Unleashing the Animal
Your deepest desires can't be ignored, however hard you may try. Twilight fanfic based on the story of the author's coming-out as gay. Slash, Multiple pairing with Jacob.
A/N: A story based on the Twilight series of books and movies. I borrow the character names, but for the rest there is absolutely no connection to Twilight. 'Unleashing the Animal' is a work of fiction written by me, Thralni, and is an edited version of a story I wrote a while ago with the same name. It told my coming-out story – now it is re-imagined to fit the looks of the Twilight characters, and instead of being about me, it's about Jacob's fictional coming-out. It was written for my own pleasure without any kind of gain in mind, be it financial or otherwise. I reserve all the rights to Unleashing the Animal, save for the character names; these are owned by Stephenie Meyer.
A/N 2: Since the story is already written in full, a short explanation of the layout: There are three parts, each divided into 4 or 5 chapters, and there is an epilogue. My plan is to publish Part2, 3 and the epilogue throughout the coming Sundays. In another three weeks, therefor, this story should be complete.
Warning:
This story contains mention and explicit descriptions of gay sex and romance, and frequent angst and drama. You will recognize the character names, but for the rest forget everything you know about the original Twilight character: the characters here tend to be very different. Relationships between people are entirely redefined and nothing follows the Twilight story and plot.
Still want to read? Have fun! Leave reviews to let me know what you think!
Part 1
Embry
1.
Silence. All that woke him was a ray of light. Cold and blue; a cloudy, winter morning. He shyly opened his left eye. Light peeked inside through his eyelids as he slowly became conscious of the world around him, darkness being lifted from his mind like a veil being lifted from a widow's face when she gives her dead husband a final goodbye-kiss. The right side of his brain was throbbing: a thumping headache like he hadn't had for a while. He cautiously attempted to open his right eye, but with the headache suddenly increasing in magnitude, he wisely chose to close that eye again. With the right eye closed it was sort of bearable. He erected his body, slowly, so as to not aggravate his complaining brain even more, when he became aware of warmth next to him.
He turned his head, and saw a warm, beautiful, sleeping body. He stroked it, gave its warm thigh a small kiss, and got out of bed. As his soft feet touched the cold, unforgiving floor, he shuddered as a spiky tingle launched itself from his lower back up to his neck, exploding in a short but stinging burst of headache. He cringed as the headache enveloped his visual cortex and, like the smoke at yesterday evening's disco engulfing the frantically dancing youth, moved forward to grab and squash his measly, alcohol-ridden prefrontal cortex. And with that, the headache returned to its former, nagging state; a boring pain, like a dog sinks its pointy teeth into a man's fleshy arm. Sunken it deep enough to cause discomfort, but not deep enough to actually pain the man too much, so that it stays in the background; quite like a mosquito in the night: unseen but irritatingly persistent in letting know that it's there. Fortunately, while mosquitoes are rather hard to kill, headaches are somewhat easier to get rid of. At least, what he would do when he were alone, was turn on his computer and put on some classical music. Usually a Mahler or Tchaikovsky symphony. He would then return to bed, close his eyes, and listen to the music unwind; follow it intently, dissecting it as it moved forward, bar to bar, note to note. This worked almost always when he had a hangover. This time though, he was with somebody. Somebody who was still asleep and probably felt as bad as he did. So instead of loud, classical music, the brass playing their endless, dramatic solos, reaching climaxes that came as close to a divine rush of excitement as he would ever feel, he walked to the bathroom and took an aspirin. Much less poetic, but it did its job admirably.
The chilliness of the room made him shudder as he slogged to the kitchenette. He took the half-full pack of coffee and emptied it into his coffee machine, then turned it on. He sat at his table, and stared at the sleeping body in his bed. A smell of coffee swirled in the room, and a few minutes later he poured his first cup of the day; another one of those cold, depressing winter days. It had snowed that night, and the sky was still cloudy. The sun came up, trying desperately to break through the layer of clouds. It resulted in nothing more than the appearance of a veiled, milky yellow orb, almost invisible if you didn't try hard to spot it.
As he stood at the window with his cup of coffee, looking tiredly at the depressing sight of snow covering life outside his window, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He felt it running down his back when a second hand appeared: together they embraced his belly. The tender embrace of a body: the warm, female body of the bed was behind him and pressed itself lovingly against him. He turned around. Two, beautiful dark eyes stared at him; the left eye partly veiled by sleek, black hair. He held her with his left hand, holding the cup of coffee with his right hand.
"That was one hell of a party yesterday, right?" he asked, giving her that look that she found so aggravatingly sexy, meanwhile slowly rocking their hips at his lead. There was something mysterious about it that she couldn't put her finger on. "Yeah, it sure was," she answered hoarsely.
They stared each other for a while, smiling quietly and contently. Finally, he broke the silence: "A new year, eh? I hope this one is going to be better than the last one".
"Yep, though my last one wasn't that bad, honestly. The new one is sure starting in a depressing way. And I really shouldn't have had that one extra beer…".
He looked at her as those words rolled out of her mouth, and he felt better. He at least wasn't the only one with a hangover. He smiled, and she smiled back.
"Don't you want an aspirin? If your headache is as bad as mine, you might want to take the whole tube." She laughingly rejected that last offer, taking one aspirin out of the tube and swallowing it with a glass of water.
"You know," she said, "we still have one more week of vacation. Is there anything special you want to do? On the weather forecast they said it will stop snowing soon, too, so if you want to do something with the snow, we'd better hurry."
Ah yeah, it was still vacation. Half happy, half sad, he walked towards her and kissed her smooth hair, caressing it slowly. "I don't know. I'll take a shower first."
"Okay," she replied.
As he stepped into the bathroom, holding a pair of underwear, socks, and a slightly oversized black T-shirt, he wondered why he was feeling sadness about it being vacation. He remembered times when he was happy about it. No school, no homework, no nothing. He was now in university and this mid-winter break was practically the only vacation he would get until summer vacation. Shouldn't he be enjoying these few, free weeks? Unlike others, at his study they didn't have "exam weeks". You know, those weeks where you are supposed to study, but you just sit around bars and get drunk? That's what he at least gathered from some of his less ambitious friends. They'd study for their exam three days in advance and usually get just enough points to pass. Well, not at the biosciences. There you got two weeks of vacation in the whole year. He didn't mind it much; he liked his study and tried to get it right. But still, vacation was nice. So why did he feel the way he felt? He felt empty. You could throw a rock at him, and if it hit, you'd hear the sound of a gong. The sound of a hollow object; not the measly "thump" of a fleshy, organ-filled capsule designed to move around, eat, sleep, drink and have sex.
As he entered the shower, opened the tap and felt the cold drops of a new year rain down upon him, his thoughts started drifting. Towards his work, his study, his orchestra. He played the bassoon. It usually meant he had rather interesting parts, but since he was the second bassoon rather than the first, he rarely had the nicest of solos. One minor annoyance of this instrument was that, when he told people about the fact that he played the bassoon, those that new something about music always joked about his instrument's name. They'd go:
"Ya know what a bassoon is called in Dutch, hm?" while slowly moving their face closer to his with an idiotic grimace that he'd sometimes love to slap off their face. When he then shook his head slowly in annoyance (since he knew what was coming), they blurted out the clue:
"It's called a faggot! So, you are a faggot-player, which makes you pretty much of a faggot too, eh?"
They'd laugh with innocent joy, but Jacob could get pretty annoyed by that joke. Not so much because he had heard it endless times before, and not even because he was jokingly accused of being gay; it was because these people had such pleasure in joking about gays.
If I'd be gay myself, they wouldn't dare make that joke, that's for sure, was the conclusion Jacob always ended up drawing.
Thinking about these people, he realized he genuinely missed his other fellow orchestra players. During the vacation there were no rehearsals; those were to commence again Wednesday next week. They always rehearsed on Wednesdays. He generally enjoyed good contact with some of the players, but admittedly this was not enough. There were several guys that he particularly wanted to meet up with in the break, just to talk. Honestly, he had already tried to approach one of them, but the casual chatting he had initiated didn't last long. After a minute of awkward silence they'd break it up with an uncomfortable "see you later", accompanied by a clumsy smile. He'd then walk off to one his usual friends, cursing under his breath at his failure.
He closed the tap and left the shower cubicle, dried himself up and put on his underwear. Glancing in the mirror, it seemed obvious he suffered from a significant hangover. A shave would have made him look better, but he was too lazy for that on this cold New Year's Day. His dark hair, cut short, was a mess. He'd comb later, if they were to leave the house at all that day. Instead he got out of the bathroom and walked over to his girlfriend, who was now quietly drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book.
"What are you reading? Don't tell me you are still reading that same book…" he asked, gently lifting the book so he could read the title.
"Oh come on Jacob, it's not like you don't do the same. You've been reading the Brothers Karamazov for what, 5 years now?" she answered, grinning sarcastically. Sighing, he nodded.
"In my defence, it's a very thick book! About three times the amount of pages as that book of yours. And no pictures, either. It's pretty hard-core." Bella erupted in a burst of laughter, then looked at him playfully.
"Ooh, aren't you feeling great about that achievement, aren't you? Indeed, a book without pictures is in a league that I certainly can't ever dream of reaching!"
Again she started laughing and he smiled at her, pouring himself another cup of coffee. He sat down next to her and looked her in the eyes, then grabbed the Brothers Karamazov and started reading.
2.
The first days of the new year and the last days of the vacation went by in the same style as that morning: in a blur, with multiple hangovers, sleeping late, and lots of coffee. The first days at university of the new year were equally thrilling. He was now doing an internship, studying the internal anatomy of the frog heart, something he actually really enjoyed. Most days were pretty much the same, but then it was Wednesday. He woke up, realized this merry fact, and got out of bed. Whistling he made himself a coffee, sat down and read the newspaper. This was and had always been his early morning ritual, and he stuck to it like a fly sticks to sugar. Soon afterwards he cheerily stepped on his bike to dissect some more frog hearts at university.
It wasn't because of the frog hearts that he was in such a good mood. Today he would have a rehearsal with his orchestra again. Seeing his friends would be nice, but what he was really looking forward, was to try to approach that guy again. Sadly, rehearsals were in the evening, and it was morning now. Twelve, long hours stood between him and the rehearsal. Still, it was bearable after not having had a rehearsal for two weeks and a half. Another half day didn't seem so problematic in that light… Nevertheless, those hours were the longest hours he had experienced in weeks. They went by like syrup coming out of a flask: hardly at all. When it was finally time to go home and have a quick dinner, he was almost fast asleep. In this state of half slumber, he cycled home, nearly running over an old lady in the process. Fortunately he arrived home unscathed, cooked himself a quick pasta, ate, and left again for the rehearsal.
As he arrived at the rehearsal's location, he parked his bike and somewhat nervously climbed the few, stone steps to the front door of the building. The old, heavy door creaked horribly when he pushed against it, using his bodyweight to aid him. Whistling to himself, he stepped through the harsh corridors, which echoed every sound that was made within. The building was quite old, probably from the 19th century. The floors were a mosaic of cold, white and black stone tiles on which the heels of Jacob's shoes click-clacked harshly. The walls were a combination of ornate pillars and greyish/white marble plates with vague, dark stripes running through them. It's the kind of building you'd expect an embassy to be housed in, not a cultural centre for the "young of spirit", as he had read on some sign inside the building.
Finally, he arrived at the rehearsal's hall, which was the auditorium of the building. As he stepped inside, his eyes shooting nervously from corner to corner, person to person, his gaze travelled the hall to search for the guy that had intrigued him for so long already. And there he was, talking to some girl, his curly hair dancing around as he tilted his head, smiled lovingly at the girl and hugged her as their lips met and shared a quick kiss. He never quite understood what was so intriguing about this particular guy, but he did know he didn't like seeing him kissing with her. This wasn't the first time he had felt like that. He had previously felt attracted to certain men also, but not for a specific reason that he could identify. He assumed it had to do with a certain nonchalance that he had always wanted to have, but never did. This guy had it. And for some reason, this meant Jacob had to get into contact with him. The urge burned inside his body, gushing painfully in his intestines like acid. There was one way to get rid of it, and though it seemed simple, the idea made him nervous as hell and increasingly fidgety: talk to him.
Jacob entered the hall proper and said hello to some people, dropped his gear, helped set up the room… and when he finally decided to just do it, the guy was gone. To his disappointment, he didn't see him anywhere. Must have gone to the toilet.
One of his friends passed by. Jacob quickly tapped him on the shoulder, seeking his attention.
"Hey, that guy who plays cello, with the short-ish black hair and all… you know whom I'm talking about?" This description was greeted with a vague look of recognition.
"Hm, I think I know whom you are talking about. Sort of the same height as you, right?" Jacob nodded, "Yeah, that's him. Do you know his name?"
Again a vague look of recognition, head tilted sideways slightly. You could practically hear the grey machinery inside the skull grinding.
"Let me think," he mumbled, as he cupped his chin thoughtfully. "I think it might be Embry you're talking about, but I'm not entirely sure. Why are you asking anyway?" His friend looked at him curiously.
"Oh, you know, just curious. Thought I recognized him from somewhere else…" That was a disappointing answer, apparently, judging by his friend's look.
"Oh. Anything else?"
"Nah, that's all, thanks man." With that his friend, a violinist, walked over to his seat and sat down, and so did Jacob.
And there he was again: Embry had just re-entered the hall. From a distance he seemed even more intriguing than from up close. Another guy that he had never seen closely followed him. He was about the same size, with brown hair, blue jeans, grey shoes and a grey sweater over a white shirt. He looked nice. Plus, he was another violinist who went to sit right next to his friend.
I'll ask that guy's name during the break, Jacob thought as his eyes lingered on the newcomer. He then went to ready his instrument to play some quick notes to warm up his lips and his instrument. He closely followed the shorter, black-haired guy from the corners of his eyes while he went to take his violin and hastily walked to his seat, greeting people as he walked past them. The conductor had arrived in the meantime and obviously wanted to start the rehearsal, nervously ticking with his baton on his steel music stand, leaning on it with a particularly bored expression on his face.
As soon as everybody had taken a seat, the conductor rose from his leaning posture and Let his gaze glide over the orchestra one time before starting to speak. He first wished everybody a happy new year and made some general announcements, saying that they were going to play Tchaikovsky's sixth symphony at the next concerts; that it went okay but they weren't there yet; that he hoped, saying this while grinning broadly, that people had done some rehearsing during the vacation, and not only hung around in bars and got drunk (a mixture of laughing, applauding and confirmative shouts filled the hall at that point). Soon after they started playing. Of course by then Jacob's lips and instrument had cooled down again, so that the start of the rehearsal didn't go as smoothly as he'd liked. Neither did it go as smoothly as the conductor liked, judging by his awkward looks in Jacob's direction, after which he glanced around the orchestra, identifying mistakes and the people who made them as they continued playing. As always, the rehearsal itself wasn't very exciting. He looked forward to the break, meanwhile wondering about the new guy. The new guy was even more intriguing than Embry. Again Jacob wasn't sure what it was that made him that interesting.
At break time Jacob launched forward to greet the new guy, practically dumping his instrument in its case out of excitement. Anyway it wouldn't have made much of a difference if he'd arrived first at the cafeteria of the cultural centre: the violinist was lagging behind. So instead he took it slowly, eyeing the guy as he carefully took apart his instrument and stored them in its case.
As if it was planned that way, the moment Jacob was done packing his instrument the new guy finished putting his violin in his case also. As he stepped in the direction of the hall's exit, Jacob hastily stepped in his direction, catching up with him in one of the cold halls. While walking he greeted him, saying the inane line he had come up with: "Haven't seen you before here, or is my memory that blasted by all the alcohol?"
Fortunately for him, the new guy responded with a cheerful smile and a conversation was started quite merrily. He was indeed new, had come from the other side of the country to study here, and his name was Jasper. They chatted for the rest of the break, talking about a variety of subjects. None of it was even remotely personal, but fun and interesting nonetheless. They shared a similar taste in movies, and as such they vowed to go see a movie sometime in the future. Feeling happy and refreshed, Jacob sat down with his bassoon for the second half of the rehearsal, which went by like a breeze. Later he lay in bed, happy to have gotten acquainted with such a nice guy.
3.
The weeks went by, and February turned into March. And with the coming of March, spring was in the air. The sun curiously peeked out of the clouds, wishing to see what was happening at the other side of that previously impenetrable wall of fog and mist, having been in the dark for such a long time. And with the appearance of the sun, being outside became pleasant again after the frigid winter they had endured. Even though it was still too cold to walk around without a coat, people left their gloves and hats at home. Birds were chirping in the morning, forming the first of nature's early-morning choirs of the year.
The rehearsals had been going on now for a few weeks, and he had enjoyed them all. Of course because he liked Tchaikovsky's sixth, but it had more to do with the appearance of Jasper than anything else. Soon they would have the first concert of the year, followed by a party at a local club. It would be his first party with this orchestra, for, like Jasper, he was quite new to the orchestra. For some reason he always got a bit nervous when doing 'firsts' in a new social environment. This 'first party' was one of them. It was a bigger source of stress and anticipation even than the concert, even though he realized full well that it's usually the other way around for normal people. Still, that's the way it was and that's how it had been for as long as he could remember. Besides, he had played in orchestras for several years now and as such had played in various concerts. He knew what it was all about and how it worked – no reason to get nervous about it.
With every week, the concert and the party drew closer, until finally it was the day. Jacob stood in front of the mirror. He had elected to wear his suite at home and not take his normal clothing with him, not even to change into them after the concert despite them being insanely more comfortable. He figured he looked smart in his suite. That bow tie made him look elegant. Before he left, he checked everything a final time, did his hair in such a way that it seemed both organized and messy, and sprayed himself with some extra deodorant.
He organized his bag, put in the music they were going to play and his deodorant. Checking again if he hadn't forgotten anything, he closed it, took his bassoon and left, slamming the front door of his building with a loud bang as the lock fell into place. The sun was shining brightly on his face as a cold spring breeze caressed his cheeks and played around the exterior of his nose, causing Jacob to sneeze abruptly. A few birds that had been sitting in the tree above him flew away with loudly flapping wings, scared by the sudden burst of air escaping Jacob's mouth.
They were performing Tchaikovsky's sixth symphony for the first time tonight. He had always loved that first movement especially. It started so depressingly, with a fragile bassoon solo. Another highlight was the climax, brought on by the trombones, that frequently so tragic instrument. As his conductor had said: the trombones are the sound of impending doom, and he was quite right. So different are the final minutes of the symphony, in which it always felt like Tchaikovsky got to terms with something. A new, peaceful dawn, following a storm. The skies are blue and cloudless, and the air was washed clean of pollutants by strong winds and rain.
What it was that Tchaikovsky got to terms with was unknown. All kinds of rumours circulated. One of them was that the man was secretly gay and in love with a distant nephew of his, or something along those lines. Can you imagine living such a double life? Jacob quietly smirked. He was happy that wasn't him. What a life that would be. Always in hiding for the world. At least he and Bella could walk through the park, hold hands and kiss freely, whenever and wherever they wanted. For gay men this is still neigh impossible without getting weird looks from passers-by. Maybe even getting beaten up. Get beaten up for loving another human being who happens to be of the same sex as they themselves are. He wasn't sure whether he could live like that. Fortunately, he didn't have to live like that. He was straight.
He is straight.
Already humming Tchaikovsky's sixth symphony, Jacob arrived at the concert hall. The orchestra uses a van to transport the heavy and bulky instruments from their rehearsal location to whatever place they're performing at. So, when he arrived, the van was already being unloaded. He usually hoped to arrive after the van was unloaded, so that he wouldn't have to feel guilty about not helping, but today he threw his bike against a tree and walked over to the van to help, still with his bag and bassoon bouncing around on his back. He was greeted enthusiastically and soon they were all getting the basses out, putting each one on the stage where all the chairs were already set in grand orchestra formation. In the meantime people were slowly dripping in, walking in lazily and without any apparent nervousness, calmly chattering and laughing at each other. Some of them had reached the changing rooms and were putting their suits on. Not Jacob though, since he already wore his suit. Instead he was chatting with some friends, while eying Jasper and Embry stealthily. Both of them were gorgeous. Being in an orchestra has the benefit of changing clothes together. If you are in an orchestra with mostly ugly people, that blessing becomes a curse. Fortunately Jacob had nothing to worry about.
His mouth had slowly curled into a smile, when he was suddenly awoken from his dreamy state of appreciation when his phone rang. Nervously he reached for the ringing piece of apparatus and recognized the number as being Bella's.
Damn! Completely forgot that she was coming also!
He answered the phone, turning visibly vermillion. He quickly walked outside, greeting Bella with the stammer of somebody who is caught in the act. "Hey hun, I'm so sorry I didn't call you, are you okay?"
"Yes, yes I am, are you okay though? You sound nervous. Anyway, doesn't matter. I'll be there in about ten minutes before the concert starts. I'm still caught up with something for my internship. They want me to ready some plants for an experiment tomorrow…"
Jacob heard the news but didn't really listen to it. His thoughts were still in the changing rooms. "Yeah, sure, good luck and see you soon. Bye!" Jacob replied, absent-mindedly, his thoughts still swirling around Jasper's half-naked body in the changing room.
After hanging up Jacob made his way back to the changing room. Embry and Jasper wore their suits, bow ties and everything; an elegant duo. While he was eyeing them, his violinist friend poked him.
"Hey man, are you okay? You seem kind of lost in thought. Nothing troubling you I hope?" Jacob was startled for a moment and then realized his thoughts had indeed been drifting about the room again.
"Heh, I'm fine, don't worry. Just a little nervous I guess. Anyway, it's time, let's get our instruments and get seated. The concert is supposed to start in fifteen minutes. Tchaikovsky's sixth eh? Nervous?"
"Nah," his friend replied. "I'm okay."
Jacob regained control over his thoughts, took his gear and instrument and went to the stage. He got seated, took the instrument, and started playing some quick notes.
"Jacob!"
A soft voice next to him: Bella had made it into the hall and stood next to him to wish him luck. Jacob gave her a quick smile; whispered "Have fun!" and ushered her to get seated. The lights dimmed, the conductor appeared, clapping of hands; silence. The concert began and ended faster than he had thought. They played through the symphony, the strings meticulously playing every note in increasing excitement toward the agitation, depression and disappointment that is ultimately portrayed in the trombone's dramatic climax, a loud orgy of sound, structured to form the perfect theme, announcing the beginning of the end, impending doom.
And there he was: the new violinist. Viciously assaulting his instrument with the bow, to support the heavy aggravation in the trombones, his strong right arm sliding the bow left and right, his gaze fixed on the sheets of music in front of him, his mighty chest heaving, in order to supply the body with the oxygen it so required.
Then there was nothing. Woodwind and brass were calm and at rest. They had reached the end of the movement. As the strings entered their accompanying pizzicatos, the trumpets and French horns played their theme of peaceful liberation. It sounded like a new beginning to Jacob. A breaking dawn on a cloudless winter morning. And as the trombones played the ending theme once more, a calm solo in which you could almost see the blossom fall down trees, covering the grass in a pink blanket, he looked at the new violinist.
Three movements later and the concert was over. A clapping audience, the spotlights shining brightly upon the orchestra. Everybody loved it. Quickly all musicians went to the changing rooms. Except Jacob had nothing to change to, so he simply packed his gear, gave the changing Jasper another look and went outside to find Bella. She was standing at the entrance of the changing rooms and grabbed him as soon as she saw him.
"That was wonderful! Truly wonderful! So much emotion, tension… It's been some time since I heard it played in such a vibrant and intimate way." Jacob smiled quietly at her.
"Right, you now go to your party. I will be meeting some of my friends. We're going to watch Twilight, doubt you would like it anyway", she teased him.
"Heh, I doubt it also. It's all naked werewolf and vampire action, isn't it? Perfect for teenage girls who haven't had any action yet." He laughed, even as Bella punched him for that.
"Ouch, why did you do that!"
"Because you were being a jerk, as always", she stated semi-seriously, laughing about Jacob's girly shriek. "Right then, see you later! Give me a kiss".
Bella departed. Jacob waited around a bit for his friends to be ready to go to the party Jasper soon approached him, asked if he was going for some dancing too and if he knew where the club was. Jacob sort of knew, but just in the event he would be wrong, wanted to wait for some other people.
Fortunately they didn't have to wait long. Together, forming a group of six, they walked to the club. Along the way he found some time to chat with Jasper. Admittedly, his memories of the rest of the night would be rather vague. One thing he did remember though: when he left and said goodbye to the other guys, Jasper practically squashed him in a tight embrace. He was probably drunk, but Jacob was pleasantly surprised nonetheless. It had been some time since he was hugged this ferociously. As he left the club, he hummed the end of the first movement of Tchaikovsky's sixth symphony. Humming it over and over again, he walked into the night.
4.
April started as almost any other month. He woke up, drank his coffee, read the newspaper and checked Facebook. Afterwards he left for his internship, cycling along canals and over roads, all with trees whose blossom and leaves were starting to grow. It was getting warmer, much to the delight of not only Jacob, but also the people around him. The shining sun has a curious effect on people, especially after winter: like mice smelling cheese, everybody comes out of their little holes, steps on bicycles, into cars, busses or trains, and indulge themselves in the gentle warmth of the spring sunshine. Sitting in the park, on the beach or just along one of the canals in the city, people were everywhere. Sadly, like any other day, Jacob had to go to his internship. Fortunately, he had several breaks, so that he was able to catch some of sun's rays at least part of the day. He would sit outside with some of his colleagues, and often also with Bella, for lunch, or just a short coffee break.
The internship was going well. Recently a Swedish professor, by the name of Jens Amdahl, had visited his supervisor. The latter had asked Jacob to prepare a short talk, which to his and his supervisor's delight had apparently intrigued Prof. Amdahl. That day Jacob came home to find an email in his inbox, by Prof. Amdahl, asking him to keep in contact and inviting him to a small symposium. Jacob had felt elated, truly happy for the first time in a long while. It was true: ever since that party, and Jasper's enthusiastic goodbye hug, Jacob had not been the same. He had been feeling empty, constantly yearning for something that he could not describe. It made him feel helpless. Also Bella, whom he saw regularly, noticed Jacob's mood had darkened. She had repeatedly asked him about it, inquiring what's wrong, what had happened or whether he wanted to talk about it, all to no avail. Jacob had remained shut. Nobody really noticed what was brewing inside him. Bella came closest to unlocking the mystery, but she had never pressed on.
The highlight of the recent weeks had been the orchestra rehearsals. They still played Tchaikovsky's sixth. They had another concert in July where they would play this piece, and apparently the conductor wanted to keep it in the program until at least the December Christmas performances. They would rehearse the first movement over and over again, and with every time the trombones reached their climactic moment of doomed fate, he would feel a tiny bit emptier as his gaze lingered on Jasper.
The worst thing was that he didn't know why he would feel this way. He had been invited to a symposium in Sweden, where he would no doubt meet top scientists in his field; he had a lovely girlfriend; two loving parents; a great home and he felt lucky to have the friends he had. There was absolutely no reason to feel the way he did. What then, was this feeling of helplessness? Like a stinging thorn in his heart; one that he was afraid to remove. Because when he removed it, there was no telling what vile muck would spout out. And so he kept it in there, tucked away under layers of organs and flesh, hidden from the world. In the meantime, the thorn dug in deeper.
The weeks blew past like the April spring, and finally the moment came to go to Sweden. He had been looking forward to that symposium for a while now. Amongst all the confusion, this trip had been like an anchor point – something that he knew was going to happen and could possibly bring him great benefits. He felt like it could mean the beginning of an actual career. Besides, it meant getting away from the confusion he experienced at home. He and Bella had even planned a small vacation after it.
The symposium was in Stockholm, so they had booked a SAS flight to and from Stockholm. Even though the symposium itself took only a few days, they had decided to stay another two weeks, just for fun. And so they were packing their bags, this afternoon, in order to leave for the airport the next day. Their flight left in the morning. They would go by train, most probably greeted by Jacob's mother who had come to say "goodbye", "take care", and more of that motherly stuff. Jacob appreciated it of course, even though he rarely acted that way. This would be the first plane trip he would be doing without his parents and he was quite nervous despite knowing exactly how all the procedures went. At least he was with Bella…
The next morning they were at the train station rather early, and indeed Jacob's mother came running onto the platform. Slightly panting, she apologized, thinking she'd be late. Of course she wasn't – she was always at least half an hour early. It didn't take long for the train to arrive, for them to get in and ride it to the airport. As they sat in the train, Bella looked at Jacob. Even though he was seemingly excited about this trip, she couldn't help but notice something was amiss.
"Are you feeling okay," she asked worriedly. Jacob hardly reacted, gave her a faint smile and looked out the window. Truth was he didn't quite know.
"Are you nervous about the flight?"
Another faint smile, followed by a soft "I guess…"
They remained quiet for the rest of the trip, occasionally mentioning something they saw along the tracks. Railroad workers eating breakfast, a couple of ravens, a small bird of prey sitting on a pole.
Jacob was happy when they finally arrived at the airport. Check-in, baggage drop-off and customs were passed quickly. Soon they sat at the Schengen terminal of the airport, drinking a cup of Star Bucks coffee. It tasted okay – better than what he drank at home anyway. As they sat there and drank, the seconds became minutes, until Bella looked on her watch and commented that boarding would start soon. They took their bags and went to concourse C, Gate 18. There they sat waiting, staring out of the windows, watching planes roll by slowly on the taxiways, or race forward on the runways.
Meanwhile Jacob had put earphones in and was listening to Tchaikovsky's sixth, hoping it would calm him down. And as Jacob sat on that chair, in the waiting room of the gate, listening to that dramatic piece of music, everything came crushing down on him; like books, stacked one on top of the other on a shelve that sooner or later would give way under the stress of increasing weight; a weight it was never built to handle. Cracks appear. Cracks become tears, and tears lead to ultimate collapse. Similarly, his heart cracked under the pressure of silent yearning, by crushing forces of frustration and debilitating amounts of confusion. The thorn that had been in his heart since that fateful party had almost reached his heart's core – had drilled itself through the thick, muscular wall of the ventricles, forcing itself into the very fabric of his emotional machinery. This incessant drilling created the first cracks, akin to the shelve cracking under the weight of books. He bit his lower lip hard as he felt a tear coming up in his left eye – thank god Bella was sitting on his right! He closed his eyes, listened to the music as the trombones launched into their solos once again.
Fuck, why now!
He excused himself and hurriedly walked to the men's toilets, where he locked himself in one of the stalls. Violently he lowered the toilet seat, which noisily clattered onto the ceramic toilet bowl, and sat down on it. The earphones still in his ears and the trombones raging, he held his tightly clenched fists against his face and pressed hard, so that his cheeks became sore and red. His eyelids were firmly closed: he hoped that the mental picture of Jasper, this deceptively beautiful boy, flashing in front of his eyes like a carrot held out in front of a horse, would be expelled once and for all from his obsessed mind if only he would manage to seal his eyes tightly enough. His heart cringed, tying itself into a knot out of pure agony, in response to Jasper's form, swirling in front of his eyes. His body trembled with raging emotions of yearning and mounting suffocation.
I miss him, so, so much!
Tears started streaming freely down his cheeks, dripped down on the floor and created a small puddle. He cried silently. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the boarding announcement for their flight. The image of Bella flashed in front of his eyes, enraging him;
agonizing him;
suffocating him;
killing him.
Her presence, her very existence made things so much worse; so much fucking worse!
He felt exasperated. So, so tired. Everything went black and silent, as time seemed to come to a standstill, while one, simple message started to repeat itself, droning in his head endlessly, drowning out all other sounds:
I have to see Jasper.
I must see Jasper.
If I do not see him, it will be the end of me.
I will not reach the end of the day without seeing him.
After what seemed like ages of thought-blunting repetition, slowly by slowly the world came back to him. First his brain restarted processing visual stimuli. It was as if he sat in a plane that broke through a layer of thick clouds: slowly, a more in-focus picture replaced the fuzziness in his brain, so that he remembered where he was. Second, his sense of hearing returned. The sixth symphony's first movement had almost come to an end, and the woodwind and brass, accompanied by soft string pizzicatos, entered their final theme of hope and expectation. Sensations of pain re-appeared. He had a mild headache and his heart was racing, pumping blood around his body as if he had been exerting himself physically. He started regaining full consciousness as his thought processes started picking up speed, restoring his thinking to its normal level of functioning.
Things started to click. His pupils dilated and his eyes widened in horror as his subconscious mind fabricated the string of calculations, ideas and theories that led to one, inescapable conclusion; one that, upon taking it over, paralyzed Jacob's conscious mind before finally commencing the transformation of subconscious intuition to conscious thought; commencing the stammering formulation of a sentence that expressed a conclusion that made the hairs in his neck stand upright with fright: I am… – I mean, I can't possibly be…
Suddenly he heard the voice of Bella, prompting the halting of this sentence's full articulation, replacing it instead with a much less controversial thought: Shit, the flight!
He quickly dried the remainder of his tears, came out of the stall, washed his face and walked out of the restroom hastily, greeted by a worried Bella.
"I'm so, so sorry!" Jacob immediately said, his arms still trembling and his face noticeably swollen and with the red eyes of somebody who was grieving.
"By god Jacob… what – what happened to you?" she replied in utter amazement.
He wished he could tell her that, but he himself had no idea what process had started up deep within him.
If she were worried before, she must be in panic by now, Jacob thought. "Let's go to the plane, we have to board it otherwise we will miss it. I'm fine, don't worry…"
He hoped he had managed to calm her at least a little bit, though chances of that were slim. They boarded the SAS McDonnell-Douglas MD-80 quietly. The interior was quite nice, with the characteristic blue and silver being the predominant colours in the cabin. They got seated on the left side of the plane, where there were double seats – the other side of the plane had a triple arrangement and they didn't fancy somebody else sitting next to them.
The flight proceeded calmly. They had left at exactly the correct time and the pilot expected them to land five minutes earlier than planned. At least, that's what he had said using the PA system. When the engines had started, and the lights in the cabin had blinked while the aircraft's systems were powered up for take-off, he hoped he would survive this trip.
5.
The symposium was short but sweet. When they had arrived in Stockholm, they had looked around town, and when the symposium had started, Bella went for shopping and that kind of stuff. In the evening, when the only things left on the program were the parties, she re-joined him. Everybody loved Bella, and he felt proud to be able to say that he was her boyfriend, and not anybody else's. He had met and talked to lots of people and he might have even secured a spot for an internship. In his excitement he had forgotten all about Jasper, but those memories were to be awakened soon enough, albeit in another form.
After merely two days, the symposium had ended, and the first week of May had begun. This was also their last night in Stockholm; the next day, in the afternoon, they would be taking the bus to Uppsala. To celebrate the ending of a nice symposium and the start of a relaxing vacation amongst the pine trees and great lakes of one of the Viking lands, they went into Stockholm's centre one last time. They entered a bar with some obviously Swedish text written above the door that they didn't even bother decipher. Inside they sat at a table, looking around the bar. There were quite a lot of men, but since the bartender was a duo of a guy and girl and there were at least some girls around, they decided to stay. In the first few minutes after they had arrived, a batch of girls had also showed up, happily greeted by one of the batches of men. The bar had the shape of a very long, rather wide corridor, with a sudden turn to the right at the very back. Lights were moving around in that area; they assumed it to be some kind of dancing area. In the part of the bar where they were sitting there was a row of tables against the window, looking out over the street. It had started raining and people were hurrying back home. Used to rain or not, nobody really got a liking for it, that was for sure.
"I'll get us a drink", Jacob offered. "Whadaya gonna have?" Bella had a quick thought, responded she wanted a glass of red wine. He himself would have a beer, of course.
Typical, he thought, while he walked to the bartender. This gave him a look, slight grin and eyes saying pleasure – the guy was beautiful and suave as hell. Stammering slightly now, Jacob asked for "one beer and a glass of wine, please."
He didn't quite know where to look when he handed the bartender the cash, took the drinks and walked back to their table. After he had sat down and looked at the bartender once more, he saw he was looking back at him, still with that smile. He was relieved when a customer demanded his attention, forcing him to tear his electrifying gaze off of him – directing it at the customer instead.
That guy was actually more beautiful than the bartender. He seemed somewhat taller than Jacob, with dark hair; pitch black with copper-coloured highlights, though this was probably a trick of the light. He wore a black T-shirt with a V-neck and had some kind of silver necklace. His blue jeans, faded and worn-out, fit him really well, giving him a flair of intriguing nonchalance. His shoes were a typical type of Puma sneakers that were so fashionable back home: black with that signature white Puma-stripe that wraps around the back of the shoe. He wore several wristbands: on his right hand a broad, brown leather one without any special markings, and a smaller, silver one of a type he'd always seen for sale on vacation in Hungary. On his left wrist he wore one of those silver metal-banded wristwatches and one more of those slim, silver wristbands. On the whole, this guy looked amazing. Sadly, he couldn't really see his face.
Unexpectedly the guy turned his head and shot Jacob a body-stirring look. Brown eyes, set in a beautifully proportioned, tanned, youthful, almost boyishly Hispanic face, pierced Jacob's. For a few seconds he couldn't breathe. His nose was just perfect for his almost round face, and his mouth was small and sweet. His black hair was styled in a way that had every one of his neatly cut hairs pointing forward, to come together in a small crest that fit his face perfectly. A faint smile, present on the Hispanic's face when he first looked at Jacob, had faded at first, its place taken by a frown of surprised captivation, but it had quickly returned and it grew larger with increasing warmth and pleasantness.
Startled by the sudden eye contact, his heart pounding, Jacob hastily, guiltily even, turned his head towards the window, but couldn't help himself and looked back again. The customer was already walking to the back of the bar by now, carrying a few beers. Even though he wore a black, rather worn-out leather jacket, he could see that the guy's torso had a perfect triangular shape. Jacob, not noticing it himself, had started smiling vaguely, resting his head on his palm, his arm resting on the table. As the customer took a seat, ready to swivel his body so as to sit with his back to Jacob, the guy's eyes shot at him once more. Electrified, a spark bolted down Jacob's body straight to his groin, causing his calculated sip of beer to turn into a hasty gulp that had the beer go down the wrong shaft altogether. As his body started coughing uncontrollably to get that junk out of its lungs, he glanced over to the guy and saw he had taken a different seat – one where he would face Jacob, not the back wall of the bar. As Jacob choked on his drink, the Hispanic's face had lightened up with a new smile that exposed some of his perfectly white teeth.
"Did you see that?!" Bella whispered excitedly, rudely yanking Jacob out of his state of dreamy entrancement upon hearing her utterance and feeling her pulling his sleeve.
"What," Jacob mumbled somewhat absent-mindedly, adding "See what?" His gaze lingered on the youthful beauty on the other side of the bar. After a few moments he was however finally able to tear his eyes off of him, though rather reluctantly, and fix them instead on Bella, who was obviously annoyed with his slow reaction.
"Come on, you must have seen something. That guy was totally flirting with me!" That comment caught him entirely by surprise. He let out a sigh of relief.
Jeez, of course, she's probably right. Sometimes I'm just so…
His sudden feeling of relief at the news that he wasn't being hit on (although, admittedly, the fact that such a good-looking guy would hit on him would have made Jacob feel pretty great about himself), suddenly evaporated when a certain three-letter word jumped at him from a dark and abandoned corner of the depths of his mind, completing the sentence this very same mind had attempted to formulate a few days earlier in the airport's restroom. Back from the gallows, it leaped into his thoughts the way a leopard launches itself onto an unsuspecting antelope. He thought it before he even realized it.
gay.
Jacob felt weak. The earth beneath him made way and he was falling down for what seemed like eternity, into the coldest, darkest ocean he had ever seen. He nearly drowned in the ice-cold waters of oblivion. Exasperated, lost in thought and tired, he took his beer and drank the remainder of the glass's intoxicating content in one giant gulp, put it back on the table, excused himself and stood up. He mumbled to Bella something about needing to go to the toilet for a few minutes, using the beer and his undersized bladder as an excuse. In reality, he had to get away from this world for a few minutes, and the men's restroom seemed like the perfect place to do that without arousing suspicion regarding either his aroused physical state of being, or his depressed mental state of being.
He made his way to the men's restroom, somewhat hurriedly and without looking in any other direction than the door that had the well-known male figure on it. He pressed against the metal plate on the door, and stepped inside. This restroom was somewhat more spacious than he had expected. Immediately to his left were three urinals, one next to the other. Right in front of him were two stalls, with "normal" toilets inside them. None of them were taken. To his right there were three sinks, with garbage bins to the left and right of them, a paper towel dispenser above each bin. Above the sinks were mirrors, reflecting the murky restroom lights. Jacob walked to the sink farthest from the door.
The room twirled around Jacob, thoughts of disorientation filling his mind, as he clenched the sink forcefully with trembling arms and leaned onto it heavily. After a minute, in which he tried to calm his panicking senses, he opened the cold-water tap and let the water run. Cupping his hands, he formed a bowl and splashed the water in it on his face. That felt good; that was exactly what he needed right now. In the distance he heard a door open and close. Looking down at the sink's drain all the while, he drank a bit, splashed some more water against his face and then just leaned onto the sink again, lost in quiet, confused thought. All he did was mechanical, without emotion – a soulless robot bending to the will of a thorny master deep inside him; one that drove him mad with silent pain.
He looked up from the drain and into the mirror. His thoughts, that up until then had rioted and argued the way English MP's do during council of the House of Commons, went quiet instantly. Stunned, his muscles tense and his body paralyzed, he stared into the mirror with eyes wide open in freaked-out surprise. In the mirror he had identified the mirror-imaged contours of a man, standing right behind him: the Hispanic that had flirted with Bella.
What the…
But he wasn't able to finish that thought when in a flash the Hispanic removed his shirt, exposing a sight that, upon laying his eyes on it, hurt Jacob so much that he didn't know whether to run in tears or drop down on his knees, waiting for the next command to be inserted. In the mirror, he saw a heaving chest, muscled, perfectly triangular, and abs that, in their breath-stopping smoothness, hit him like a bus hits a cat crossing the street; all that remained of his powers of reasoning was a blood-splattered road. Every thought he had up until that point, every thought that tried to make sense of the events, that protested fiercely against all that had been unfolding in the past ten minutes – that hoped that the mirror was a TV screen, and not actually a mirror – was instantly evaporated, disintegrated, crushed, pulverized and blown out of the window when his mortal eyes focused on that body. Reasoning had lost it from primitive, animalistic tendencies that even Jacob could not describe, and aroused his wolf-like manhood, that cheered over its victory.
It cheered even harder when the Hispanic man suddenly grabbed Jacob at his thighs. His hands were soft and warm, sending waves of shock and awe through Jacob's body, consuming, burning even the tiniest of neurons throughout his body in a conflagration of orgasmic pleasure that made him go limp as his heart pounded in his head like a drum. Abruptly, the stranger turned Jacob around and before he knew it he heard a click that sounded like a prison door slamming shut. He found himself in one of the restroom's toilet stalls: now, one of them was taken.
"My name is… Paul," he said, softly and sensually.
Jacob's throat was squashed out of unnerved excitement, and thus what he had intended to be a reply was no more than a gasp. His hands still at Jacob's thighs, he roughly slammed Jacob's lower body against the wall, coming ever closer until their hips touched, his eyes rolling all over Jacob, vaguely smiling as if he was eyeing a nice steak. With unexpected tenderness, he gripped the top of Jacob's head, which pounded feverishly with terrified curiosity. He gently stroked his hair, following it to the back of the neck, all the while staring at Jacob's half-open mouth, then piercing his eyes like a Bushman's spear impales an antelope, then looking back at Jacob's mouth, focusing intently on those flushed, red lips. The dark-haired stud clenched his fist, grasping the back of Jacob's neck tightly and pressed their faces together. Jacob closed his eyes dreamily as the muscly stranger kissed Jacob in a way Bella had never done, causing Jacob's whole world to topple over when he tasted the stranger whose tongue was energetically and playfully inside him – and it was the best thing he had ever tasted. Instantly hooked to the taste of men, his arms came back to life, embracing the stranger's warm back, strongly and without conviction. Abruptly and unexpectedly, Jacob felt the strength of the man when, pressing his left arm hard against Jacob's chest, he now pinned Jacob's upper back to the back wall of the stall, producing a moderate "thump" as the rest of Jacob's excited, sweating body smashed into the wall – and much to his ever mounting confusion, Jacob loved every second of being dominated like this. Meanwhile the Hispanic hunk's equally muscly right arm had slowly moved from Jacob's neck all the way down to his right hip, going ever more central, until…
"Oohh"moaned Jacob, as it was the only thing Jacob could utter when an almost divine rush of pure ecstasy enveloped his loins, expanded to his stomach, his chest and finally gripped his shoulders and neck. Every last one of the small hairs that grew there rose out of downright joy, exploding in a powerful sensation that made him whimper softly and had his pants bulge with tense, primitive excitement. The guy was a predator, and Jacob was his prey – Prey that was being drowned in the bitter acid of confused delight; thrown into the muck of agonizing hesitance as the thorn in his inner core wriggled itself ever closer to its destination.
Out of that acid, out of that muck, arose rebellious, urgently panicky thoughts: What is going on? Why am I enjoy–
But these thoughts were abruptly terminated when a new hit of thrilling, heart-racing bliss grasped and held his loins tightly, making him groan and whimper while the smoothly-muscled hunk stroked him through the fabric of his jeans. He swiftly unzipped them, and pulled them and his underwear down with impressive ease and speed. Tenderly yet forcefully, the guy started stroking, pumping and massaging Jacob with his right arm, his left hand now grasping Jacob's head and pulling it backwards, making Jacob moan and whine with frustrated joy. His brain was hurting, throbbing in unison with that other part of his body which he could not do but hate for betraying him like this. It was blackmailing him with promises of endless pleasure, as the level of delight mounted and his source of glee grew bigger and harder until it was hurting and his body jerked and convulsed with the ever more powerful waves of ecstatic satisfaction assaulting it, like the waves of the Channel hitting the cliffs of Normandy.
Jacob thought his brain was going to explode with tense anticipation, when the left hand had let go, and the pumping grew weaker. Jacob started coming to his senses slowly, as a growing intensity of light met his eyes through closed eyelids. The dark shadow of the tanned Hispanic's face had seemingly faded. When Jacob felt one hand suddenly appear on his belly and another one on his ass, gripping it and massaging it, paired with a new shot of excited terror rushing through his loins when the Hispanic beauty took Jacob's inner animal into his mouth. Jacob moaned, like a steam locomotive whistling when it lets off steam, arching his back with tensed-up muscles that hadn't felt so energized in years. Jacob immediately responded to the sensual touching by grasping the beautiful head, moving it slowly back and forth. He claimed the perfectly shaped head's hairs as his own when he clenched his fists so hard that a gratified whimper escaped from it, the filled mouth smiling and the eyes dancing with intimate pleasure.
Tension intensified and excitement surged as Jacob's inner animal took full control, ripping apart the very last of his protesting thoughts, asserting its dominance over his lover by aggressive movement; mechanically, without thinking. It just felt so good!
Joy soared rapidly to its climax, and all Jacob could think was oh god, rocking inside the guy's mouth back and forth with increasing speed. The words in his mind transformed into moans filled with the delicious bliss of the moment and the agonized despair cried out by those that do against their strongest will, when suddenly he felt as if he was pulled through an aircraft's engine, run over by a high-speed train and hit by a bus: in the distance, he heard the panicky chattering of Bella. As if yanked out of a dream, he came to his senses and suddenly realized what had been happening the past twenty minutes. Utterly shocked he threw the guy away from him, his animal self driven back to its dark lair, howling loudly. The stranger landed, somewhat painfully, against the other wall, stuttering something unintelligible. Jacob hastily put on his underwear and his pants; an action that was met with stiff resistance as plummeting levels of joy got swiftly replaced with mounting levels of shame, exasperation and gasping tiredness. He clicked open the lock and slammed open the door of the stall and rushed out, leaving a confused man behind.
"Where the hell have you been!" a terrified Bella exclaimed. Jacob looked at her withj a crazed expression of grief. "I want to go – now", was his short and rude rebuttal.
He hurriedly got out of the bar and found himself in the middle of a true shower – it was raining cats and dogs outside. He didn't care. He wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible. His exasperated soul was on the verge of breaking; the cracks in his heart grew bigger. His head was pounding and he felt sick. Enraged, surprised, tired, confused, elated, aggravated, irritated – Jacob didn't know what to feel and what to do. Sleep seemed like the best option. In the meantime, Bella was standing next to him, sobbing. She started ranting, calling him names; she said she didn't know him anymore, that it couldn't go on like this and similar things. Jacob didn't want to hear it and started walking in the direction of their hostel. He'd love to go home, but he couldn't. He was stuck in this place. Stuck in this place with a woman who wouldn't want to understand, even if he tried explaining her. But what was there to say? Hey Rose, a guy sucked me off this evening – and I liked it! Want something to drink? Like that was going to work. Instead, both of them walked onward, silently, in the pouring rain, back to the hostel.
When they arrived there, Jacob immediately went to the bathroom, unzipped his fly in quiet despair and, stroking himself, the Hispanic in mind, manually finished the job that was started in the bar. He moaned softly as he reached that moment of faked perfection – gold-painted, plastic trombones reach the harsh climax that is inherent to their solo – for which his body had so desperately yearned, cursing the encounter with this tanned god of sexual desire.
Minutes later, they sat on their bed, in the quiet hostel room. Jacob stared out of the window, into the cold, unforgiving night, lost in his own train of thought. Bella stared at Jacob; the guy she loved but had stopped understanding. She was petrified. Suddenly, Jacob looked at her and she noticed his eyes were red and his lips were trembling. Instantly she forgot her annoyed anxiety, which was replaced with pity. She moved over to him, held him, and tried to comfort him. If only she knew, Jacob thought. If only she knew.
A/N: I would appreciate a (short) review to hear your thoughts!