Title: Shake it Out

Author: thetreesyoudbe

Pairing: Bella/Jasper

Rating: M (for language, violence, & sexual content)

Summary: A troubled, silent girl escaping a past that's eating her alive. An angry, broken boy rebuilding a life he's not sure is worth living. An unlikely pair, will they make it out alive? Angst, heartache, healing, and love. There will be a recipe guide & playlist to accompany this story, check profile!

A/N: I won't say this is my first fanfic, but I'm definitely new at this. I always hate when author's put "is it worth continuing?" But honestly, tell me. [= I'd say "be gentle" but who am I to put restraints on you? Go wild!

Bella

I took a deep breath and flipped the sign to open. I closed my eyes and let the breath out.

This was routine. I'm good at routines. It's predictable, safe, reliable. It's what my life had become. It was something I could control. It was mine.

It was too early for the bakery to be particularly busy. I made eye contact with Alice behind the counter of the coffee bar and let the corner of my lip lift slightly. Alice was also predictable, safe, and reliable. She was here at 6am to open every day to take her station behind the bar. Her energy and sass is the opposite to my sullen quietness, but it helped to distract the attention from myself. She understood that, she never minded. Alice was one of the few that accepted my condition for what it was and didn't push me or pry… well, not often that is.

She knew the basics of the situation, having been my neighbor and the first person I met upon returning to Forks. Alice had intuition, and my father had a big mouth. What he didn't tell her, she figured out on her own. I couldn't blame Charlie though… he was like me, not much of a talker, but desperate times call for desperate measure and when he saw the opportunity to make me a reliable friend he became quite the chatty Cathy.

He was always there to protect me, even though it had been years since we had spoken, even longer since we had seen each other. He opened his home to me in my time of need and he protected me until the end. He was still looking over me, even now, by supplying the money from his life insurance policy to help me start up the bakery I was standing in now.

It wasn't a large place by any means, big enough for comfort, small enough to still be intimate without crowded. The coffee bar takes up the entire back wall and is connected to a large glass case that runs along the right wall. It was filled with creations that were baked with love, sadness, anger, resentment, melancholy, happiness, and peace depending on my mood. The daily special sign was the main attraction and brought in the majority of my business. Today's special was incredibly accurate to the mood (well as far as a cookie can be). Anxious Apple Hermits.

Peter said he felt something in the air. Peter always felt something, and last night he was bursting with anticipation. It's hard not to be sucked into Peter's moods. Unfortunately his anticipation had quickly turned into anxiety for me.

I used to like change.

But not anymore.

The anxiety was stifling. The need to hide was overwhelming.

I felt it on the edge of my skin, and deep in my lungs.

As I sifted the ingredients together and chopped the walnuts and apples by hand, I tried to stay steady. You wouldn't know by looking at me that I was falling apart. I learned a long time ago how to hide things away. That didn't mean I could stop the tremor that caused the knife in my hand to become unsteady.

I baked quietly and quickly. The shop was due to open any minute. As I took out the last batch and transferred the cookies to the cooling rack, I took a deep breath. One would think I was breathing in the delicious scent of my latest creation. Instead I was trying to find some sort of balance within myself before taking my seat behind the coffee counter.

I kept everything neutral. I didn't want to bring Peter down by my unease. He seemed so sure, so excited. Charlotte humored him, Alice agreed steadfastly that something big was coming, Edward was studying me intensely.

I could tell he had an inkling of my discomfort, but knew better than to raise suspicion.

My heart began beating uncomfortably against my ribcage, harder and harder as the day progressed.

"Soon," Peter whispered in my ear.

I raised an eyebrow, he shot me a smirk. I glared, his smirk grew to a full-fledged grim.

Bastard.

"Five.. four.. three," Alice began brightly, "two.." on one she nodded to the door.

I heard the bell, before my brain could catch up with what Alice was doing.

And then I saw him.

Jasper

I dropped my army bag stoically on the ground. This was not where I pictured my brother to be staying.

At first I thought I had the wrong address. I must have checked it twice (and still did a double take) before I figured this must be it.

The bell sounded above my head, wind chimes.

Right of the bat – it smelled fucking delicious. Shit, no wonder Peter was living here. The place was… eclectic if I had to give it a name. Mismatched tables were strewn about, but the majority of the furniture looked to be made up of second hand chairs and couches.

The walls were brick, scattered with various art work, local if I had to guess.

I took in the seemingly endless display of baked goods and felt my stomach grumble. I couldn't remember the last time I ate. Stopping for food was unnecessary in the grand scheme of things. Getting my ass here as soon as possible was infinitely more important.

48 hours and 2800 miles here I was. New York to Seattle. My ass still felt the vibrations rocking my body from my bike.

"Well, look what we have here," Peter exclaimed, his accent as think as his sarcasm, "the prodigal son has returned."

I grimaced, knowing I deserved that. The last time I had seen Peter was 4 years ago, and my goodbye consisted of a harshly worded "fuck you." It wasn't my finest moment, and I had a feeling Peter wasn't going to let me forget it any time soon.

I made eye contact with him over what appeared to be a coffee bar. He flipped up a part of the bar and made a show of sizing me up from head to toe.

"Yep, still an asshole."

I cringed. Maybe this was a bad idea. After everything that had happened I was a loss as to where to turn. Giving Mom a call would have hurt her, more than I already had by severing ties to do what I thought was best for me at the time. Talking to Dad was completely out of the question. He'd made it quite clear what a disappointment I was to him, and let's not forget that whole "leave and you're not welcome back" spiel.

I'd say Peter was a last resort, but if I was being honest with myself, he was my first thought. I didn't know if he'd ever forgive me, fuck, I don't think I'd forgive me if the tables were turned.

My eyes fell to the floor with a rush of shame and embarrassment. This was a bad idea. I took a step back with every intention of leaving when I felt myself being crushed into a hug.

"Welcome home brother," Peter spoke lowly in my ear, "it's about time you got here."

The air rushed out of my lungs and my throat constricted. Keep it together Whitlock.

I took a deep breath to collect myself after taking a step back from Peter. A frown crossed my features as I took in what he had said. Home? About time I got here?

Peter chuckled at my befuddled expression. "We've been waiting for you for goddamn four years, fuck, I've been waiting on you all week."

I let out an unintended snort and felt my eyebrow raise in question.

He tapped the right side of his forehead and grinned, "Knew you'd roll around here at some point soon," he rubbed his hands together with a look of mischief, "now let me show you to your room."

I grabbed my bag of the floor to throw over my shoulder and let a slow smile of relief sneak through.

I kept my gaze on Peter as I followed him, feeling my anxiety release from my lungs.

I barely noticed anyone else around. Finally sneaking a glance through the mess I called my hair that was spilling haphazardly in my eyes.

And then I stumbled.

I felt embarrassment creep up on me again, ducking my head and hurrying past her.