Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, New Moon or Eclipse. I am merely playing with Meyer's hot werewolves for a while.
Inside myself is a place where I live all alone and that's where you renew your springs that never dry up.
-Pearl Buck
THREE WEEKS AFTER THE EVENTS OF ECLIPSE.
ANNE
I had a dream once, of running on four flat, padded feet, of fur shifting in the wind. I could see the distant, foggy edge of St. James Island across the gray stretch of sea. The crunch of sand echoed under my paws and the whisper of the wind seemed to call to me. I felt something, some kind of tension in the air that betrayed the pressure of being watched. I chanced a look over my shoulder as the world, sand, sea, and sky sped past, and found the silhouette of a person in the far distance, watching me.
Anne has sat behind Jacob Black for eleven years (not including the disastrous paint incident of '95), with never a second glance. She doesn't exactly blame him. She is a ghost among her classmates, small and thin enough to hide in her locker if she so wishes. No one looks at her, let alone Jacob Black. There's nothing to look at, after all.
Being invisible has its advantages. She knows things. There is a wealth of information tucked away under her skin. She pushes it back because it hurts to think of it, of things no one would ever tell her directly, of things she has to overhear to know.
There is nothing more painful than loneliness.
Whenever she thinks of Bella Swan, a yawning gap seems to separate her heart from the rest of her body. She can see Bella in the back of her mind, touching Jacob's hand like it's natural. Like it's right.
They haunt her sometimes, when she's alone in the darkness of her room and nothing seems right. When the sound of her brother's retching echoes in her ears and she longs for something, something to take it all away and it feels like the walls are closing in like jaws.
Sometimes she stares at herself in the mirror, at the frown lines between her brows and the tiny, premature crow's feet along the edges of her eyes. Her face is stretched tight, as if her bones long to peek out from under the curtain of her skin.
It's an old face, peeking out at her. All dark eyes and prematurity.
Sometimes she feels like all she has are threads keeping her grounded, threads that are slowly beginning to unravel. Jacob Black is one of those threads. He keeps her anchored, the memories of his broad back stretching ahead of her like a long whisper of road so comforting, she can almost feel warmth. Almost.
The first time Anne Tillery sees Jacob Black; she's crying.
Mrs. Greene has managed to tempt her away from her father and into her classroom with a promise of butterfly paintings. Anne can resist anything but butterflies.
Sniffling, she clutches her teacher's hand with a viselike grip. Mrs. Greene tries not to show her wince.
Despite every child's inescapable fear of kindergarten, a small group of brave Quileute children have already entered the brightly lit classroom. Three little boys, ranging in height and talking quietly amongst each other at a table set in the back corner look up when they enter.
The first time Anne Tillery sees Jacob Black; he pushes his long hair out of his face and looks right through her towards the window. Anne freezes. She stops crying, her breath leaves her. She just knows, deep down in her gut, that she's going to marry the little boy at the table in the corner. Her sniffles end.
Too bad their first meeting ends in disaster.
After showing her the pretty butterfly paintings on the wall, Mrs. Greene leads Anne to the table in the corner. "Quil, Embry, Jacob," she says. "This is Anne."
Anne peeks out behind Mrs. Greene's knee. Quil, a thickset little boy with thick hair and a piercing grin squints at her for a moment before smiling. Embry, the tallest and thinnest of the boys, pushes his long hair behind his ear and waves shyly. Jacob, the boy in the middle and the best looking, grins big and says in a loud voice that echoes in the almost empty classroom, "Your face is splotchy."
Anne reddens, and is quite tempted to start sobbing again. She should've known he'd be mean.
Mrs. Greene frowns. "Jacob," she says, pulling out a little yellow chair across from the boys.
"That wasn't nice at all. Anne's going to sit with you three today, so I want you to treat her kindly alright?"
Jacob shrugs, reaching to pull some finger paints toward him. Quil chortles. "Okay Mizz G," he says brightly, grinning at the blushing, close to running Anne. "She's safe with us."
"Good." Like all adults, Mrs. Greene doesn't notice the mischievous undertone. Grown ups don't notice anything. Anne knows instinctively that there's something going on. With the greatest trepidation, she sits down; her shoulders hunched up like a baby bird's. Mrs. Greene pats her shoulder comfortingly with her soft, warm hands and moves off towards her desk, muttering to herself.
The four children sit in silence for a moment, before Jacob leans forward, sniffing delicately. Anne, peeking around her hair, stares at him oddly, secretly taking back her earlier thoughts of marriage. Maybe he's mentally deficient.
"You smell weird," Jacob declares brightly. He grins like a puppy dog that's just peed on a rug. Quil and Embry giggle.
Anne is famous in her house for her temper tantrums. It takes her only two seconds before she's crying again, great heaving sobs. She leans across the table and snatches away the red container of finger paint Jacob has in front of him. She stands, her shoulders shaking violently, and pours it over his head.
Disaster.
Anne is convinced that the threads of her memories are all that keep her hanging on.