JPOV

Life sucks, then you die... or at least, that's what I always thought.

Flip that sentence around. I'll never die, and I'll make damn sure that she never will, either, so that obviously obliterates the last part. And as long as this big, screwed up, happy family of ours lives, a sucky life will be impossible, too.

I knew what it was like to hate the world. To question the motives of the big guy upstairs. To love something so much you'll put yourself through hell and more just to make them happier. It was called being whipped, that's what it was – the first time around, at least. I felt no connection to this side of me now, to that part of my life - I had no resentment or anger or lingering feelings. A new love held me captive.

Renesmee, as beautiful and unique as her name (although it was a mouthful), she was all I ever thought about. You'd think being leader of my own pack would mean I had some smidge of focus, but I couldn't think straight when I was away from her. I was pulled to her like a magnet. Yeah, sappy, I know. But true.

Watching her grow up, each day changing the slightest bit, was what I lived for. To wake up in the morning an access the changes, get to know her all over again. Her round face and eyes getting slimmer through infancy, and then out popped these gangly legs that she kept tripping over, but I was always there to catch her. I'd laugh and she'd glare at me, shooting an image of annoyance through my head with her pale, tiny hands. I watched her get on the bus on her first day of school, excitement in her cheeks as she gripped onto her book bag like a vice, and walked tensely onto the bus, golden ringlets bouncing. When she returned in the afternoon, crying because of some kid teasing her, I wanted to kill that little kid and almost forgot that he was, like, five.

And then there was the pre-teens, budding breasts and hips, an ugly stage for a kid. There was insecurity and an unflattering awkwardness as they got used to their bodies and the bodies of those around them. Well, this was how it was like for normal kids. She walked through this stage like it was her own personal runway, with grace and dignity.

Age five – which, in human years, looked about to be age fifteen – that was when it hit me. It happened one night, when she was getting ready to go out; a dance or something. I was sprawled out on the couch, my legs dangling off the edge, watching one of the football games Emmett had on. Munching on some Doritos, and getting increasingly louder – crunch, crunch – just to piss off Rosalie, who sat in the chair rigidly, obviously planning her attack on me. She was my entertainment when Nessie wasn't around, so I figured I might as well get a head-start on the game.

When she emerged from her bedroom, her hair shiny and alive, flushed cheeks, and the blue, silk dress that followed her body down like she was a river... I stopped chewing and stared.

Usually, she wore loose t-shirts and jeans, too preoccupied on exploring the world – just like a five-year-old should – to pick up on teenage trends. She caught me off guard. Maybe if I had known... if I had been prepared...

Of course that would have helped. I'd still have had the same reaction. I knew that.

"Doesn't she look fab?" Alice gushed, ushering our eyes towards her. Mine were already there. "The dress is Gucci."

"You look... different," I said, gulping. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to remove all traces of Doritos, suddenly wanting to clean myself up for her.

She was so...

Guys don't blush, but I did then. My whole face was hot because I knew I shouldn't be thinking this, knew I shouldn't be looking at her this way. And it was so much more powerful, so hard to ignore – because it was like she was a tease to haunt me until I could finally have her. And then it dawned on me – what if she didn't want me? What if she always thought of me as this weird addition to the family that was just there?

She skipped to my side, and it looked like a dance, the way only the tips of her feet touched the ground, and she spun for me, showing off her dress. As she came closer, I saw how her dress dropped down in the front, and the valley between her –

It made me burn.

She smiled at me and put her soft hand on my face. Any other time I would have grinned at her, wished her a good time, then slumped down in the chair to wait until she got back. Not tonight. Tonight all I wanted was to take that smooth, warm hand and press it to my mouth. I wanted –

My mind was suddenly preoccupied with and the images she was showing me – her, coming back from the dance, telling me all about it.

Great, I thought. Just what I want. A recap on all the guys drooling over her. The thought made my eyes flash – I knew, because she showed me, and then gave me a puzzled look.

I knew I had to smile, for her. So weakly, I brought the ends of my lips upward, but God, it was freakin hard.

"Have fun," I choked out. Then added, "Don't get too drunk," so she wouldn't think there was anything wrong, that I was still the same Jacob as I was two minutes ago. But I wasn't, and I don't think I fooled her.

When she left, shooting me one of her secret smiles, tonight it looked like a tool of seduction instead of an innocent smirk. My eyes shot to Edward's, with a fearful expression. He looked a little angry, which I expected, but it still made me feel worse. I knew he would understand this, though. He had to.

"It's happened," he announced.