Disclaimer – I own nothing.
A.N - Welcome all! So, I have decided, like a crazy person, to start writing a Jacob/Bella story. I will work this story the way I worked Down By the Water and am currently working So Close, Yet So Far: this story will be categorized as complete, and I will add chapters whenever the inspiration strikes (I tend to post about once a month usually) until the story is actually complete to my liking. I will make sure to never leave a chapter on a cliff hanger so you feel that the story is complete until the next chapter.
Note: this story is in Bella's POV and begins from the very beginning. AU.
After reading lots of J/B I am going to try my hand at doing an Alpha Jacob in complete Jacob character without overdoing the Alpha-ness. I am attempting a balance between the man and Alpha while adding an imprint Bella (and all the effects that come with being an imprint). Not sure if I'll succeed, but let me know! Hope everyone enjoys!
/Hold my hand, oh baby. It's a long way down to the bottom of the river.
It's a long way down, a long way down/
-Bottom of the River, Vocal Rush
Chapter 1 – Magia Negra
Time loved me deeply. Time loved me in a way that she couldn't handle, and so she was mean. Time was cruel at times, shoving things towards me at break-neck speed. But sometimes Time remembered that love was supposed to ache wonderfully. In these moments, she let feelings exist forever—momentarily. Time loved me in a grief stricken manner that crippled me when I walked to a bookstore…towards my love.
Books were the only thing I had ever really loved up until now, in my life. I love the way they smell, the way they feel in my hands, and the way they look – sometimes fragile, sometimes strong.
Books are the only thing accompanying me on my journey to live out the rest of my high school career with my father in Forks, Washington. Charlie Swan, my father, is a strong looking man with stern eyebrows. He's slightly awkward, but considering I only ever see him once a year—sometimes not even that much—it's understandable. Or at least that's how I remember him from the last time I saw him three years ago.
It shouldn't feel weird…but it does. I shouldn't feel anxious, but I do. I know Charlie. He's my father, my blood, but this isn't a visit. I won't be gone in a month max, and I'm not thirteen years old. What about my privacy? What about crowding him? It had never occurred to me until I was walking to meet him, at this very moment that perhaps my presence is imposing. My breathing come slightly shallow as the thoughts run back and forth—mental ping pong.
There's a hand waving slightly in the air. I peer closer, and Charlie has the biggest smile on his face I've ever seen. He doesn't rush to me, and I don't rush to him. He doesn't stop smiling, and I start to smile too.
"Hey, Bells" Charlie hugs me when we reach each other. His hug is tight, warm, and brief, but the warmth lingers when he lets go. His happiness at seeing me seeps into my bones, and I'm happy I'm here. I'm happy that I could make Charlie so happy.
"Hey, dad" my voice is slightly hoarse from lack of use for so many hours. The sound is pleasing to my ears even though I know I must sound like a dying frog to everyone else. In my head, my voice belongs to an exotic princess, or a mature courtesan. I shake my head at my ridiculous thoughts. I wish I could be as sophisticated as my imaginings.
He takes my carry-on bag from me (everything else has already been shipped over). We walk to his cruiser and I cringe slightly. I don't want to. I don't mean to, it's just that the cruiser is so there. You can't miss it when it passes by, and I love being skimmed over. It's nice to know no one is looking. The feeling is less heavy.
I just thank my lucky stars that I can't be seen by my soon-to-be classmates. As I get in the car, I groan at the fact that Charlie's going to have to drive me to school in the cruiser because I have no car.
"What?" Charlie asks when he hears me groan. He starts the car and we're on the move…to my new home. To my books that await me there. I grip the Jane Austen book I have in my hand, realizing I never put it away from the flight. The words that I can't see give me a type of courage to be more open.
I know my father, but I don't know him. And maybe he doesn't know me, either. Maybe he wants to know me. I'm reminded of the smile I saw on his face when he saw I arrived. The smile had been filled with pride, acceptance, and sheer joy at my presence. I had never felt so loved, and so I hold on to the novel and that picture in my head as I speak.
"Are you taking me to school in this thing tomorrow?"
Charlie chuckles lightly and responds, "Why? Embarrassed to be seen with your old man?"
He knew it wasn't him, but the cruiser, that I was embarrassed about. I huffed and he just chuckled again and said, "We'll see, Bells. We'll see."
I take that as a yes, though I smile at his use of my name. He was the only person who called me "Bells." It was comforting in a way "Bella" or "Isabella" could never be. The name held a stigma of home, and I pretended that I could almost smell the name in the air. It's nice to pretend sometimes.
The car ride lasts about twenty minutes, and when we arrive I realize the house hasn't changed a bit. Everything, from the grass on the lawn to the fading paint was the same as it had been all my life. Home.
I walk through the door and it is as though I am walking into a memory. Memories of love and battles between my parents assault me. Tears spring to my eyes, but I simply walk past the living room and into the kitchen. Kitchens are where the heart and home are. Something about breaking bread…I shake my head, and regain my bearing. Now isn't the time for that kind of line of thought. Now is the time for getting settled.
I walk upstairs and Charlie is already waiting for me. He has his hands in his pocket and is standing stock still. He clears his throat before he speaks. Apparently he's as nervous as I was, and the fact makes me smile warmly at him. We're alike—kin spirits. Blood.
"So, I wasn't too sure what you liked so I figured that I'd go with simple. No bright red, or anything," he smiles awkwardly and scratches the back of his head.
"No, no. It's fine. Seriously…bright red would have been….bad" I finished lamely. I was trying to be reassuring, but I don't think I succeeded.
He laughs breathily, and I guess I was a success after all. The feeling is like a glow, knowing that I did something, not just right, but good.
"Okay, then. I'll leave you to it. Billy Black and his kid'll be coming around here soon, just a head's up," he stands by the door for a second more and then he's gone. He leaves me standing alone in a room that had changed, but not so much so that I don't recognize it.
There are little trinkets everywhere from my childhood over the years. There's a bookshelf that Charlie had clearly taken the liberty of putting all my books into – and there were a lot. I would have to rearrange them later to my liking, but it was the thought that counted.
I should start unpacking. I know I should, but the prospect of re-meeting people I barely remember makes me anxious. I still have Jane Austen in my hand.
I have a choice: I can set it down, swallow my anxiety and start unpacking, or I can throw myself on the bed, read some, do nothing productive, but in the end, be a calmer version of myself.
I choose the latter, but as I start reading…as the words jump to me with longing, I hope that one day I'll be able to choose the former. One day. But not today.
An hour had passed when Charlie's voice vibrates through the house, calling me downstairs. I go to stand by the window for a moment to take in the visitors from afar.
Billy Black is in a wheelchair laughing at something Charlie is saying. There is a rustic truck next to them, and then…
There is him. His face is one moment looking at Charlie speak, and the next it's upturned. His eyes stare right back at me, and I gasp quietly.
Jane Austen falls from my hands.
My breathing accelerates, and I feel a pull at my navel. It's strong, fierce. I feel strong and fierce. It's a drastic and sudden change to how I normally feel. It's too drastic. I know, instinctually, that the feelings aren't mine. But if they aren't mine, whose would they be, I rationalize. I try to shake my head and ground myself in reality, but I don't want to move. Not yet, when his gaze is roving up my body.
It's fire. I am on fire…God, how is fire this good? I need to pull myself together, but I feel my body tense in expectation…expectation of what? I'm going crazy, I'm sure. But he licks his lips and I grip at the edge of the window sill. I want him, and I have never wanted anyone before.
I have never wanted outside of my precious books.
My book! The panic that I feel at not holding a novel brings me down from my momentary high. I look down, and there it is: on the floor, lonely. I'm lonely too…but that isn't true anymore is it. There is this pull (what is it?). This ache in my chest tells me I'm not alone. This fire in my veins tells me I'll never be alone ever again.
I want to run. I want to crawl under my bed until the foreign feelings leave and never come back. I walk downstairs purposefully slow, but I trip once anyway. I walk out the open front door and face everyone. I face him, and the urge to throw myself at him and wrap my legs around his waist almost overwhelms me. I almost whimper, but I catch myself. I clench my thighs together and blush, instead.
"Hey, Bells. You remember Billy and Jacob?" Charlie attempts a casual re-introduction. I try to focus, but…God, I want him. What is wrong with me? This need is so sudden, and full.
"Yea, of course. How are you?" I try to focus on Billy, but my body leans towards Jacob. That's his name. Jacob. Doesn't look like any Jacob I've ever seen…
"Good, Good. Still kicking," Billy jokes.
"Hey," Jacob says. His voice is smooth. Dominant. Mine. No, that's not right. I'm so worried I'm going crazy. I want to sit and pray for a second, but there's no time. Billy and Charlie resume their joking, and Jacob takes a step towards me. My breath speeds up. I want him to touch me. I want to vomit. I don't know him. Not really.
The pull lurches and I stumble. He grabs me, so I don't fall, and I can't help the almost inaudible moan that escapes me. His hands tighten on my arms, and my hands clutch at his shirt. I realize he's massive, and yet it's not daunting.
Mine. No! Not mine, I remind myself.
"I got you," he whispers, and I believe him in so many ways.
"Bells! Like the truck?" Charlie interrupts. His eyes narrow a little, but Jacob doesn't let me go, and I don't step away from his arms. The pull is at ease. The ache in my chest doesn't throb. The pulsing in my body is less. How do people survive this wanting?
"The truck?" I ask, confused. I want to care. I do. But I can't. Not when I'm not nearly as close to Jacob as I want to be. Not when the heat from his body wraps around me so solidly.
"Yea. Just bought it off Billy here" Charlie smiles. The hope in his eyes shines, and I want to care. I do. I try.
"Wait – for me?" I smile at him, surprised. It's genuine, the worry of my sanity forgotten. I won't have to go to school in the cruiser tomorrow.
"Jacob rebuilt the engine, himself" Billy boasts proudly of his son. Charlie's smile drops as he notices that we haven't let each other go.
"Uhh, okay kids. How 'bout we go inside and watch that Mariners game?" Charlie starts to walk forward, taking Billy's wheelchair as he goes. The message was clear: Jacob and I were to go inside too.
"Be right in, Charlie. Just need to show her some tricks with the clutch" Jacob speaks to Charlie's back, but he never turns his eyes away from me.
Breathe, Bella. Breathe, I coach myself, but I feel like it's not working.
"Are you okay?" Jacob asks me. Something in his voice tells me it's more than a question; he needs to know that I'm okay.
"Yea, yes. I'm okay. Just…" I trail off. The truth is too much, too soon. The truth doesn't even make sense to me.
"I know," Jacob whispers huskily. He moves his hands up my arms and I shiver. I believe him when he says he does know. I feel a tremor leave his body and I move closer to him.
"Are you alright?" I ask him. I need to know that he's alright. The imperatives that are assaulting me one by one are abrupt and foreign. These imperatives—I'm convinced that I must be going crazy. I'm forgetting something, though. What could I—my book! Where is it? Did I leave it?
I'm starting to hyperventilate.
"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Jacob tries to soothe me, but I can tell my panic is increasing his panic. I try to calm myself down, but I want my book.
"M—my book. I—I think I left it" I finally get out. He doesn't understand what the significance is, but I can see the empathy in his eyes.
"It's okay. Just—just hold on to me," he says. He moves forward, and there's less than a few centimeters in between us.
"So, you start school tomorrow. Excited?" Jacob attempts to distract me. It's his breath fanning my face more than his words that distract me long enough to gain some semblance of control.
"Not really. Nervous. I'm not exactly a social butterfly," I joke at my own expense. I see a wry smile grace his lips – the pull tightens and I feel heat spread through my body. That smile increases my heartbeat. It's as though he can hear my heartbeat, his smile grows smugly.
I look away. It's too intense. Too much. Too soon. I don't know him…but I want him so much, I can feel the need cripple me almost.
"God help all the men in forks if you were a social butterfly. Can you imagine Charlie having to lock up half the population for asking you out?" Jacob teases. I roll my eyes, but my hand still itches to seek out more of his skin, and my subconscious is still grappling about my book.
"Oh sure, I can picture it now. They ask me out and I make them eat mud pies because I'm so cool," I laugh. I'll be lucky if I escape my first day of school unscathed.
"You know, we used to make mud pies together," Jacob says it like some kind of invitation.
"Yea, I remember," I lie badly, only to realize I did remember. It's a shock to my system because I didn't realize I had remembered until he said it. I change the subject, "Do you go to Forks High?"
He shakes his head in the negative. I feel disappointment grip me, but I try to fight it off. He isn't mine. I barely know him. Attraction does not equal sudden obsession.
"No," he starts, "but I've got some connections, being the future Chief and all. I'm sure I could pull some strings and get you into the Rez School."
His words are lazy and there is a self-indulgent lilt to his voice that makes me smile unrepentantly, but there's a serious undertone. He'd prefer if I was at the reservation school.
"No, it's cool," I say. "It just would've been nice to know at least one person, that's all."
That wasn't all, my body screams at me. I want him near, I want him surrounding me. I feel safe, secure, and strong.
There's a pensive look on his face while I enjoy the feeling of being in his arms. I've kissed two boys in my whole life, and there had never been this level of comfort and ease that I seem to have with Jacob. But, simultaneously, there was tension and overwhelming need gripping us both—I can see it in the way his body leans to have me pressed fully against him and then he subtly pulls back, conscious of the unconscious action.
"What are you thinking about so hard? Not the clutch is it?" I tease, making a mockery of the poor excuse he gave Charlie ten minutes ago.
"I actually should show you how to use that clutch," he smirks, "it can be tricky to handle if done without instruction. You like taking instructions, right Bella?" His voice is husky and sensual. My body lights up in an instant. All the ease from before is gone and I'm sure I'm blushing everywhere.
I unconsciously push my body against his, and he's no longer smirking. His eyes are dark and engulfing me. I want to drown in them and be reborn into an assertive woman who could take him against this truck without restraint. I blush even brighter at my thoughts.
"Fuck, Bella," Jacob pushes back against me. I feel his need for me. The contact makes me dizzy so I raise my hands to grip his shoulders for balance. The action can't bring me closer than before because I was already flush against him. His thighs, his chest, his stomach—I feel everything.
I want him to kiss me, but he doesn't. He takes a couple steadying breathes and then pulls away slightly. Rejection creeps into my bones.
"No," he says fiercely and I look up sharply at him. "I want you, Bella. Don't think I don't. I just—this is a small enough town. You don't need the kind of reputation that would come from me ravishing you in front of your lawn."
I look away, and feel a need to defend him—to defend us.
"It's just a kiss, and who cares what anyone thinks? They're not us, and they're not our parents. People are always going to talk," I impart my limited knowledge. I learned that bit from Renee; She was always doing crazy things, and she never cared what anyone said. As a child, you learn shame the first time you encounter a derisive comment, and someone had called my mother a ditz. Being a shy, quiet child, I had felt the shame more acutely than if I had been an outgoing child who could brush things off with distractions.
I had asked Renee what a ditz meant, and she had said, "A ditz is a word that busy bodies use. They have no proof for any real gossip so they try to attack a person's character. Let me be clear Bella: you can do everything right in life and people will still talk because they're busy bodies bored with their life with nothing better to do!"
I never forgot that lesson—strange the things that stay with you. But I was grateful for his foresight, simply to avoid the spotlight. I don't care if people gossip, but I don't like the thought of all the looks—going under the radar would be near impossible.
Jacob's chuckle pulls me from my memory and thoughts.
"No, Bella," he pulls my body back to his. His ragged breath ruffles my hair and my arousal. "It would have been much more than a kiss. I know you can feel how much I want you right now."
And I do feel how much he wants me; his need is hard against my stomach. It should scare me, this being the first time I've ever been in this situation, but it doesn't. His need only escalates my own, and I feel like I'm on a rollercoaster—up and down with our emotions. One second we are hot, and the next we're cold.
I realize my own breathes are just as ragged as his. I nod my head.
"I'm a possessive man, Bella," Jacob says, and my mind reels. I don't know where he's going to go with this but my pull is already jumping for joy. My pull is coiling, ready to be acknowledged.
"Okay…" I say. I don't know what else to say. This is all so much, yet not enough.
"I don't share what I consider mine," his lips lift slightly at the corners. "And if I kiss you, you're mine. I don't want another guy looking at you, let alone touching you."
Mine. The word triggers something deep inside me. I want to be his. The logical part of my brain says that I don't really know him, but the rest of me says I know everything I need to.
"And…what if we don't kiss? Am I still yours?" I ask timidly. I want to be dominate and assertive, but I can only choose one or the other without my book in my hand giving me strength; maybe one day, but not today.
"Do you want to be?" It sounds like the question is being dragged from him; like he's forcing himself to ask. I empathize with his struggle.
"Yes," I say without preamble or wait. It's the truth in a way so many things lack. I do want to be his even though it's not logical, and I'm half convinced I've lost most of my sanity. Nothing else matters except that I want him fervently, deeply, now. I know it can't be healthy. I'll have to work on that.
"You say 'yes,' but you don't know," Jacob starts but I push my body completely against his. I dig my nails into his shoulder and bury my head in the crook of his neck. I rub myself against him—I need the contact. To feel his need for me is gratifying and consuming.
"I don't need to know," I whisper. It's another truth. So many truths that are seemingly useless and meaningless.
"Fuck, fuck," Jacob repeats as he grinds his body against me. He pivots his body, taking me with him, so that I'm trapped against the truck door and Jacob. It's so good. The course language he uses makes me blush, but it makes me feel sexy. I've never felt sexy before. I've never approved of foul language before either. I still don't, but his use of it is elevating.
"We can't go there, Bella. Not now," he pushes away and I whimper at the loss of contact. I know he's right. I know I should ask what the hell is going on, but I don't think I want to know. Not now. Too soon. I feel minor slivers of shame creep up my arms at my actions. He must think I'm some kind of floozy…but the look in his eyes says otherwise. The look in his eyes, as he lets his forehead fall on mine tells me that he's in this with me—he's feeling just as overwhelmed as I am.
"Okay," I try to get my bearings, "then what do we do?"
"We go inside, watch the game, and enjoy eating pizza. You know, less intense things," Jacob laughs at our predicament, and I smile with him. I go to walk to the door, when he grabs my wrist.
"Umm, maybe I should actually show you that clutch issue for a second before we go inside," Jacob says seriously this time. Something's off about the way he says it that I can't help but study him for a second.
"Oh!" I realize the problem, and I blush bright red. "Of course!" I say as I walk to open the driver's side door and attempt to avoid looking at Jacob's need for some cool down time.
Jacob's laughter rings out loud and beautiful. He is beautiful. And I am his.
"So, does Jacob do that a lot?" I ask Charlie when he comes back from dropping Billy off.
"Do what?" He looks up at me from his beer. I stand by the living room, awkward. I want to crawl into a hole, but I had found my book sometime during the evening, so I feel better about being forward.
"Duck out early? I thought he was supposed to leave with Billy, but he seemed adamant that he had to be somewhere by six o'clock" I try to explain better, but I think Charlie thinks I'm just nosey…maybe I am just nosy. What right did I have to inquire about the habits of a guy—man—that I see once every few years?
But I'm his, I remind myself. That has to count for something.
"Yea, I guess he does leave a lot. Huh, I guess I never paid much attention. Teenagers don't exactly want to hang out with two old Chiefs." Charlie laughs it off, but I see the calculating look in his eyes. I know the question is coming, before he says it. "You have a thing for him?"
"A thing?" I sputter. I grip my novel harder.
"Yes, a thing. You know what I mean. He's a good looking kid," Charlie teases me.
"I don't know what you're talking about! I—I don't have a thing for Jacob!" I brace myself for the interrogation, but it never comes. Charlie busts out laughing at my reaction, and I know that I'm beet red.
I didn't lie. I didn't have a thing for Jacob. It was so much more. It was a massive thing the size of the stars that make up the night sky.
"Bells," Charlie clears his throat. I know this is about to get awkward. "I like Jacob. He takes care of Billy real well, and…well, I like him; seen him grow up into a good man, so far. But you're my kid. So, as your dad, I need to tell you that gettin' a sweet spot for him probably ain't the best of ideas."
"Why?" I ask like whiplash, the words ripped out of me so fast. Breathe. Pause. Inhale. Pause. Exhale. Breathe.
"Because," he leans forward on his forearms. "I know you noticed that he ain't that same kid you saw three years ago. Hell, that's probably why you're interested in him now, but it ain't a good idea, is all. I won't forbid you or anything. It's not something that serious, just a little caution. He's a good son, but I was a cop long before you were born and I can smell when something ain't right. I've been hearin' some rumors about him being the leader of a gang. I haven't verified anything, especially since it's not my jurisdiction or business and as of yet him and his friends haven't caused any trouble, but I have eyes. I have eyes, and I don't want you mixed up in any of that, ya hear?"
I want to defend Jacob, but I don't know what he is mixed up in. I don't know anything about him except that this pull won't let up. I don't know anything except that his touch felt right—more right than anything I've ever felt before…more right than a book in my hand.
"I'll be careful," I promise. I can't fault Charlie for asking me to be safe, but as soon as I concede, I know that "safe" and "careful" are the last things I'm going to be. Just the thought of Jacob has my chest tightening in anticipation. As soon as the words leave my lips, I know they're a lie.
I am walking and running. I am spinning and falling. Jacob's arms are around me, and he whispers words of passion to me. He says, "I need you," and "I want you."
It's so much, too much, but I want him, too. I need him, too. His words turn into kisses, and his kisses are everywhere. It feels like I'm flying, higher and higher.
Don't stop. Please don't stop. Higher and higher. Faster and faster, I'm falling until—I'm awake, breathing like I've run a marathon.
It was all a dream. It was a dream like I've never had before, and I know I'm blushing beet red. The heat in my face is crushing. Jacob. This was his doing, I know it.
I know it's crazy, and it was only a dream…but I've never felt more beautiful.
So what do you guys think? I'm attempting to give Bella a legitimate emotional attachment disorder to inanimate objects (her books in this case), since I figure it would explain some of her random erratic behavior throughout Twilight. Throughout the Twilight saga she seemed very attached to her novels, and viewed them realistically (which is why, I posit, she ends up romanticizing her relationship with Edward, especially in New Moon and Eclipse). I did try not to go too overboard with it, since I only want it to be one facet of this story.
Anyway, Liked it? Hated it? Let me know and Review! **Reviews are love**
