Nightmares: A Twilight Fanfiction
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, or any of it's characters.
Author's Note: Hooray for shameless begging! If you like stories that have Jacob in them as an almost-main character, have an OC for a main character, Jacob imprinting on said OC, and are in to beta reading, then I have a proposition for you (though I'm starting to wonder if you exist)! Message me and tell me that you'd be interested in betaing for my story, Diagnosis X! More details in my profile.
Oh, and R&R, please. On with the story!
Jacob still had nightmares about Bella Swan.
The way she had looked when her bloodsucker had left her had made his skin crawl with sympathy and disgust. Not that he was disgusted by her, of course. It just wasn't possible, however inhuman her brown eyes had seemed. It was like being disgusted by a little puppy, with her ribs broken and bruised from repeated kicking. Or being disgusted by a five year-old, cowering in fear of the monsters that haunted the dark space beneath her bed.
No, Jacob had never been disgusted by Bella, not even when the way that she seemed to have to physically hold herself together—arms wrapped tightly around her body, teeth clenched, eyes closed—as she clung to the memory of what should her worst nightmare. He was disgusted by the leech who had done this to her. Edward—what a name!—had abandoned her like so much trash, like yesterday's garbage.
Of course, he had done it to protect her—not that it mattered, since he couldn't stick to a decision. Not that it mattered, because in the dreams, all he could see was fragile Bella Swan, heartbroken and hopeless, because some parasite had left her. Looking the most mortal and touchable—oh, dear God, how touchable—as he had ever seen her. Because even broken like that, Bella begged to be held and kissed. Begged to be comforted.
Of course, she was Bella Cullen, now. She had been Bella Cullen for the better part of a decade. Which meant, of course, that he had nightmares about Bella Cullen, too.
He had loved the way her skin flushed red when she was embarrassed, or exerted, or out of breath from laughing. Bella Cullen didn't flush, though—after seven years, Bella Cullen had no blood left in her body. It had already been fed to her tissues and organs as the fuel of a killing machine. The thought of the chill of her skin made his skin crawl. And the shivers weren't just from the ghost-cold. Jacob was scared. Of Bella. To think it had come to that.
And her eyes—oh, her eyes. When he dreamt of Bella Swan, he thought that the shattered look in her warm, brown, human eyes wasn't natural. When he dreamt of Bella Cullen, though, he knew—knew what inhuman really looked like. Because, God, that shade of gold just wasn't right! No gold or topaz could touch it in luster, just as the pitch-dark night sky of a new moon couldn't match that black that indicated a predator's crawling hunger.
But when he dreamt, and her eyes were red—that's what really got him. Because some people did have tawny yellow eyes, so one might pretend that not-gold was a trick of the light. But there was no trivializing that shade of red—because unlike the yellow, it did have a perfect color match. Blood. And he had seen it in her eyes once, the blood, and that's when it really hit him: Bella Swan didn't exist. Bella Cullen did. And Bella Cullen's slip-ups were deadly, unlike those of her innocent past self.
When Jacob dreamt of Bella Cullen, his eyes watered. His nose burned. And worst of all, his stomach churned.
When he woke up, he was always in the double bed he shared with his wife, in their little house in La Push. It wasn't often that his wife didn't wake up when he did; she was a light sleeper, and incredibly in tune with the way the bed creaked when someone Jacob's size sat straight up too fast. Because Bella was right, and he had imprinted on a nice girl from out-of-state. He hated Bella for it, on those nights when his wife didn't wake up. She had had no business being right.
Sometimes, Jacob hated himself, too. Because his wife was everything that he had once thought Bella would be. Could a heart really be so fickle? It was no help when his pack pointed out that he had had little choice in the matter; one cannot simply decide who ought to be one's soul-mate. Because he was still left wondering, if Bella had chosen him, would he have left her for the blond petite woman in his bed? Or was Bella's maddening desire to be unnatural the only thing that kept him from imprinting on her?
Jacob hated himself for being unsure. Because the first loves are always the hardest to get over. And because, when all was said and done, Jacob had nightmares about Bella.
And he loved them.