, still laughing, she simply snorts in his direction, "you're incorrigible."
he chuckles, a throaty, coughing laugh; she finds every time he laughs this ways she has to double-take in surprise, as if she is isn't quite sure what she should expect to see in front of her. shrugging, he lumbers over to the fridge, opens it before pulling out some bread, then reaches effortlessly with his impossibly long limbs to grab a jar of peanut butter in the cabinet over her head.
waving the jar in front of her, he says through a wide smile, "bon appetite, mon amie."
"mmm. delicious," she remarks, pulling her shoulders up in mock-excitement. they both laugh at it, even though it isn't all that funny, but all the same, they laugh at it, as if it is some sort of very indescribable inside joke.
she watches him as he pulls out a knife from another drawer, some dishes and sets about his work of making both of them sandwiches. little has changed about jacob, and she knows that this will be true for probably many, many years, how many years neither him nor her know exactly. he still towers over her, his shoulders so wide she wonders is she could even wrap her arms around the full width of them (although she knows that she isn't allowed to try). he's shirtless, once again, but she supposes that it's because he been off with the pack, only goofing off because there's no real threat right now. she can see every movement that the muscles in the middle of his back make, and for once she doesn't feel any blood rush to her face while she watches them move, as if she is watching a sort of dance before her, very objective.
when he smiles, she still feels the same, warm and soft, but now there is a hint of sadness in the pit of her stomach along with the former emotion.
he hands her the plate, a messy, gooey mess of a peanut butter sandwich on it. "voila," he says in a accent that she supposes is supposed to be french but ends up sounding british. she curtsies but it ends up looking more like she is tripping and they both laugh and how horrible they are at two apparently easy things. she hands both of them a mug of coffee and they sit at the kitchen table, eating their sandwiches in relative silence. every once in awhile, jacob will say something about future plans during the week,
("wanna go to olympia this saturday? catch one of your ridiculously awful horror films?"
"you're never going to forgive me for that, are you?"
"what? give you the pleasure of being in movie-debt to me for the rest of your life? not a chance!")
but mostly they stay in a comfortable silence, sometimes stealing a glance at each other, trying hard not laugh at his overstuffed mouth, at her trying hard to lick the soft bread and sticky peanut butter off the roof of her mouth. he gets up to make another sandwich, offers to make her another one; she just shakes her head, holding up a hand.
her eyes follow him as he wanders around her kitchen as if he had lived here all his life, which wasn't too far from the truth-- their midnight snack sessions had become regular as of recently, ever since the dreams returned.
her nights had been blank, completely black and empty, in the beginning, when she first returned to forks. she shudders remembering it, remembering the night she came back, remembering the pouring rain that fell down her back, down her face, got into her eyes as she sped to la push, her body shaking, absolutely trembling.
"bella?!" he had half-asked, half-exclaimed as he opened the front door of his house; she had heard billy in the background ask who it was and the sounds and smells of normal human life hit her so hard, her head swam.
he had shut the door and tried to steady her shaking, which she supposed had probably looked like she was having a semi-seizure. "bella? what... are you serious? what are you doing here?" he hissed these last words as if he were afraid they might be caught by something undesirable.
she remembers saying, "i... i've just driven from kanai... 1500 miles... i cannot die. i am not a vampire. i will not die. make me some coffee, please." and then everything went black.
in the months, years that followed, it seemed like her mind had shut down, rebooted like a mechanical instrument. her sleep had been filled with nothing but emptiness, pure weightlessness. now, it was humming again, ready to function.
"so," his voice interrupts her thoughts and when she awakens from her regression, he is standing near the kitchen window, his shape a silhouette behind the early gray morning light, "when you gonna tell me your secret?"
she blinks, stares at him in the face, grimacing. "what secret?" she mumbles into her coffee cup before stirring the contents with the tip of her thumb.
he sighs, a melodramatic sigh before sitting opposite her at the table. "you're kind of a piss-poor liar, bella."
"thanks for the reminder."
he laughs before nodding towards her coffee. "it's gonna be cold," he tells her.
"yeah," she mumbles before shrugging. "tastes the same to me."
he rolls his eyes before reaching out and encompassing the cup around his hands as if he were picking up an egg. then, he brings it closer towards his chest and stares at her, one eyebrow raised. "i'm serious though, bella. you're gonna have to tell me sometime... something's out of the ordinary with you." he smiles mischievously. "i mean, other than usual."
"hey!" she retorts, eying her coffee cup, sitting so close this bare chest she thinks it must be boiling by now. "what does that mean?"
"it means that you're kind of a freak."
she snorts before saying, "look who's talking wolf-boy."
he shrugs before handing her back her cup; she was right, the contents are nearly sizzling. "doesn't change anything. you're still going to tell me."
she raises an eyebrow before unconsciously taking a sip of the scalding liquid. "is that so?"
"that's so. i'm jacob black, as it were," he says jokingly, leaning forward then, he stands up as if he is going to leave, and just when she suspects that he might just trot right out of the house, join the pack in the forest for a bit of jot, he stops right in front of her, reaching down and lightly, hesitantly, touches her face. "and i work hard for the things i want," he says gutterally, his thumb moving cautiously over the bare skin covering her jawline.
she gasps at his steaming touch, and swallows the coffee; it suddenly feels like her whole body is on fire. shock hits her like a freight train, since it had been forever since he had first tried. since then, he had been careful, unsure, tip-toeing the boundaries, as if a dog with a new electric fence.
"jacob..." she whispers warningly, desperately, her eyes averting quickly away from him, towards the wall opposite her. her eyes suddenly swim with the threat of tears and her hands grip the coffee cup tighter in response, to keep her tears at bay, despite the pain followed by this action. "please. jacob. jacob, please..."
he stiffens at her words and he retracts his hand from her face at if he were the one burnt. she looks at his face in the muted reflection of the kitchen window, sees the pain and frustration there and she instantly hates herself, hates herself more deeply than she has in a couple of days.
running a hand over his hair, he only says, gruffly, "better go. billy'll be worried." they both know that billy could care less, would hardly blink, but still they both accept this statement.
he leaves quickly, quicker than any human being should ever be able to and she hardly has time to think about begging him to stay. but, as she stumbles out of the chair, nearly mating her face and the floor together, she knows, somewhere deep in her chest that he didn't want her to beg.
the first time, they had been standing in the front yard of embry’s house in la push, helping emily's little cousins capture fireflies in a mason jar. taking a break, they had been leaning against a large oak in the front yard. the weather was balmy and she had been drinking in the little things: the way the sky changed from a brilliant shade of orange to pink to a deep vermillion; the way the tree's bark was scratchy and sturdy against her bare skin; the way the trees made a sad noise every time the wind from an approaching storm blew through them.
"it's sort of beautiful out here," she had said to him jokingly, looking up and trying to smile crookedly, hoping it didn't look more like a grimace.
his gaze, however, had not been looking at the surroundings-- he had been studying her face with a concentration that she had forgotten existed in his face. with jacob, it wasn't a look like he might forget it at any second. instead, he had looked at her as if he wasn't quite sure if he knew how to hold all of her in. "it is sort of beautiful," he had breathed and her breathe caught in her throat. he'd taken the small of her back captive before she could think, and suddenly his lips had almost pressed upon hers.
"no," she had breathed. "no. jacob. no."
when he had pulled away, he had looked at her with confusion, with a pain that made her ache to the very center of her bones.
"i'm sorry. it's... complicated," was all she had to offer to his pained expression.
"you don't want me," he had murmured in a way that indicated that he understood, as if he had just come to a sad realization. his hands had suddenly dropped his side, his head bowing like a scolded puppy.
"oh, jacob! of course not. no, no." she had bit her lip, looking off to the side. "all this is too complicated."
she wishes she could describe to him why, why exactly they cannot, why it really was all too complicated. she wishes this more than anything as she watches him disappear into the forests surrounding her house.
"i'm sorry," she whispers to his retreating figure, half-hoping he has heard her pathetic apology.
nervously twirling her hair, she turns and leans against the doorframe, closing her eyes. the details surrounding the year she left forks after her high school graduation had been left only for further elaboration by the town gossips.
divorcee. ran off with that cullen boy. no, no, the one with that strange hair color. odd boy. heard she miscarried. heard that he beat her. heard that she had an affair, he kicked her out. heard that he had an affair, she left. heard that he died, heard that she killed him, heard that they had a shotgun wedding, heard she left the baby back in tulsa, heard she's a lesbian, heard she thought her father was dying, heard they got a divorce. divorce divorce divorce.
she shakes her head. the true story still lays buried in her, sits there like a hot coal that she must constantly juggle in the deep inner parts of her so not to get too burned.
"i can help," he had told her one day a couple years ago, his face stubborn like usual. "but then," he had added, his eyes meeting hers, speculative, "i suppose it's best you help yourself. because you can, you know that, bella? you're... you're not made of glass. you don't shatter easily."
"i'm figuring that out, jacob. i'm figuring that out," she whispers to the cool hallway before opening her eyes. suddenly feeling a little volatile, she thinks angrily on what just happened between the two of them and stomps her way to the kitchen, not bothering to worry about waking charlie.
the dishes clatter in the sink as she uncerimoneously drops them in, turns on the faucet, lets the water run at full-blast until steam rises. she puts in the plug in the bottom, squirts some dishsoap in and watches blankly as the sink fills up with thin, cottony bubbles. her fingers drum against the cool linoleum countertop and, as she glares into the quickly filling sink, she thinks about all of it.
"stupid. attractive. half-naked. werewolf," she mutters, turning off the faucet and roughly grabbing a plate, a washcloth, before scrubbing unnecessarily hard.
things were complicated.
so complicated.
she had made a promise.
"be happy, that's all i ask. be happy, bella."
she visibly shivers as the sound of his voice slithers down her spine; she sticks her hands further in the sink, the scalding dishwater up to her elbows.
staring at the ceiling, she thinks about all of this, trying to remember the beginning. it all feels so fuzzy, like waking up in a strange house, or in an airplane, like you're not quite sure where you are, not quite certain if you are floating in space or grounded firmly in the earth. she thinks about his mouth on her mouth, the feeling as things got too far, they both had known it.
then, a fit of passion, her lips between his teeth, the smallest nick.
"ouch," had been her last word before the blood dribbled down her chin. she looked up at him, rubbing the blood off her face; his eyes had been horrified, his hands reaching out towards her but seemingly unable to touch her, as if they were hesitating, not in line with his brain.
then, the fire had started.
the phone breaks her thoughts, jolting her. she realizes that her hands are searing and she quickly removes them from the dishwater, scolding herself for her mental slip. this was not healthy, she kept telling herself that, but at the same time, she kept it stored away like someone might keep old clothes or bedsheets, as if believing them useful once again at some later undisclosed time.
sighing, she grabs a towel, a plate, and walks over to the phone and answers it. "you are in so much trouble, jacob black," she murmurs icily, even though she can find a grin pulling up the very edge of her face.
the line is quiet, and then: "jacob black?" the tone is smooth, calm, but with the barest hint of a growl underneath it. "no, bella, this isn't jacob black."
the last thing she thinks before everything goes black is how she will feel sorry that she will awake charlie with the smashing plate, with the crashing sound of her body against the cool kitchen floor.