The Movement of the Earth -- Chapter 8
Title: The Movement of the Earth
Author: audreyii_fic
Fandom: Twilight (Team Jacob)
Rating: T
Characters: Bella, Jacob, Charlie, and others (J/B)
Genre: Romance/Angst/Wolfpack!Humor
Warnings: Language, violence, and references to adult behavior
banner courtesy of lilabut
Summary: Jacob imprints on Bella. It changes things. A re-write of New Moon, beginning on page 242 in Chapter 10: "The Meadow." ( Link to the beginning.)
Chapter Eight:
Disclaimer Forever: Though there are parts of this fic that are (still) directly lifted from New Moon, New Moon is not mine. It has never been mine, and it will never be mine. You know why? Because I'm not Stephenie Meyer. The entire Twilight Saga belongs to her, and she's the one that'll have to explain it to Saint Peter when she's standing at the pearly gates, that's all I'm sayin'.
you're a beautiful / a beautiful fucked up man / you're setting up your razor wire shrine
Sarah McLachlan, "Building A Mystery"
8. Secrets
It was spring break in Forks again. I woke up on Monday morning and laid in bed for a few extra minutes, curled up and running my thumb across the tiny line of scar left exposed by my cast. I'd spent last year's spring break being hunted by a vampire, too. What a lousy tradition. I was pretty sure Angela had gotten to go to Miami Beach. Even with the drunken crowds, that sounded like it would be more fun than this.
When I finally came down for breakfast, Charlie was lifting the last strips of what looked to be an entire pound of bacon out of the frying pan. His new-found dedication to cooking took a lot of responsibility from my shoulders, but we would both have heart attacks soon if this kept up. "Mornin' Bells," he said cheerily, handing me a plate.
"Morning," I replied automatically, sitting down and taking a bite of the admittedly perfectly crisped bacon. Charlie's skills at cooking meat were undeniable, even if it couldn't be good for our respective cholesterol levels. "Thanks, this is good." I reminded myself to pick up some oatmeal and fruit when I next had a chance.
"So, a week off," he said, sitting down across from me at the little kitchen table. He pushed a stack of buttered toast in my direction. "Got any crazy plans?" His tone was light and joking, but the wariness in his eyes gave him away. Apparently I wasn't the only one thinking about last spring break this morning.
"Nope." The toast was perfectly done too, just brown enough, and butter-side down the way I liked it. "Just gonna hang out at La Push and be boring." It wasn't a lie -- my part in this was uninteresting in the extreme. Worry, weed, and make Jacob miserable. Easy enough.
Charlie frowned, a piece of bacon midway to his mouth. "La Push? Again?"
Uh-oh. "Yeah," I said casually. "Jake's going to teach me how to change the oil on the truck." That part was officially a lie.
"We've already been invited over to the Blacks' for dinner tonight," Charlie said, his frown deepening. "So why don't you just hang around here today, sleep in, watch some... I don't know... soap operas, or something... and then we'll both go after I get off of work."
A sinking feeling pulled at my stomach. "That's all right, Dad. I'm not really in a Days of our Lives kind of mood. I'd rather go see Jacob."
Charlie took a bite of his bacon reluctantly, and we both ate in awkward, oppressive silence for a few moments. This wasn't good at all. If Charlie decided to investigate too closely...well, I wasn't exactly certain what would happen, but it would surely add one more problem to a situation that was already difficult enough.
"Bella," Charlie finally said, his voice dead serious, "I've been a cop since before you were born." I opened my mouth to protest, and he held up his hand, all business. This was Chief Swan speaking. "I do have a few instincts, and I know when a story has an odor to it. And whatever is going on down at the reservation right now doesn't smell right."
"There's nothing going on," I insisted. "Nothing serious, anyway. I was wrong about all that."
"No, I don't think you were," he said. "If it was just a bunch of kids being rowdy, that would be one thing, but Billy and Harry are acting strange now too. I don't know what's happening -- yet -- but I don't like it. Until this all gets sorted out, I want you to--"
"I know Billy's being weird," I interrupted desperately, trying to think as fast as I could. "But it's not... it's me, okay? It's about me. That's why everything feels off. It's me and Jacob."
Charlie blinked, his Chief Swan face switching off instantly. "What?"
"It's... well..." I hoped I could make this as close to the truth as possible while still putting Charlie on the wrong track; he was more likely to believe me if I wasn't making a story out of whole cloth. "Things with Jacob and I are... uh... changing. Sort of. Maybe. And I think Billy's not sure how he feels about it, and his friends don't really know me all that well, and so it's all just kind of... um... complicated," I finished lamely.
"Complicated," Charlie repeated.
"Yeah." I couldn't think of another word for it that didn't involve vulgarity.
"Oh." Charlie looked down at the table, his eyes wide, clearly trying to process this new information. At least he seemed to be completely derailed from his previous train of thought. "Well... uh... that's... good?" He glanced up at me awkwardly, like he was hoping he'd said the right thing.
I sighed and poked at a piece of bacon. "I'm not really sure yet. Jake's kind of... unhappy about it."
"Why would Jacob be unhappy?"
"Because," I ducked my head, trying to be honest without telling the truth, "he... it's different for him than me, and, well..."
"I see," Charlie said in a way that clearly meant he didn't. I couldn't blame him. Nothing I was saying made any sense.
We ate more bacon and toast in silence.
Finally, Charlie pushed back his chair with a squeak and stood up from the table. "Okay, Bells, I've gotta go to work. If you're going down to the reservation--" he said the words reluctantly "--be safe, okay?"
"Don't worry, I will be." There were five very large and hairy teenagers making sure of that.
Charlie put his plate in the sink, and I watched his shoulders raise and lower as he took a deep breath. "Look, Bella," he started, turning to face me, his pale cheeks very slightly pink, "It's... well, I don't think it's any big secret that I never got over your mom."
My breath stopped in my throat. My father had never spoken of this before. It was a taboo subject.
"The thing is," he continued, "I didn't... try. I didn't want to try. I know it's awkward for any kid to hear, but I loved her a lot, and when she left..." He stared at the wall, not meeting my eyes. "Anyway. These last several months... it's my fault, in a way. Your reaction, I mean. You got that from me. And the clumsiness. And the paleness. Lousy genetics, sorry."
"They're not so lousy," I murmured.
The corner of Charlie's mouth twitched. "Bella, the point is... well... I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did. Don't mourn something so much that you miss all the other good things that come along."
I tried to picture a younger Charlie, only a few years older than me, sitting in his recliner with his arms wrapped around his chest. It was a horrible image. But now-- maybe he hadn't moved on, exactly, but he got up every day, he worked, he made bacon for me. "Dad..." I swallowed, trying to feel out the right words. "Dad, how did you do it? How did you make it stop?" I wanted it to stop. Edward's voice was gone -- I'd sent it away -- and moving on... as painful as it sounded... felt like it might be a good thing. I just didn't know how.
Maybe my father would.
Charlie's half-smile widened. "Do you really want to know?" I nodded vigorously, and he laughed. "Billy punched me in the face. It worked -- I got off my butt, if only to hit him back. We ended up breaking my TV."
My mouth dropped open. "Really?"
"Yep. He said he was sick of my moping and he was going to beat some sense into me, like it or not."
"Holy crow." I shook my head in amazement. Now I knew where Jacob got it from. "The Blacks are pretty good at that, I guess."
Charlie's face instantly darkened. "What? Has that boy hit you? I swear to God, Bella--"
"No, Dad, yeesh! I meant metaphorically!"
"Oh," he said, relaxing. After a long moment, Charlie sighed and shrugged. "Well, that's it. That's my parental advice for the month. Take it with a grain of salt -- after all, I'm just a terminal bachelor."
I frowned at him. "Dad, if you want to, you know... I mean, it's not like you don't still have time. You're forty. That's not very old."
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "You're eighteen. You don't exactly have one foot in the grave either." Then he surprised me by planting a quick kiss on the top of my head. "Love you, kiddo," he said -- and he escaped out the front door before I had a chance to reply.
***
Even though I was at Emily's by nine AM -- which felt terribly early for a vacation day -- Jacob had already come and gone, to my extreme consternation. It was as though I couldn't believe he was still okay unless I saw him with my own eyes. Maybe it was unfair of me, but I just couldn't bring myself to trust Sam to keep him safe. Something about the Alpha just... got under my skin.
In spite of my anxiety, though, Emily's company was still pleasant. Nothing seemed to dampen her cheerfulness, and she was still openly thrilled to have me there; she chatted lightly as I followed her around, helping to pull up the last few straggling weeds, watching her mop the spotless oak floor, listening while she explained how to thread her grandmother's ancient loom. She was never quiet, but her talkativeness was different than Jessica's -- I was free to join in the conversation whenever I felt like it, and during the times I didn't, her steady words kept the awkward silences away. I felt surprisingly comfortable, whether I felt like speaking or remaining quiet.
Mostly comfortable, anyway. The absence of the pack members weighed on me more and more heavily as the morning drifted on, and my eyes kept drifting to the window, my fingernails scratching around the edges of my cast. By ten-thirty, my leg was jiggling restlessly against the rung of the kitchen chair. By eleven-thirty, I was pacing the length of the living room.
By noon I couldn't take it anymore. "Okay, I've got to get out of here. Give me something to do. Please."
"Would you mind going to the store?" Emily said mildly, elbow-deep in a gigantic, sticky pile of bread dough. "I'm making strawberry cake for dessert tonight, and I'm almost out of butter. It's not far. You should be safe."
"Sure." I was already fishing my keys out of the borrowed purple hoodie, which I had every intention of living in it until my cast came off. "Will they have groceries?"
"They have most things there." Emily watched me as the keys rattled uncontrollably in my shaking hands. "In case you were wondering," she said, "no. It doesn't get any easier."
I bit back the sort of curse that I never used. "How do you deal with it?" I said instead. There had to be some way to survive this anxiety of knowing that someone who mattered a great deal to me -- mattered most, quite possibly -- was in undeniably mortal danger. Emily seemed to be holding herself together reasonably well, while I was a wreck.
"I bake." She lifted her hands from the dough, and flour floated down from her fingertips. "A lot."
It only took fifteen minutes to get to the reservation's only store; the roads were steadily drying out despite the lack of sun, and the Chevy's newly tuned engine seemed pleased to maintain a reasonable speed. Jacob was right -- I needed to get the oil changed more often. I didn't want anything to happen to this truck. It was too important.
My eyes kept leaving the road to scan the trees for flashes of red fur or red hair, but if they were out there, I couldn't see them.
The general store felt considerably larger on the inside than it looked on the outside -- the narrow isles and high shelves were packed with every imaginable necessity, and not in any intuitive order. Bags of crew socks sat next to packages of paper towels; paperback novels shared space with wool yarn. Old women and small children alike moved up and down the isles with no trouble at all -- so I pretended to do the same, a scarlet blush permanently staining my cheeks.
The food, at least, seemed to be located separately from the clothes and household goods, and eventually I found the butter Emily requested. I even managed to pick up a tin of old-fashioned oatmeal and a bag of green apples to add to Charlie's protein-centric breakfasts. Feeling pleased with my small accomplishment, I turned the corner of the freezer section to head to the checkout lanes...
...but I didn't make it very far. Rather, I ran smack dab into a very large, very hard chest, and looked up to see a very surprised Quil Ateara looking back down at me. "Hi, Bella," he said, a smile immediately coming to his face.
"Hey, Quil," I said blankly, a little disoriented. When I'd last seen Quil, we'd been sitting next to each other in the truck; I could tell even then that he was bigger, but now that I was standing in front of him, the increased height and bulk were ten times more obvious. Embry had been right -- there was no question, none, that Quil was destined to become a werewolf. Any day now, surely.
I felt a pang of sadness for him. His life was about to become a lot harder.
As I was thinking these maudlin thoughts, Quil was taking in the cast that peeped out of the sleeve of Emily's hoodie. "Whoa," he said. "You meant it when you said you were going to kick Jake's ass."
I put a smile on my face that I hoped didn't look too fake. "Not really. This was an unrelated incident." Well, sort of unrelated.
"So, how'd it go?" Quil said. I noticed uneasily that he was following me to the checkout lane, even though the list in his basket only had half the items crossed out. This felt like the beginnings of another complication. "Did you make Jake cry? Please tell me you made him cry."
Interestingly enough, the answer was yes. "I didn't really get very far." I shrugged my shoulders, hopefully sending a 'Hey, what're you gonna do about it' message. "Um... he didn't really listen to anything I had to say." Another half-truth. I was getting good at them.
Quil sighed. "Too bad. I actually thought you might have a shot."
"Me too," I murmured.
"So, what are you doing slumming it on the rez, then?" He grinned as we approached the register, grabbing four Snickers bars off the display. "Got bored with the pale faces?"
I bit my lip. "Not really. It's spring break, and my dad's been hanging out with Billy a lot, watching March Madness." Okay, Charlie wasn't with Billy now, nor had I been watching March Madness, but hopefully Quil wouldn't catch my omissions.
He didn't seem to. "Oh. So Jake's not been around much?" he said, reaching into my basket and loading my items onto the conveyor belt.
"Nope." That was true. My fingernails found the edge of the cast again.
"Well, his loss," Quil said brightly. "If you're bored, why don't you come over to my place? I'm just out back. Got a ping pong table and everything," he said with a playful wink. "It's a regular nightclub."
"Oh. I, well... I can't."
The smile fell from Quil's face. "Why not?"
"Um..." I tried to hide my blush by looking intently into my wallet for the proper cash to pay. "Well, I need to get this butter into the refrigerator."
"I have a refrigerator, Bella. It's plugged in and everything."
"No, I know, I mean, I figured you did, I just..." That was it. I was out of lies, half-truths, and clever responses. I couldn't come up with anything more. I couldn't spend the afternoon in his home, pretending not to know anything, playing the 'no, we're just friends' game, complaining about Jacob... not to mention scaring everyone when I didn't come back to Emily's. I couldn't do it. I took the receipt, picked up my bag reluctantly, and said, "I just can't, Quil. I'm sorry."
He stared at me for a long moment, and then his face turned abruptly angry, overcome with a bitterness that was now wrenchingly familiar to me. "You're with them now, aren't you?" he spat.
"It's--"
"Outsider white girl, and they let you in their super secret club?"
"Quil--"
"Fuck off." He turned his back to me and pulled a wad of ones from his pocket, thrusting it at the surprised and wary checkout girl. "Go back to Jacob and Sam and whoever else they've sucked in. I don't give a shit."
None of the words that came to mind would be helpful -- the only thing that would make him feel better now would be the truth, and that wasn't mine to offer. With a heavy heart, I trudged back to my truck, and hoped that whatever was going to happen to Quil, it happened soon.
***
Five more hours passed. Emily baked four loaves of bread, two strawberry cream cakes, a plate of muffins, and an experimental zucchini loaf that needed more sugar. I paced in front of the window.
My eyes were beginning to hurt from searching the line of the forest. Maybe being staying on La Push had been a mistake after all. If I'd been at home, I could have done laundry, or scrubbed the floors, or reorganized the linen cupboards. I could even have watched some sports. But Emily's kitchen was her domain; she wasn't keeping me out, but I had nothing useful to contribute. If I'd tried to help I would only be in the way. All I could do was sit here and go quietly out of my mind until Victoria was dead.
Hopefully that would be soon.
Somewhere around my thirty millionth scan out the window, I finally saw what I'd been searching for all day -- the movement of bodies through the trees. Within a moment I recognized the familiar builds of Sam and Jacob. "They're back," I said to Emily. She nodded casually, but I could see the barest hint of tension running out of her shoulders. I backed away from the door and started rearranging the muffins on the counter, as though I hadn't been obsessively pacing like a lunatic for the entire day.
I heard heavy footsteps on the front porch, and then Sam entered without knocking. "Emily," he said, in that breathless, adoring way of his, and strode to her side instantly. She smiled happily when he took her in his arms and tugged her away from the counter, ignoring the icing on her hands, pulling her flush against his body and pressing his face into her hair.
Jacob rolled his eyes from the doorway. "Bye, Sam," he said sarcastically as we made our escape. At least this was becoming more habitual for us.
I took in Jacob's form as we crossed the yard to my truck. He was in one piece, at least, but exhaustion was in his every movement. He could barely walk in a straight line. I had expected to feel less worried once I saw him; I didn't. If I could just rub his back, I thought I'd be more reassured--
"Want me to drive?" he asked.
"No, I'll do it." I didn't comment on my concern that he'd steer the truck right into a ditch.
As we drove, Jacob seemed determined to hide his fatigue; instead, he described the pack's success over the course of the day. "She runs away, then comes back," he explained. "Over and over. She's trying to find a way past us, but we know this land a hell of a lot better than she does. Sooner or later she'll run out of options, and once she tries the same path twice, we'll have her."
"Sooner rather than later, I hope." We traveled in silence for another few minutes, then I said, "By the way, I saw Quil at the store today."
He perked up with interest. "Really? How's he doing?"
"He was, um, snappish."
Jacob sighed. "Yeah, that sounds right," he said morosely. "His grandfather says you can fry an egg on his head. It'll be any minute now, probably."
I glanced away from the road long enough to look at Jacob's face. "Well," I said, trying to think of something that might cheer him up, "maybe you'll have gotten Victoria by then. I know it'll still be hard, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about patrolling and stuff, right?"
"There's always going to be patrolling. Always. We're in this for life, Bells."
My eyes widened with horror. I had assumed that as soon as the immediate threat was gone, Jacob and the rest of the boys would be going back to their normal lives, free of this burden they never asked for. "Why would you have to keep this up if there aren't any vampires around?"
"More could always come through." The bitterness -- and weariness -- in Jacob's voice was a tangible thing. "We won't ever get to just... stop. It doesn't work like that."
Fury built up inside me. "They can't do that to you." I wasn't even sure who they were, but I was adamant that they wouldn't get to come within a mile of Jacob once Victoria was dead. "They can't. I won't let them."
Jacob smiled a little. "Okay, Bella." At the look on my face, he added hastily, "But you're right. Once the bloodsucker's dead, we won't be on red alert anymore. It won't be nearly so bad for Quil as it's been for the rest of us. That'll be nice."
"Nice," I echoed.
Pulling up into the Blacks' front yard, I had to park under the tree; Charlie's cruiser had taken my usual spot. For once I managed not to step in a mud puddle when I hopped out of the truck. The unexpectedly dry weather was making a difference.
"How long do you have?" I asked Jacob as he came around the side of the cab. "Before you have to go back out, I mean?"
He shrugged. "Three hours, maybe. Four tops."
I looked at the slump in his muscled shoulders and the way his every movement seemed to be labored. Whenever he wasn't working, he was eating; I couldn't imagine he'd gotten more than an hour of sleep at a stretch since this had all started three weeks ago. "I know you're hungry, Jake, but you should probably take this time to get some rest."
"I'm fine," he said quickly.
"You are not fine. You have to sleep, Jacob, you look terrible."
"Sleep is for the weak."
"Sleep is for the sane," I shot back. "Sleep is for the people who don't get ripped up by vampires."
Jacob grinned at me, but it only highlighted the dark circles under his eyes. "But I'm not a person, Bells, I'm a wolf. Usual rules don't apply."
My left hand clenched so hard that my fingernails dug painfully into my palm. "That's crap. Of course you're a person. Don't think things like that. You wouldn't be thinking things like that if you were getting some rest and weren't running yourself ragged and spending whatever energy you've got left holding off the im--" I stopped mid-sentence, and looked away before I could see Jacob's reaction.
I heard the injury in his voice anyway. "It's worth it, Bella."
"Not if you get yourself killed!" He made a huffing noise at that, and I said quickly, "Look, I'll save you some dinner. I promise you'll get to eat."
"No."
I nearly screamed. "Why? Damn it, Jake, why are you fighting me on this? You know you're tired!"
The stubborn expression on Jacob's face gave way to the other one, the struggling one. The imprint one. He quickly dropped his eyes to his bare feet, which reminded me that I needed to find him some shoes. "I barely get to see you as it is," he muttered.
My heart ached -- but not enough to overcome the pain of seeing him so exhausted. "Jake, I miss you too, but it doesn't matter. You need to get some sleep."
"No." He shook his head obstinately. "Maybe I can't touch you, but I'm sure as hell going to have dinner with you. I'm not going to waste the only time I've got."
An entire day -- more like three weeks -- of stress and anxiety came together in one frustrated explosion. Jacob wasn't playing fair. So I wouldn't either. "Jacob," I said, enunciating carefully. He met my eyes when I said his name. "I need you to get some sleep. I want you to do this. For me. Please."
He looked as though I'd slapped him. As disbelief and betrayal widened his eyes, the frustration inside me gave way instantly to the sickest, coldest shame I'd ever felt in my life.
Jacob drew in a breath, visibly schooling his features into a calm, indifferent mask. "Yeah, okay," he said casually. "I know you're not happy unless you're freaking out over something." To anyone else, he would sound perfectly normal; but I could hear the strain behind his words, the humor that wasn't there.
Why didn't anyone ever try to kill me when I wanted to die? "Jake--"
"Come on," he said, interrupting me before I could continue, "it's getting cold out here." He trudged up the front steps and into the house. I followed miserably behind.
***
Dinner was a short, uncomplicated, thoroughly horrifying affair. Charlie was on the scent.
When Jacob bowed out of dinner in favor of a nap, Charlie said, "Been staying out late at night, huh?"
When Billy remarked on the amount of food he was going through these days, Charlie said, "Yeah, the munchies can do that to you."
When Sam and Emily showed up with a strawberry cake, Charlie offered to cut it, and spirited it away to the kitchen. Over Billy's shoulder, I could see that he tasted a bit of the icing against his tongue before bringing out slices to everyone else.
He asked Sam casually about his employment, his hobbies, if he had any plans for further schooling, all the while flicking his eyes down to the veins on Sam's arms whenever Sam happened to look away. He made jokes with Billy about the secretive nature of teenagers, encouraging Billy to elaborate whenever he opened up the slightest amount. The only person who seemed to be immune to Charlie's interrogation was Emily, to whom Charlie was blushingly polite. My father, to Emily's distinct benefit, was not very sure how to act around women.
I should have felt embarrassed, but I was too busy hating myself. As soon as I could possibly get away with it, I fixed up a plate of spaghetti and cake, ignoring Charlie's vaguely disapproving look as I walked down the yard long hallway and entered the only door without knocking, closing it quickly behind me. Night had fallen, but I could make out shapes easily enough by the light of the moon through the window. Jacob's tiny closet of a room barely contained his double bed, only allowing for a few inches of space on either side between the frame and the wall. I set the plate on top of his dresser, the only available surface, and whispered, "Jake?"
There was no response. Jacob was stretched diagonally across the bed, his feet hanging off one end and his head off the other. In the shadows, his face looked peaceful and very young. He looked like he used to before all of this madness started. Just exactly as he'd used to.
I sat down on the edge of the mattress and controlled the nearly crippling desire to stroke my hand along his cropped hair. He wouldn't want me to do that, and I'd already done enough damage for one day.
"Jake," I whispered again. "Jake, I'm sorry." I could barely stifle the ugly, gasping sobs that were built up inside my lungs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Jacob, I'm so sorry..." Within moments I wasn't even sure what I was apologizing for -- for the order, for Victoria, for trying to pull my hands away from his in the movie theater. Any of it. All of it. I cried for everything I'd done to him and everything I'd keep doing to him because I couldn't make the imprint go away.
Jacob slept through it all, and eventually his calm, even breathing soothed my edgy nerves.
At least he was getting some rest.
I wasn't sure how long I'd sat there; maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. Time didn't matter much. But my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I flinched back when the door opened and bright light from the hallway assaulted me.
"Jacob," Sam said, backlit in the doorway, "it's time to go."
I felt Jake stir on the bed behind me, then roll over to face the wall. His breathing stayed deep and even. "No," I said hoarsely. I dug my left hand into the edge of the mattress, the sheets bunching under my fingernails. "No. Go away. Go away and leave him alone."
There was a long pause, then Sam said, "He has responsibilities, Bella. You're going to have to learn to share."
As usual, there was nothing I could do.
I slipped out of the room before Jacob woke up;I couldn't stand to watch. I thanked Billy for dinner, smiled at Emily, and reassured Charlie on the way to the car that nothing had seemed abnormal to me about the evening. My entire life seemed to be made up of lies and mistakes these days, and still, the only thing in my head was how much I wished I could have laid down beside Jacob and kept him there.
***
Chapter Nine: Distance
Sanity Update: I'm spending a lot of time talking to Stephenie Meyer right now. Like, turning to the side as though she's sitting next to me and saying, "Why didn't you do this? This was so fucking easy, you stupid woman, the themes were all right there! Why did you leave it for me to do? WHY?!?" Then the computer ate a tab and I lost an hour of edits. I threw a temper tantrum, people, and actual fucking temper tantrum. Items were thrown. Melodramatic weeping took place. Then I got a migraine and threw up a lot. I know this chapter is much barer than usual, but it's hard to write when you can only open your eyes for ninety seconds at a time before getting nauseous again. I think this fic is killing me.
By the way, the final bits are mapped. We'll have a total of fourteen chapters, plus the prologue and an epilogue, which brings us to a total of sixteen sections -- more or less what I expected. (This has the added benefit of being EXACTLY the same length as the second half of New Moon. How canon-loyal am I, huh?) So we're at the halfway point. Just so there's no surprises. Length-wise, anyhow.
Bonus Sanity Update (Husband Edition): Hi, everybody. I was asked to do this in between one of my bouts of bringing home the bacon, as it were. The fic appears to be all-consuming, as the cats' pleas that they have been ignored, unfed, and unloved in my absence are beginning to sound as if there is truth to them. Initially, I had tried gently suggesting that my wife go get some fresh air and remind herself that the world, on balance, is a good and relatively Meyer-free place. Now, I'm considering abandoning her in a park for a while whether she likes it or not. Just letting you all know, if you don't hear from her much when this is all done and posted, it's because I have confiscated the iPhone and laptop.
Author: audreyii_fic
Fandom: Twilight (Team Jacob)
Rating: T
Characters: Bella, Jacob, Charlie, and others (J/B)
Genre: Romance/Angst/Wolfpack!Humor
Warnings: Language, violence, and references to adult behavior
banner courtesy of lilabut
Summary: Jacob imprints on Bella. It changes things. A re-write of New Moon, beginning on page 242 in Chapter 10: "The Meadow." ( Link to the beginning.)
Chapter Eight:
Disclaimer Forever: Though there are parts of this fic that are (still) directly lifted from New Moon, New Moon is not mine. It has never been mine, and it will never be mine. You know why? Because I'm not Stephenie Meyer. The entire Twilight Saga belongs to her, and she's the one that'll have to explain it to Saint Peter when she's standing at the pearly gates, that's all I'm sayin'.
you're a beautiful / a beautiful fucked up man / you're setting up your razor wire shrine
Sarah McLachlan, "Building A Mystery"
8. Secrets
It was spring break in Forks again. I woke up on Monday morning and laid in bed for a few extra minutes, curled up and running my thumb across the tiny line of scar left exposed by my cast. I'd spent last year's spring break being hunted by a vampire, too. What a lousy tradition. I was pretty sure Angela had gotten to go to Miami Beach. Even with the drunken crowds, that sounded like it would be more fun than this.
When I finally came down for breakfast, Charlie was lifting the last strips of what looked to be an entire pound of bacon out of the frying pan. His new-found dedication to cooking took a lot of responsibility from my shoulders, but we would both have heart attacks soon if this kept up. "Mornin' Bells," he said cheerily, handing me a plate.
"Morning," I replied automatically, sitting down and taking a bite of the admittedly perfectly crisped bacon. Charlie's skills at cooking meat were undeniable, even if it couldn't be good for our respective cholesterol levels. "Thanks, this is good." I reminded myself to pick up some oatmeal and fruit when I next had a chance.
"So, a week off," he said, sitting down across from me at the little kitchen table. He pushed a stack of buttered toast in my direction. "Got any crazy plans?" His tone was light and joking, but the wariness in his eyes gave him away. Apparently I wasn't the only one thinking about last spring break this morning.
"Nope." The toast was perfectly done too, just brown enough, and butter-side down the way I liked it. "Just gonna hang out at La Push and be boring." It wasn't a lie -- my part in this was uninteresting in the extreme. Worry, weed, and make Jacob miserable. Easy enough.
Charlie frowned, a piece of bacon midway to his mouth. "La Push? Again?"
Uh-oh. "Yeah," I said casually. "Jake's going to teach me how to change the oil on the truck." That part was officially a lie.
"We've already been invited over to the Blacks' for dinner tonight," Charlie said, his frown deepening. "So why don't you just hang around here today, sleep in, watch some... I don't know... soap operas, or something... and then we'll both go after I get off of work."
A sinking feeling pulled at my stomach. "That's all right, Dad. I'm not really in a Days of our Lives kind of mood. I'd rather go see Jacob."
Charlie took a bite of his bacon reluctantly, and we both ate in awkward, oppressive silence for a few moments. This wasn't good at all. If Charlie decided to investigate too closely...well, I wasn't exactly certain what would happen, but it would surely add one more problem to a situation that was already difficult enough.
"Bella," Charlie finally said, his voice dead serious, "I've been a cop since before you were born." I opened my mouth to protest, and he held up his hand, all business. This was Chief Swan speaking. "I do have a few instincts, and I know when a story has an odor to it. And whatever is going on down at the reservation right now doesn't smell right."
"There's nothing going on," I insisted. "Nothing serious, anyway. I was wrong about all that."
"No, I don't think you were," he said. "If it was just a bunch of kids being rowdy, that would be one thing, but Billy and Harry are acting strange now too. I don't know what's happening -- yet -- but I don't like it. Until this all gets sorted out, I want you to--"
"I know Billy's being weird," I interrupted desperately, trying to think as fast as I could. "But it's not... it's me, okay? It's about me. That's why everything feels off. It's me and Jacob."
Charlie blinked, his Chief Swan face switching off instantly. "What?"
"It's... well..." I hoped I could make this as close to the truth as possible while still putting Charlie on the wrong track; he was more likely to believe me if I wasn't making a story out of whole cloth. "Things with Jacob and I are... uh... changing. Sort of. Maybe. And I think Billy's not sure how he feels about it, and his friends don't really know me all that well, and so it's all just kind of... um... complicated," I finished lamely.
"Complicated," Charlie repeated.
"Yeah." I couldn't think of another word for it that didn't involve vulgarity.
"Oh." Charlie looked down at the table, his eyes wide, clearly trying to process this new information. At least he seemed to be completely derailed from his previous train of thought. "Well... uh... that's... good?" He glanced up at me awkwardly, like he was hoping he'd said the right thing.
I sighed and poked at a piece of bacon. "I'm not really sure yet. Jake's kind of... unhappy about it."
"Why would Jacob be unhappy?"
"Because," I ducked my head, trying to be honest without telling the truth, "he... it's different for him than me, and, well..."
"I see," Charlie said in a way that clearly meant he didn't. I couldn't blame him. Nothing I was saying made any sense.
We ate more bacon and toast in silence.
Finally, Charlie pushed back his chair with a squeak and stood up from the table. "Okay, Bells, I've gotta go to work. If you're going down to the reservation--" he said the words reluctantly "--be safe, okay?"
"Don't worry, I will be." There were five very large and hairy teenagers making sure of that.
Charlie put his plate in the sink, and I watched his shoulders raise and lower as he took a deep breath. "Look, Bella," he started, turning to face me, his pale cheeks very slightly pink, "It's... well, I don't think it's any big secret that I never got over your mom."
My breath stopped in my throat. My father had never spoken of this before. It was a taboo subject.
"The thing is," he continued, "I didn't... try. I didn't want to try. I know it's awkward for any kid to hear, but I loved her a lot, and when she left..." He stared at the wall, not meeting my eyes. "Anyway. These last several months... it's my fault, in a way. Your reaction, I mean. You got that from me. And the clumsiness. And the paleness. Lousy genetics, sorry."
"They're not so lousy," I murmured.
The corner of Charlie's mouth twitched. "Bella, the point is... well... I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did. Don't mourn something so much that you miss all the other good things that come along."
I tried to picture a younger Charlie, only a few years older than me, sitting in his recliner with his arms wrapped around his chest. It was a horrible image. But now-- maybe he hadn't moved on, exactly, but he got up every day, he worked, he made bacon for me. "Dad..." I swallowed, trying to feel out the right words. "Dad, how did you do it? How did you make it stop?" I wanted it to stop. Edward's voice was gone -- I'd sent it away -- and moving on... as painful as it sounded... felt like it might be a good thing. I just didn't know how.
Maybe my father would.
Charlie's half-smile widened. "Do you really want to know?" I nodded vigorously, and he laughed. "Billy punched me in the face. It worked -- I got off my butt, if only to hit him back. We ended up breaking my TV."
My mouth dropped open. "Really?"
"Yep. He said he was sick of my moping and he was going to beat some sense into me, like it or not."
"Holy crow." I shook my head in amazement. Now I knew where Jacob got it from. "The Blacks are pretty good at that, I guess."
Charlie's face instantly darkened. "What? Has that boy hit you? I swear to God, Bella--"
"No, Dad, yeesh! I meant metaphorically!"
"Oh," he said, relaxing. After a long moment, Charlie sighed and shrugged. "Well, that's it. That's my parental advice for the month. Take it with a grain of salt -- after all, I'm just a terminal bachelor."
I frowned at him. "Dad, if you want to, you know... I mean, it's not like you don't still have time. You're forty. That's not very old."
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "You're eighteen. You don't exactly have one foot in the grave either." Then he surprised me by planting a quick kiss on the top of my head. "Love you, kiddo," he said -- and he escaped out the front door before I had a chance to reply.
***
Even though I was at Emily's by nine AM -- which felt terribly early for a vacation day -- Jacob had already come and gone, to my extreme consternation. It was as though I couldn't believe he was still okay unless I saw him with my own eyes. Maybe it was unfair of me, but I just couldn't bring myself to trust Sam to keep him safe. Something about the Alpha just... got under my skin.
In spite of my anxiety, though, Emily's company was still pleasant. Nothing seemed to dampen her cheerfulness, and she was still openly thrilled to have me there; she chatted lightly as I followed her around, helping to pull up the last few straggling weeds, watching her mop the spotless oak floor, listening while she explained how to thread her grandmother's ancient loom. She was never quiet, but her talkativeness was different than Jessica's -- I was free to join in the conversation whenever I felt like it, and during the times I didn't, her steady words kept the awkward silences away. I felt surprisingly comfortable, whether I felt like speaking or remaining quiet.
Mostly comfortable, anyway. The absence of the pack members weighed on me more and more heavily as the morning drifted on, and my eyes kept drifting to the window, my fingernails scratching around the edges of my cast. By ten-thirty, my leg was jiggling restlessly against the rung of the kitchen chair. By eleven-thirty, I was pacing the length of the living room.
By noon I couldn't take it anymore. "Okay, I've got to get out of here. Give me something to do. Please."
"Would you mind going to the store?" Emily said mildly, elbow-deep in a gigantic, sticky pile of bread dough. "I'm making strawberry cake for dessert tonight, and I'm almost out of butter. It's not far. You should be safe."
"Sure." I was already fishing my keys out of the borrowed purple hoodie, which I had every intention of living in it until my cast came off. "Will they have groceries?"
"They have most things there." Emily watched me as the keys rattled uncontrollably in my shaking hands. "In case you were wondering," she said, "no. It doesn't get any easier."
I bit back the sort of curse that I never used. "How do you deal with it?" I said instead. There had to be some way to survive this anxiety of knowing that someone who mattered a great deal to me -- mattered most, quite possibly -- was in undeniably mortal danger. Emily seemed to be holding herself together reasonably well, while I was a wreck.
"I bake." She lifted her hands from the dough, and flour floated down from her fingertips. "A lot."
It only took fifteen minutes to get to the reservation's only store; the roads were steadily drying out despite the lack of sun, and the Chevy's newly tuned engine seemed pleased to maintain a reasonable speed. Jacob was right -- I needed to get the oil changed more often. I didn't want anything to happen to this truck. It was too important.
My eyes kept leaving the road to scan the trees for flashes of red fur or red hair, but if they were out there, I couldn't see them.
The general store felt considerably larger on the inside than it looked on the outside -- the narrow isles and high shelves were packed with every imaginable necessity, and not in any intuitive order. Bags of crew socks sat next to packages of paper towels; paperback novels shared space with wool yarn. Old women and small children alike moved up and down the isles with no trouble at all -- so I pretended to do the same, a scarlet blush permanently staining my cheeks.
The food, at least, seemed to be located separately from the clothes and household goods, and eventually I found the butter Emily requested. I even managed to pick up a tin of old-fashioned oatmeal and a bag of green apples to add to Charlie's protein-centric breakfasts. Feeling pleased with my small accomplishment, I turned the corner of the freezer section to head to the checkout lanes...
...but I didn't make it very far. Rather, I ran smack dab into a very large, very hard chest, and looked up to see a very surprised Quil Ateara looking back down at me. "Hi, Bella," he said, a smile immediately coming to his face.
"Hey, Quil," I said blankly, a little disoriented. When I'd last seen Quil, we'd been sitting next to each other in the truck; I could tell even then that he was bigger, but now that I was standing in front of him, the increased height and bulk were ten times more obvious. Embry had been right -- there was no question, none, that Quil was destined to become a werewolf. Any day now, surely.
I felt a pang of sadness for him. His life was about to become a lot harder.
As I was thinking these maudlin thoughts, Quil was taking in the cast that peeped out of the sleeve of Emily's hoodie. "Whoa," he said. "You meant it when you said you were going to kick Jake's ass."
I put a smile on my face that I hoped didn't look too fake. "Not really. This was an unrelated incident." Well, sort of unrelated.
"So, how'd it go?" Quil said. I noticed uneasily that he was following me to the checkout lane, even though the list in his basket only had half the items crossed out. This felt like the beginnings of another complication. "Did you make Jake cry? Please tell me you made him cry."
Interestingly enough, the answer was yes. "I didn't really get very far." I shrugged my shoulders, hopefully sending a 'Hey, what're you gonna do about it' message. "Um... he didn't really listen to anything I had to say." Another half-truth. I was getting good at them.
Quil sighed. "Too bad. I actually thought you might have a shot."
"Me too," I murmured.
"So, what are you doing slumming it on the rez, then?" He grinned as we approached the register, grabbing four Snickers bars off the display. "Got bored with the pale faces?"
I bit my lip. "Not really. It's spring break, and my dad's been hanging out with Billy a lot, watching March Madness." Okay, Charlie wasn't with Billy now, nor had I been watching March Madness, but hopefully Quil wouldn't catch my omissions.
He didn't seem to. "Oh. So Jake's not been around much?" he said, reaching into my basket and loading my items onto the conveyor belt.
"Nope." That was true. My fingernails found the edge of the cast again.
"Well, his loss," Quil said brightly. "If you're bored, why don't you come over to my place? I'm just out back. Got a ping pong table and everything," he said with a playful wink. "It's a regular nightclub."
"Oh. I, well... I can't."
The smile fell from Quil's face. "Why not?"
"Um..." I tried to hide my blush by looking intently into my wallet for the proper cash to pay. "Well, I need to get this butter into the refrigerator."
"I have a refrigerator, Bella. It's plugged in and everything."
"No, I know, I mean, I figured you did, I just..." That was it. I was out of lies, half-truths, and clever responses. I couldn't come up with anything more. I couldn't spend the afternoon in his home, pretending not to know anything, playing the 'no, we're just friends' game, complaining about Jacob... not to mention scaring everyone when I didn't come back to Emily's. I couldn't do it. I took the receipt, picked up my bag reluctantly, and said, "I just can't, Quil. I'm sorry."
He stared at me for a long moment, and then his face turned abruptly angry, overcome with a bitterness that was now wrenchingly familiar to me. "You're with them now, aren't you?" he spat.
"It's--"
"Outsider white girl, and they let you in their super secret club?"
"Quil--"
"Fuck off." He turned his back to me and pulled a wad of ones from his pocket, thrusting it at the surprised and wary checkout girl. "Go back to Jacob and Sam and whoever else they've sucked in. I don't give a shit."
None of the words that came to mind would be helpful -- the only thing that would make him feel better now would be the truth, and that wasn't mine to offer. With a heavy heart, I trudged back to my truck, and hoped that whatever was going to happen to Quil, it happened soon.
***
Five more hours passed. Emily baked four loaves of bread, two strawberry cream cakes, a plate of muffins, and an experimental zucchini loaf that needed more sugar. I paced in front of the window.
My eyes were beginning to hurt from searching the line of the forest. Maybe being staying on La Push had been a mistake after all. If I'd been at home, I could have done laundry, or scrubbed the floors, or reorganized the linen cupboards. I could even have watched some sports. But Emily's kitchen was her domain; she wasn't keeping me out, but I had nothing useful to contribute. If I'd tried to help I would only be in the way. All I could do was sit here and go quietly out of my mind until Victoria was dead.
Hopefully that would be soon.
Somewhere around my thirty millionth scan out the window, I finally saw what I'd been searching for all day -- the movement of bodies through the trees. Within a moment I recognized the familiar builds of Sam and Jacob. "They're back," I said to Emily. She nodded casually, but I could see the barest hint of tension running out of her shoulders. I backed away from the door and started rearranging the muffins on the counter, as though I hadn't been obsessively pacing like a lunatic for the entire day.
I heard heavy footsteps on the front porch, and then Sam entered without knocking. "Emily," he said, in that breathless, adoring way of his, and strode to her side instantly. She smiled happily when he took her in his arms and tugged her away from the counter, ignoring the icing on her hands, pulling her flush against his body and pressing his face into her hair.
Jacob rolled his eyes from the doorway. "Bye, Sam," he said sarcastically as we made our escape. At least this was becoming more habitual for us.
I took in Jacob's form as we crossed the yard to my truck. He was in one piece, at least, but exhaustion was in his every movement. He could barely walk in a straight line. I had expected to feel less worried once I saw him; I didn't. If I could just rub his back, I thought I'd be more reassured--
"Want me to drive?" he asked.
"No, I'll do it." I didn't comment on my concern that he'd steer the truck right into a ditch.
As we drove, Jacob seemed determined to hide his fatigue; instead, he described the pack's success over the course of the day. "She runs away, then comes back," he explained. "Over and over. She's trying to find a way past us, but we know this land a hell of a lot better than she does. Sooner or later she'll run out of options, and once she tries the same path twice, we'll have her."
"Sooner rather than later, I hope." We traveled in silence for another few minutes, then I said, "By the way, I saw Quil at the store today."
He perked up with interest. "Really? How's he doing?"
"He was, um, snappish."
Jacob sighed. "Yeah, that sounds right," he said morosely. "His grandfather says you can fry an egg on his head. It'll be any minute now, probably."
I glanced away from the road long enough to look at Jacob's face. "Well," I said, trying to think of something that might cheer him up, "maybe you'll have gotten Victoria by then. I know it'll still be hard, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about patrolling and stuff, right?"
"There's always going to be patrolling. Always. We're in this for life, Bells."
My eyes widened with horror. I had assumed that as soon as the immediate threat was gone, Jacob and the rest of the boys would be going back to their normal lives, free of this burden they never asked for. "Why would you have to keep this up if there aren't any vampires around?"
"More could always come through." The bitterness -- and weariness -- in Jacob's voice was a tangible thing. "We won't ever get to just... stop. It doesn't work like that."
Fury built up inside me. "They can't do that to you." I wasn't even sure who they were, but I was adamant that they wouldn't get to come within a mile of Jacob once Victoria was dead. "They can't. I won't let them."
Jacob smiled a little. "Okay, Bella." At the look on my face, he added hastily, "But you're right. Once the bloodsucker's dead, we won't be on red alert anymore. It won't be nearly so bad for Quil as it's been for the rest of us. That'll be nice."
"Nice," I echoed.
Pulling up into the Blacks' front yard, I had to park under the tree; Charlie's cruiser had taken my usual spot. For once I managed not to step in a mud puddle when I hopped out of the truck. The unexpectedly dry weather was making a difference.
"How long do you have?" I asked Jacob as he came around the side of the cab. "Before you have to go back out, I mean?"
He shrugged. "Three hours, maybe. Four tops."
I looked at the slump in his muscled shoulders and the way his every movement seemed to be labored. Whenever he wasn't working, he was eating; I couldn't imagine he'd gotten more than an hour of sleep at a stretch since this had all started three weeks ago. "I know you're hungry, Jake, but you should probably take this time to get some rest."
"I'm fine," he said quickly.
"You are not fine. You have to sleep, Jacob, you look terrible."
"Sleep is for the weak."
"Sleep is for the sane," I shot back. "Sleep is for the people who don't get ripped up by vampires."
Jacob grinned at me, but it only highlighted the dark circles under his eyes. "But I'm not a person, Bells, I'm a wolf. Usual rules don't apply."
My left hand clenched so hard that my fingernails dug painfully into my palm. "That's crap. Of course you're a person. Don't think things like that. You wouldn't be thinking things like that if you were getting some rest and weren't running yourself ragged and spending whatever energy you've got left holding off the im--" I stopped mid-sentence, and looked away before I could see Jacob's reaction.
I heard the injury in his voice anyway. "It's worth it, Bella."
"Not if you get yourself killed!" He made a huffing noise at that, and I said quickly, "Look, I'll save you some dinner. I promise you'll get to eat."
"No."
I nearly screamed. "Why? Damn it, Jake, why are you fighting me on this? You know you're tired!"
The stubborn expression on Jacob's face gave way to the other one, the struggling one. The imprint one. He quickly dropped his eyes to his bare feet, which reminded me that I needed to find him some shoes. "I barely get to see you as it is," he muttered.
My heart ached -- but not enough to overcome the pain of seeing him so exhausted. "Jake, I miss you too, but it doesn't matter. You need to get some sleep."
"No." He shook his head obstinately. "Maybe I can't touch you, but I'm sure as hell going to have dinner with you. I'm not going to waste the only time I've got."
An entire day -- more like three weeks -- of stress and anxiety came together in one frustrated explosion. Jacob wasn't playing fair. So I wouldn't either. "Jacob," I said, enunciating carefully. He met my eyes when I said his name. "I need you to get some sleep. I want you to do this. For me. Please."
He looked as though I'd slapped him. As disbelief and betrayal widened his eyes, the frustration inside me gave way instantly to the sickest, coldest shame I'd ever felt in my life.
Jacob drew in a breath, visibly schooling his features into a calm, indifferent mask. "Yeah, okay," he said casually. "I know you're not happy unless you're freaking out over something." To anyone else, he would sound perfectly normal; but I could hear the strain behind his words, the humor that wasn't there.
Why didn't anyone ever try to kill me when I wanted to die? "Jake--"
"Come on," he said, interrupting me before I could continue, "it's getting cold out here." He trudged up the front steps and into the house. I followed miserably behind.
***
Dinner was a short, uncomplicated, thoroughly horrifying affair. Charlie was on the scent.
When Jacob bowed out of dinner in favor of a nap, Charlie said, "Been staying out late at night, huh?"
When Billy remarked on the amount of food he was going through these days, Charlie said, "Yeah, the munchies can do that to you."
When Sam and Emily showed up with a strawberry cake, Charlie offered to cut it, and spirited it away to the kitchen. Over Billy's shoulder, I could see that he tasted a bit of the icing against his tongue before bringing out slices to everyone else.
He asked Sam casually about his employment, his hobbies, if he had any plans for further schooling, all the while flicking his eyes down to the veins on Sam's arms whenever Sam happened to look away. He made jokes with Billy about the secretive nature of teenagers, encouraging Billy to elaborate whenever he opened up the slightest amount. The only person who seemed to be immune to Charlie's interrogation was Emily, to whom Charlie was blushingly polite. My father, to Emily's distinct benefit, was not very sure how to act around women.
I should have felt embarrassed, but I was too busy hating myself. As soon as I could possibly get away with it, I fixed up a plate of spaghetti and cake, ignoring Charlie's vaguely disapproving look as I walked down the yard long hallway and entered the only door without knocking, closing it quickly behind me. Night had fallen, but I could make out shapes easily enough by the light of the moon through the window. Jacob's tiny closet of a room barely contained his double bed, only allowing for a few inches of space on either side between the frame and the wall. I set the plate on top of his dresser, the only available surface, and whispered, "Jake?"
There was no response. Jacob was stretched diagonally across the bed, his feet hanging off one end and his head off the other. In the shadows, his face looked peaceful and very young. He looked like he used to before all of this madness started. Just exactly as he'd used to.
I sat down on the edge of the mattress and controlled the nearly crippling desire to stroke my hand along his cropped hair. He wouldn't want me to do that, and I'd already done enough damage for one day.
"Jake," I whispered again. "Jake, I'm sorry." I could barely stifle the ugly, gasping sobs that were built up inside my lungs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Jacob, I'm so sorry..." Within moments I wasn't even sure what I was apologizing for -- for the order, for Victoria, for trying to pull my hands away from his in the movie theater. Any of it. All of it. I cried for everything I'd done to him and everything I'd keep doing to him because I couldn't make the imprint go away.
Jacob slept through it all, and eventually his calm, even breathing soothed my edgy nerves.
At least he was getting some rest.
I wasn't sure how long I'd sat there; maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. Time didn't matter much. But my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I flinched back when the door opened and bright light from the hallway assaulted me.
"Jacob," Sam said, backlit in the doorway, "it's time to go."
I felt Jake stir on the bed behind me, then roll over to face the wall. His breathing stayed deep and even. "No," I said hoarsely. I dug my left hand into the edge of the mattress, the sheets bunching under my fingernails. "No. Go away. Go away and leave him alone."
There was a long pause, then Sam said, "He has responsibilities, Bella. You're going to have to learn to share."
As usual, there was nothing I could do.
I slipped out of the room before Jacob woke up;I couldn't stand to watch. I thanked Billy for dinner, smiled at Emily, and reassured Charlie on the way to the car that nothing had seemed abnormal to me about the evening. My entire life seemed to be made up of lies and mistakes these days, and still, the only thing in my head was how much I wished I could have laid down beside Jacob and kept him there.
***
Chapter Nine: Distance
Sanity Update: I'm spending a lot of time talking to Stephenie Meyer right now. Like, turning to the side as though she's sitting next to me and saying, "Why didn't you do this? This was so fucking easy, you stupid woman, the themes were all right there! Why did you leave it for me to do? WHY?!?" Then the computer ate a tab and I lost an hour of edits. I threw a temper tantrum, people, and actual fucking temper tantrum. Items were thrown. Melodramatic weeping took place. Then I got a migraine and threw up a lot. I know this chapter is much barer than usual, but it's hard to write when you can only open your eyes for ninety seconds at a time before getting nauseous again. I think this fic is killing me.
By the way, the final bits are mapped. We'll have a total of fourteen chapters, plus the prologue and an epilogue, which brings us to a total of sixteen sections -- more or less what I expected. (This has the added benefit of being EXACTLY the same length as the second half of New Moon. How canon-loyal am I, huh?) So we're at the halfway point. Just so there's no surprises. Length-wise, anyhow.
Bonus Sanity Update (Husband Edition): Hi, everybody. I was asked to do this in between one of my bouts of bringing home the bacon, as it were. The fic appears to be all-consuming, as the cats' pleas that they have been ignored, unfed, and unloved in my absence are beginning to sound as if there is truth to them. Initially, I had tried gently suggesting that my wife go get some fresh air and remind herself that the world, on balance, is a good and relatively Meyer-free place. Now, I'm considering abandoning her in a park for a while whether she likes it or not. Just letting you all know, if you don't hear from her much when this is all done and posted, it's because I have confiscated the iPhone and laptop.