Okay, I definately don't support this pairing- Jacob/Bella
Okay, I definately don't support this pairing- Jacob/Bella. But (I know this is crazy) I really wanted to write a Bella/Jacob story! I'm working on writing different perspectives and different styles.
So, I don't really care if you don't like the pairing- I hope you'll just stay here for the writing and the story.
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight!
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"There is no dark side of the moon, really. Matter of fact it's all dark."
- Eclipse, Pink Floyd
It's raining here. Like usual.
The air smells fresh, kind of soft and sweet, and very familiar. A little comforting. I walk down the uneven gray sidewalk, avoiding puddles, and barely feeling as the icy raindrops collide with my icy skin. It doesn't matter if I get wet, anyway. I don't have to be anywhere.
My clothes and hair are drenched now. I'm the only one on the street without an umbrella. I'm actually the only one on the street, period. It's early, around 7:30, and Forks is a sleepy town. I sigh, and stop in front of a cafe. It's new, it wasn't here before. But I can't remember what was there instead. A Laundromat, maybe? Or an ice cream parlor? I shrug to myself, and push open the door. A delicate bell rings and the door clanks shut behind me, causing the few people seated inside to look up.
They see me, dripping water on the floor, and look away, returning to their conversations, or to reading the morning paper. The inside of the cafe smells like breakfast, like coffee and maple syrup.
I don't know what possesses me to enter this cheery little restaurant. I haven't been around people, humans, rather, in awhile. The last few times hadn't worked out so well, and I'm not eager to repeat them. But funnily enough, the scent of the people inside doesn't drive me crazy. It's appealing, but doesn't make me want to do anything. It's simply... there, as something I can't avoid.
I wander up to the counter. There is a row of seven silver stools bolted to the floor, the fake leather cushions on top worn and flat. I sit down on one, and it spins slightly under my weight. I lean my elbow on the table, my hand propping my head up.
A brunette woman has her back to me, flipping pancakes on a grill. I used to love the smell of pancakes cooking, but now it makes me feel slightly sick. She turns towards the bacon now, moving it around with a plastic spatula as it sizzles and spits grease. She sets down her spatula, and pushes through a small gap in the counter, nudging me slightly as she squeezes by.
"Pardon me," she mumbles, fishing around in the pocket of her pink gingham apron for a pad of paper and a blue ball point pen. She walks to a table where a man in a business suit sits, typing away at a small black laptop.
He orders a coffee, toast, and two eggs. She nods, thanks him, and returns to the counter, bustling past me and excusing herself again.
I'll need to hunt soon, I realize, looking at my reflection in a dingy silver napkin holder. My eyes are black. But I haven't felt the cravings, not only for humans, but for any sort of blood at all. I wonder briefly why, but realize I don't care enough to know the answer. It's a blessing of some sort- hunting always made me uncomfortable. When you lay it out, it's a disturbing concept that any normal person would avoid.
I guess I wasn't normal, but I had the same feeling.
"Are you alright, hon?" It's the woman. She plunks down a pink mug, fills it with steaming hot coffee. She has a kind face, and shining chestnut hair that doesn't match her slightly wrinkled face. She smells like hair dye, which would explain it. She looks like a young grandmother, maybe 50 years old, someone who would hug you when you were sad, make you cookies.
She smiles at me encouragingly. She probably thinks I'm a runaway, or pregnant, or worse. I just stare at the coffee. "Drink," she says, gently pushing the mug towards me.
I pick it up. It's warm against my cold skin. I press it to my lips, take a sip. The taste burns my mouth. I haven't had coffee in so long- but I never liked it, even as a human. Something about how it smells better than it tastes.
"You in trouble?" The woman asks. I look at her nametag. Claire.
I nod, finally. "But I'll be okay," I say, knowing it's not true.
She nods back, knowing I'm lying. "You need anything else?"
I shake my head. "I'm okay," I repeat.
She raises her eyebrows. "You sure? You look pale."
"I'm always like this."
"Ah, I see. Don't tan, right? Me neither."
"Something like that," I reply, smiling lightly.
"My husband always makes fun of me," she continues. "We live down in La Push, and he's pretty dark. Tall, too, and hairy." She laughs. I see her eyes light up as she talks about him. I turn away. I don't want to see it. I don't need a reminder of this, of what my eyes used to look like.
Somehow, the words La Push trigger some kind of memory, but it's one that I've tried to hard to block out, I only recall pieces of it. And not enough pieces to make sense. So I push it away again, and focus back to the woman's, Claire's, happy chatter.
"He never ages, either," she says, smiling blissfully. "Well, I mean, he does, but he doesn't look a day over 40. Keeps me young." She winks, checks the cracked clock on the wall. "It's hard to get him up in the morning, but he always comes to see me around 8. I make him breakfast before he goes to work. He'll be here soon," she promises, then turns back to her grill.
I hear two pieces of bread pop up from the toaster, and she plucks them up and sets them on a pale blue plate along with a pat of butter wrapped in golden foil. She grabs the coffee pot and a mug, and heads off to serve the business man his breakfast.
I sip the coffee again, even though I know I don't like it. It's a nervous habit- gives my hands and mouth something to do.
Claire returns, and continues talking to me. It's nice having something to listen to other than my thoughts. And it's nice that she doesn't ask me about myself. I smile and nod at her, trying to involve myself in this one-way conversation.
"My daughter, Leah, we named her after a good friend. She just had a baby girl, and she's such a cutie. I've only seen the baby once, but I'm going to visit Leah tonight, bring her dinner. She's awfully busy, what with the new baby-" she breaks off as the door swings open behind me, the bell dinging merrily again. Someone insanely warm walks in, which is surprising, considering the temperature outside.
An unfamiliar smell hits me. There's the sweet scent of warm blood, but masking it is something moldy, disgusting. If I had to give it a name, it would be wet dog. I wrinkle my nose. Claire's eyes light up as she gazes as the figure behind me.
I turn. Standing there, wet hair plastered to this face, is Quil Ateara. He looks familiar- but I see that he's older. Same muscles, same short haircut. I see wisps of steam as the water evaporates on his warm skin. His nose is wrinkled as well, as if he smells something gross too.
"Bella Swan." His voice is deep, but angry. "Get out of here."
I look at him in confusion.
"Get out," he says again. "I'm dead serious, get away from me."
I turn back to face Claire, who is glaring at me. She crosses her arms. "You're Bella Swan?" She asks in disgust.
"Hold on!" I say, biting my lip. It's another nervous habit, leftover from when I was human. "What is wrong with you? Quil! I missed you, it's good to see you!"
"What's wrong with me?" he asks, rolling his eyes. "What's wrong with you? Why are you here? Do you know what this is going to do to Jake?"
People are staring now, wondering what we're yelling about. I make my voice quieter. But what he says hits me hard. Jake.
"Jake... as in Jacob Black?" I whisper.
"You know more than one Jake? Of course Jacob Black." He's still glaring at me.
"He's been a wreck since you left," Claire puts in, sadness in her eyes. "I wasn't even aware of most of it, but he's been my sad uncle ever since I can remember."
Right... Claire had been two when I left, when Quil had imprinted on her.
"Where is your bloodsucker, anyway?" Quil snarls at me.
I bite my lip again, don't answer.
"Are there more of you? Where are they?"
I shake my head this time, stare at the indentations and lines in the countertop. "It's just me," I say softly.
"Didn't work out?" Quil asks, and laughs, a barking laugh. "I knew it wouldn't. Vampires are liars, and cheats." He gives me a sideways look. "I guess you're one now, so you would know."
I can't take this. I jump up, turn and walk as quickly out of the café as I can without causing suspicion.
I resume wandering the streets, wishing I could cry. I need to feel tears. But I haven't in fifty years, and I'm not about to now. I force my way in the woods on the outskirts of town, and collapse against a tree, my body heaving with dry sobs. It helps, a little, but not enough.
Jacob Black. I wonder if subconsciously, he's the reason I came back here. Because nothing else makes sense, and nothing else here matters to me.
I remember what Claire said- "He's been a wreck since you left." A wreck. I never thought it would hurt him that much. I knew he'd find someone else, his imprint. I was just some silly girl he thought he'd loved and who'd broken his heart. And it had to happen once or twice, so he could really appreciate the girl who would really love him back.
I wanted so desperately to see him then. I didn't know what came over me, but Jake was the only thing in my head. So I picked myself up, and walked through the woods towards La Push.
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I'm taking a pretty big risk writing a Jacob/Bella story. But I jut really really want to! Haha. Review, please! Next chapter will be a flashback.