"Shit. Fuck. God dammit. Mother fuck. Shit. Gooood. Fuck…"
It was a never ending stream of cursing from Paul, who also happened to slam his head into the table every few seconds, not that it seemed to faze him. No, it was the table that was suffering under his hard head. Where his hands gripped the table legs they creaked under the pressure. Emily was going to need a new table after this.
From my place on the couch I glanced away from him and back to the floor, then slowly lowered my head between my knees again. I felt like I was going to pass out, maybe puke, I was almost absolutely sure I was going to start crying any second. I took a deep shaky breath and held it. I was *not* going to cry. Not in front of him, not now, not with all that was going on.
What was Edward going to think?
I felt dizzy again. This couldn't end well.
Jacob walked in and ignored me. That hurt so much, but I was too overwhelmed to take that in too. I stored it in some empty numb chasm of my heart to take out and cry over later. His face was a study in unhappiness; rage, disappointment, betrayal, bitterness, sadness, and confusion all sat together in perfect harmony in his features. A pow-wow of crappiness.
And he thought he'd had a bad day? What was I going to tell Edward?
If he didn't already know. I gagged lightly but managed not to throw up on the cheap carpet at my feet.
"Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Jesus fuck. Kill me. God. Fuck…" One table leg sounded like it was starting to splinter.
Well, Edward. I know we're in love and you came back for me and everything but there's this guy on the rez. No no, not Jacob, you don't know him. Well, maybe you do, I don't know. Turns out I don't know anything really. Except, they're werewolves, and this one, he's got a really dirty mouth, and he imprinted on me. That's like soul mates, but worse. So, I can't marry you. I can't do anything. Please don't kill him.
Yeah, that would go over well. He'd go and break the treaty, and kill Paul, and then my insane heart would be broken. I didn't even like this guy and his dying would break my heart. How messed up was that?
I pushed my hair back from my face with trembling hands and the setting sun glared through the window.
I felt cold. I felt angry. I felt hurt. A single tear made its way down my face. The table leg finally gave and the whole thing crashed over onto the floor.
"Fuck," I said.