Living/Breathing

Love is untamed force;
when we try to control it, it destroys us;
when we try to imprison it, it enslaves us.
When we try to understand it, it leaves us feeling lost and confused.

Paulo Coehlo, The Zahir

–

"He's like a drug for you, Bella." His voice was still gentle, not at all critical. "I see that you can't live without him now. It's too late.
But I would have been healthier for you. Not a drug; I would have been the air, the sun."

Eclipse, page 599

so why don't we go somewhere only we know
Keane, "Somewhere Only We Know"

Prologue — Intruder (Revisited)

Page 286 of Stephenie Meyer's New Moon

–

I didn't like that — didn't like the way his eyes closed as if he were in pain when he spoke of being bound. More than dislike — I realized I hated it, hated anything that caused him pain. Hated it fiercely.

Sam's face filled my mind.

For me, this was all essentially voluntary. I protected the Cullens' secret out of love; unrequited, but true. For Jacob, it didn't seem to be that way.

"Isn't there any way for you to get free?" I whispered, touching the rough edge at the back of his short hair.

His hands began to tremble, but he didn't open his eyes. "No. I'm in this for life. A life sentence." A bleak laugh. "Longer, maybe."

"No, Jake," I moaned. "What if we ran away? Just you and me. What if we left home, and left Sam behind?"

Jacob's eyes went wide with shock. He was probably trying to figure out whether I was bluffing or not. "It's not something I can run away from, Bella," he contended.

"Let's . . . Let's just go," I faltered. "Tonight — just us."

"Would you do that for me?" he asked, trying to buy time, consider his options.

"Uh-huh," I asserted. On impulse, I reached out to him and grabbed his warm hand with my own shaky one.

He opened his mouth to say something — a chocked noise came out instead. He took a breath. Two. He nodded slightly.

It was good enough for me.

He slumped down onto the bed, watching me as I hastily pulled my backpack off the top shelf of the closet.

I frantically jerked my drawers open. What did I need? My hands fumbled through their content. Socks; a few changes of underwear — I was certain that my blush was unmistakable in the dim light of my bedroom as I neatly placed the lacy and cotton undergarments Renee had given me on my seventeenth birthday inside the backpack; my Chuck Taylors; a few t-shirts; a pair of shorts and a couple pairs of jeans. I emptied my purse until I found my wallet and shoved it into the backpack. I hesitated a little bit as my fingers traced the broken spine, then threw my copy of Wuthering Heights inside as well.

I refrained from taking my cell phone; my number would be the first one Charlie would call and I wouldn't bear to ignore call after desperate call.

Charlie. Damn it. What would happen to Charlie if I left?

I had already done it once, and that had crushed him. I had seen the pain in his eyes when I had shouted that I didn't want to end up like my mother, stuck in this godforsaken town.

It wasn't the same now, though. Last time, I had left to protect him from the vicious hunter, James. Who am I trying to protect now? Jacob? Or myself?

And hat would Charlie think if, instead of his daughter's own words, betrayal was imprinted on empty drawers and a missing Emily Brontë book?

"I need to write a note," I informed Jacob. He nodded; he understood. I thought of Billy. Who would take care of him after I so selfishly decided to run away with his son, knowing very well that he wouldn't be able to say no? I hoped that Sue would be kind enough to do so.

My hands were shaking again. What was I going to write?

I sighed.

I ripped a piece of paper from a notebook, grabbed a pen from the desk, and started writing:

Charlie —

No.

Disgusted with myself, I crumpled the piece of paper and tossed it in the trash.

Dad —

I'm leaving for a while. I don't know for how long.

I stopped, contemplated.

It's just ... you were right — I need to leave
Forks for a while. You don't have to worry.
Jacob is with me. And I'm taking my pepper
spray — just in case. Please don't chase us
and, for heaven's sake, don't threaten Jacob
with the shotgun when you see him again.
Tell Billy not to worry and that we're going to
be okay.

Love, Bella

I stared at the words for a moment. Impulsively, I added:

PS. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Mom.

I set the piece of paper on my desk.

I looked up and glanced at Jacob's naked torso. "Don't you need a shirt or something?" I asked. Jacob shook his head.

"Well, I'll get you one. Can't have you catching a cold, right?" I joked, but the words came out of my mouth distorted.

I made sure he didn't decide to hurdle out of my window on the spur of the moment and disappear into the night, just as unexpectedly as he materialized outside my bedroom minutes ago. For a moment I dreaded he might do it, but he didn't move an inch.

The door to Charlie's bedroom was ajar — I gingerly walked inside, being mindful of any noise coming from my own room. The only sound came from the TV across from Charlie's bed. I cast a quick glance at a disheveled Charlie sprawled across his bed, and veered toward the closet at the far side of the room. After some examination, I found a faded plaid shirt that could fit. I unhooked it from the hanger, shut the closet door, and left Charlie's room as quickly as I entered it.

"It was the only thing that fitted you," I said apologetically, handing Jacob the shirt.

I stood there, as he donned it — it did fit.

"I'm ready," I said, more to myself than him, really. "Are you?" Jacob remained silent and stared at his feet instead. "Do you want to leave something for Billy?" I asked, biting my lip. Was he having second thoughts?

Jacob hesitated, then shook his head.

Eventually, we made it to the truck. I tripped on an unidentified object — he didn't tease me like he always did. This terrified me as much as it comforted me.

We both got in the truck slowly, like every movement hurt.

That was it. There was no turning back now.

I turned the key in the ignition and prayed Charlie didn't wake up.

Jacob cast a weary glance at me. I smiled. "Where are we going?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

I stared at the road ahead of us. "Somewhere sunny," I said confidently as I stepped on the gas.

Street lights were flickering fleetly as I sped past them, when my determination faltered.

A mile before the interstate — around the time when Jacob switched from shifting and stirring in his seat and moaning under his breath to digging his fingernails into the timeworn leather beneath him — I stopped the car and prepared to back out. Sleep it off. Realize the extent of my nonsense.

The alive part of my brain implored, It's not too late. You can still go back. It's for the best.

I silenced it.

I inhaled a gulp of air, squared my shoulders, and started the truck.

No, I wouldn't falter. Not this time.

The only sound that disrupted the silence was the rumbling of the Chevy.

The voice I had so vigorously been striving to ignore — the stern voice of my reason — called me out on my hypocrisy.

Jacob. His happiness, his sanity had been the only things swirling inside my mind, when I'd said "to hell with everything" and packed up a few belongings.

But was that really all of it?

Weren't my instincts, for once, overpowering my poor judgment?

No, I reminded myself. After months of apathetic mourning, was it really reasonable to settle for anything other than hopeless resignation?

I was doing this for Jacob.

The hours flicked by, and, when I glanced at my watch, the hands were pointing downwards — six thirty. My eyelids fought against fatigue to remain open.

During the five hours of our trip, we had passed endless dull expanses of greenery, lit by the faint glow that emanated from arrays upon arrays of street lamps.

Jacob had mostly been quiet during the journey; the only tangible signs of his presence were the nail marks on the passenger seat and the sound of his snoring after he succumbed to the depletion that followed the stress of the night. I, on the other hand, was remarkably more relaxed now — I had been tense and nervous until the Seattle lights became little shimmering dots.

I gazed at Jake's face from the driver seat; he looked so peaceful, so innocent, so young. That's because he is, I thought. My eyes fell on the reflection of myself in the rear-view mirror, and I winced. The face that had seemed to be aging so quickly months ago didn't belong to someone all that old, either.

We drove until dawn before stopping for gas. Well, I did, anyway.

I clambered out of the claustrophobic truck and trudged along the narrow sidewalk. The cool breeze was such a contrast to the warmth inside that I shuddered. The self-service gas station, illuminated by a neon lamppost, looked entirely abandoned.

I clasped my hands around the pump and bit my lip in uncertainty.

My cohabitation with Reneé and my self-banishment to Forks proved to be educating and life-skill–obtaining experiences, for sure. It had been established that, between my mother and myself, I was the adult — though what that indicated about Reneé's maturity, I didn't know — and I honestly had no idea how Charlie survived on bacon and takeaway before I started prodding him to be mindful of his health.

Still, I was an eighteen year-old girl, ready to throw family, friends, and life in the trash to be with my boyfriend — removing the "vampire" label made my decision seem even more foolish. Even now, I was reiterating this in order to protect my best friend. My actions and decisions always seemed to be defined by and relied on others, but without the safety blanket my forgetful, immature mother and introspective, sometimes helpless father provided, I was completely clueless about the "real" world.

What was I going to do, anyway? Try to forge a new life? This was material for a coming of age film, and, even though certain events in my life had included coincidences of soap opera proportions, part of me was painfully aware of the fact that the real world didn't work this way.

And yet here I was, driving in the middle of the night, destination: unknown.

Next: Inquisition

A/N: Deep breaths. Okay, this chapter is essentially a prologue — an alternate continuation/ending to Chapter 12: "Intruder" of New Moon. My original goal was to mesh with Meyer's style — if you have noted that not to be the case, please send kudos my way.