So, I'm just going to put this out there: I am not really a Twilight fan. I used to be, and I think this ficlet is sort of in homage to that. I do not expect many people to like this, but I would still like any suggestions you may have, either about the style or what have you. Such things are always appreciated. I tried to follow the books' style by starting at the end and going back and explaining, but I don't know how well I did.
Please read the warning and disclaimer before continuing. :)
Warning: There is swearing and vague refrences to spoilers. If you haven't read Breaking Dawn you may not understand a little of this, but it's not completely unreadable.
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, never have, never will.
I am so fucked.
First, my best friend ceases almost entirely hanging out with me because of Bella and her emo, heart-crushing self. Then, he really stops hanging out with me for reasons I apparently "wouldn't understand" (still carrying a torch for Bella, mind). Finally, after two years of almost total rejection, he ceases any and all contact for someone whose name he mumbled as he hung up the phone on our last conversation ever. Nessie, I think?
So my life was already fucked up.
I went to college, hoping to escape it all: the memories, pain, et cetera. It worked for a while. When I graduated and went back to the reservation, hoping to visit my old friends and family before I really really went off into the world. The worst possible thing happened.
I ran into him.
The best friend who dropped me like a hot rock for no apparent reason six years ago, I hadn't spoken to in four, and had gotten over only two years ago.
He literally hadn't aged a day.
His hair was cut short, the way it was when he stopped seeing me. His muscles were perfectly sculpted, having been perfected after I left. He towered over me, despite my considerable height, they way he always had. He wore no shirt, and he had a tattoo on his bicep. We used to make fun of people with tattoos. His eyes hadn't changed, but he seemed…less happy. Well, in the way I remembered him being. He was plenty happy in a more mature, heavy way. It made me sad that I had missed so much. I should have stuck around, despite him not wanting me to. I should have been there to see him grow and mature. To grow and mature with him.
No.
I couldn't think like that.
I had to stop thinking like that.
It hurt too much to think like that.
We didn't really say anything at first. There was an awkward void between us, dug by time, resentment, and secrets. He spoke first. He had when we first met, and so he did when we met for the second time, as two strangers once again.
"Uh, hey," he said. I didn't reply. Instead, I crossed my arms and raised one eyebrow, daring him to attempt to explain himself.
"I hear you got that chemistry degree you always wanted." I still didn't reply. I was such a grudge-holder. He stopped trying to make light of the situation.
"How long has it been?" he finally asked.
"Since what? Since you ditched me for a girl (which was a direct violation of the bro code, bee-tee-dubs), since you stopped seeing me 'for my own good', or since we last spoke? Was I really such a jackass? I know we argued, but I thought we were friends." Suddenly, the last two years of peaceful at-one-ness vanished, leaving the emotional wound bleeding as fresh as the day it was cut.
He took it. Not even able to defend himself. It was all true. I didn't shout, though. My voice was deadly level. You shout when it's heat-of-the-moment; you speak evenly when it's premeditated.
"The worst part is, it would have been better if we had fought or something. At least I would have known why you decided to break off our friendship. An explanation other than, "I'm hanging out with Bella," "It's for your own good," or, my personal favorite, "Mmner mpha Nessie mrma-nrma—click," would have been nice. And don't even get mad at me for that, dude. Bringing in your girls, because once upon a time I was your girl. Maybe not all romantic-like, but I was. I had your back. You stabbed mine.
"At this point, I don't even care why. I'm just pissed that you did. Don't look at your feet, look at me! I thought for years that it was my fault, too. That I pushed you away without realizing it, but you weren't pushed. You walked. You walked away, Jacob Black, and you didn't even say goodbye."
He looked at me with those eyes, those dark chocolate eyes, the eyes that had flashed so many different emotions during my short speech. Guilt, surprise, sadness, more guilt, anger, even more guilt, hurt, and all the while some indefinable reserve, like he had still been right. I waited for him to speak, to say something to defend himself, so that I could laugh derisively and walk away. But he didn't.
"Do you remember that night, after our last talk?" he asked. I didn't respond. The memory was sharp in my mind. I had stayed up all night, replaying the conversation in my mind, and deciding that that was the last time I would ever phone Mr. Jacob Black. "I do. I'll be honest, at first I didn't think much of it, but it tugged at me, guilting me into trying to talk to you again. Face-to-face this time. I went to your house, that little one-story crapshoot of a home, and went outside your window. You were staring at the phone with the saddest look I had ever seen on your face. I had never thought you would be so hurt, but then, you got a look on your face. You hardened. My little Dana had hardened irreversibly, because of me. Then, you look out your window and saw me. At first, I thought you would recognize me. But then your expression softened, like you were being reassured you made the right choice. I never understood why. But that look, I knew you never wanted to see me again. So I left." I stared at him, agape.
"Jake, do you know what the wolf symbolizes?" he opened his mouth to speak, "Shut up, it was rhetorical. The wolf represents learning, wisdom, and access to Higher Self. I saw a great reddish wolf with eyes that matched yours so completely. I saw a sign that my choice to never call you again was the right one. You were keeping secrets from me, obviously fucking big ones, and you never even hung out with me anymore. I saw, in that window, confirmation that I needed to move on, however difficult it may have been."
"You're not freaking out? Surprised? Scared?" he asked, aghast.
"Jacob Black, what do I give a shit? I just moved on."
With that, I walked away, finally severing my ties with my former best friend. I walked for hours. All the way off the reservation, and further still than that.
I walked away from Jacob, the boy who had once been the only steady thing in my life, and into something cold and hard, with eyes the color of the purest red.
As the thing opens its mouth to reveal its perfect teeth, I know:
I am so fucked.
I will die.
It just fucking figures.
So, what do you think? :) Her name is Dana, by the way. I won't do any more with this, but if it interests you, message me. I might oblige in a little continuation if you want it.