She is love
And her ways are high and steep
She is love And I believe her when she speaks.
Love
And her ways are high and steep
She is love
And I believe, I do believe her when she speaks.
A girl sits by the window, her chocolate eyes burning as tears fall down her face. She's not beautiful, she's not even mildly pretty.
But when the rain comes out and the sun refuses to shine, she's heartbreakingly gorgeous.
The tears fall down her face, warm and sticky and salty. Her brown hair is tangled and unwashed, falling across her face like a curtain of silvery silk that tints onyx in the shadows. She can't find the energy to wipe them away; for once she doesn't bother about her appearance.
She's screwed up the best thing that ever happened to her.
Jacob.
She stares at her cell phone screen, waiting for his call. Picks up the cold, steely gray Motorola and flips it open, dialing the number by heart. It's the only number she's memorized so far, and he's not even her best friend, her good friend,
or her family.
He's just Jacob.
Annoying, broken, pessimist, smart ass Jacob. The one who makes her smile when she snarls at him to leave, the one who steals her phone and allows himself to be tackled to the ground, the one who pushed her to see a new day, a new tomorrow when he was the one that needed reassurance.
It rings and rings, each getting longer and seemingly more mocking than the last. The burn in the back of her throat is scorching, she can't find it in her to breathe in a bit of air. The tears keep falling down her stricken face, inky lines of mascara and eyeliner that he always knew she never needed.
Jacob.
She closes her eyes and tries to remember his face, it's not that hard, but it doesn't suffice to the real thing.
Shocking cobalt eyes that made her both uncomfortable and so at ease at the same time. Sometimes they were icy, hard and cold like black diamonds that pierced the soul and shattered the remnants of the heart. Other times, they were warm, slivers of gold and hazel and light brown and dark brown that rimmed his pupils, exploding into a dizzying array of topaz and warm chocolate as they caught the golden light.
Now, all she sees is his blank stare, the one that shows nothing, the one that makes her feel like there's no hope left. It's the look you would give to a stranger, someone you don't even know. Someone you don't care about, someone you can't even hate because you don't know anything about them.
Jacob, Jacob, Jacob.
His skin is warm russet, but now pale as death. Barely noticeable freckles painted across his nose and cheeks topped with a mop of touseled, outgrown black hair that covers hls ears and annoys her half to death. He's not that tall, just a few inches taller than her five foot slight frame. He's not athletic, he's not the best.
But in her eyes, he shines.
He's not like them, not in the least. Where they can only talk about who they've screwed and who they're going to screw, he talks about the way they act, the little things that no one notices because they're too busy listening to their body instead of their mind. But Jacob....he's not like that. He sees the good and the bad, he sees the absolute truth for what it is. He was always a good judge of character....
Jacob....
He can talk to her for hours, discussing the election, cars, and anything inbetween.
He would chide her about her choice in cars, teasing her with 'I didn't even know you knew the car model'.
And of course, she'd slap him back and they'd go off on another rant, pointing out flaws, arguing which had the better dream car.
They would walk out of the house into the bright sun, blinking and groaning, but happy to have escaped.
Happy to have each other, happy to not be alone.
JacobJacobJacob....Jacobyouabsolute-
But no, she can't find it in her to say anything bad about him. He doesn't deserve it, he never has. No matter how many times she swore she'd kill him, she never intended to make good on that promise.
Today, she has.
Jacob. Jacob. Jacob....
The last time they talked, he had been agitated. Picking a fight with anyone, making sharp remarks that silenced a room.
He had called her that day, after school. Sitting in the corner of her room, back against the bureau, Oasis blaring from the speakers.
'Help me. you've got to help me.'
She remembers his voice, strangled and scared. Hoarse like he'd been crying.
'What is it?' The reply is whispered, so no one will hear.
'Love.
When I first saw her, it was like everything came crashing down. Like something hit me in the stomach and a knife stabbed me from behind. Like I had the wind knocked out of me, but I could still breathe, if only for her. I can't stop thinking about her.'
She was quiet, listening to him as he talked, feeling an odd sensation overcome her.
He spoke again, quieter this time: 'I can't stop living for her.'
Jacob, My Jacob.
'So don't' She whispered back.
He could barely hear her on the other end, her voice was low and he could faintly make out the strains of 'She Is Love' playing in the background.
'Don't what?' He had asked, slightly agitated again.
She hated when he did that, talked to her in that patronizing tone. No one understood how she, of all people, could put up with him when he was in a flux. She never bothered to explain; if they wanted to understand, all they had to do was look.
Today, she wasn't going to put up with it. She was tired. Tired of hiding, tired of pretending, tired of trying to be good.
'If you're so tired of living for her, then die for her.'
The line went dead.
Neither one knew who had hung up first.