I don't know why I decided to write a Twilight story. I blame it on my friends for draging me to the first part of Breaking Dawn and I hate them for it. I was trying so hard to not surcome to the Twilight mania, but alas, my efforts have been in vain. Anyway, this story was written as a result of me not liking how Jacob imprinted on Nessie. Does anyone else think that was unfair? Nothing against Nessie, but I just felt Jacob deserved an actual relationship with someone after what Bella put him through. So this is what I thought up. Oh, and just to let you know, this story takes place after Breaking Dawn. Like, maybe a year afterward.

Disclamier: I do not own Twilight. All things Twilightie belong to Stephenie Meyer.

"Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat"-Theodore Roosevelt

-Never fear the shadows. They simply mean there's a light nearby-

When I was fourteen I started my first year of high school. That was also the same year I became obsessed with the Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice. Armand and Lestat were my two favorites. I thought how cool it would be to meet an actual vampire, to talk to them and be their friend. Maybe even fall in love with one and become one. In the back of my head I knew they were just made up stories, but I was fourteen, and I liked to believe they were real. It wasn't until I graduated, when I was seventeen that I actually, truly believed in them. And it was one year later, when I was eighteen that I discovered that the world was much bigger than I realized and that there were more things out there than just one lone vampire.

The air in La Push felt colder than I remembered it. But then again, I only ever spent one week every summer here during my childhood, and it tended to be just a bit warmer during the summer months. It was the beginning of September now, and I was surprised that it wasn't pouring rain as usual. In fact, it was actually kind of sunny, with a light cloud cover. I could even see pieces of blue sky peeking through every once in a while.

I stared up at the sky as we headed towards my father's house. Like I said, I had spent one week here every summer since I was in elementary school. Except last year, but that was something I didn't get into. In fact the whole reason I was going to be living with my father for the next year was something I didn't want to get into. It would only give me pitying looks and isolation.

"Are you excited to see your father?" My mom, May, asked from the driver's seat.

I shrugged. "A little. I guess."

Actually I was feeling a little uncomfortable seeing him. My father and I had run out of things to talk about when I was about thirteen. I didn't know what mom's angle was, sending me to live with him for a whole year. So I asked her.

"Why do you want me to live with him again?"

She sighed. "We talked about this, Gwen. This past year has been hard for you. Ever since the"- she paused as we both swallowed thickly-"incident…you haven't been yourself. Dr. Collins and I both agree that maybe living with your father in a smaller town will help you heal. Get back to normal again."

I didn't understand the logic. What difference did it make if I lived in a big city or a small town? How would this help me "heal", as Dr. Collins had put it? Dr. Collins, my psychologist, who also happens to be my mother's boyfriend. If I didn't know any better, I would say he was just trying to get rid of me so he wouldn't have to listen to my ravings and spend more time sucking my mom's face.

I rubbed my chest, just above my left breast. It was always just a little bit colder there than on the rest of my body. Every time someone brought up the "incident" as we began to call it, that spot would always ache just a little. And I would remember.

"It still doesn't make any sense." I muttered. "Dr. Phil's full of shit and you know it."

"Gwen, his name isn't Dr. Phil." Mom scolded reproachfully. "How many times have I asked you to stop calling him that?"

"He might as well be. Always asking me about my feelings. Like he cares."

"He does care, Gwen. He's been trying to help you this past year. We both are." She said, sadly.

"Maybe in the beginning he was. But now he just humors me, talking to me like I'm some sort of little kid with an over-active imagination." I growled angrily. "And you're the same way sometimes."

"Rick says that your delusion is a result of your imagination." She said quietly. "A way to coop with what happened."

I rolled my eyes, feeling that familiar boiling of anger in my chest. "Oh, well if Rick knows best. Which he doesn't! He wasn't there! He didn't see what I saw! I'm not deluded!" I said loudly, on the verge of yelling.

Mom sighed, not saying anything, as usual when I was about to explode. I really wanted her too; I really wanted to pick a fight. But when she remained silent, I focused on not punching the dash board.

The remainder of the ten minute ride was filled with a tense silence. When we finally pulled into Dad's gravel driveway I was surprised to see him sitting on his front stoop, waiting for us, his blood hound Shep lying next to him.

My father, Jack Willows, was a quiet, hardworking man, the complete opposite of my mother and me. He was full-blooded Quileute, and like most Quileute men, was tall, with a slim build and shiny black hair. He had a light scar on his chin, and a few on his arms and hands, the results of him going through a sliding glass door while playing football with some friends when he was younger. His eyes were wide and kind looking, with soft laugh lines around them. Even if they were nothing alike, I could see why my mom had fallen in love with him. My father was a handsome man, even at the age of fifty-two.

He stood when we got out of the car, and I surprised myself, and my mother I'm sure, when I actually ran to hug him. He opened his arms and I ran into them, wrapping my arms around him and inhaling his scent of coffee and aftershave.

"Hey there, kiddo." He laughed in that same clear voice I remembered. "It's been awhile, huh?"

"Yeah." I whispered, pulling back to look at him. "Are you getting a beer belly?" I asked, motioning to his stomach, which was a little fuller then I remembered.

He chuckled, rubbing his belly. "I hope not. But you know I'm not as active as I use to be."

"Hello, Jack." My mom said as she came forward. She was smiling, but it was tense.

Dad smiled back, his much more natural looking. "Hey, there May. How have you been?"

"I've been better. It's been a hard year." She said, glancing at me. I simply glared at her, feeling that familiar spark of anger.

"Why don't you both come inside?" Dad said, putting a hand on my back. "You both look like you could use a break."

I caught his unspoken words- from each other. Suddenly, spending a year in La Push didn't seem so bad.

Mom left the next day, but not before having a few "quiet" discussions with my dad. I say "quiet" because I tried to spy on every one of them, even though I knew what she was going to talk to him about. Me being crazy. To keep an eye on me, but help me branch out again. To not let me lock myself in my room for days on end. To make sure I ate every day. To make sure I actually got out of bed. To make sure I actually went to bed and slept. Things most people did every day, things I use to do, but had stopped doing a year ago.

I rolled my eyes, sitting on the stoop with my chin in my hands and Shep's big head in my lap. Mom was telling him all this again as she stood in front of her car, preparing to leave. I wasn't that bad any more. I still ate and slept. Not much, but I did it. I was better now, than in the beginning, when I didn't even want to get out of bed.

Sitting there and watching them, I noted the physical similarities I had with my parents. Dad was Quileute and Mom was a "pale-face" of many different heritages. I had Dad's hair, straight and thick, black, and his wide dark eyes. But I had Mom's facial and body size, small but sturdy. My skin tone was a mixture of both of them, like coffee with too much cream in it. I thought my skin was pretty, except for those purplish circles that had developed under my eyes this past year. I often got asked what my nationality was. I just answered with "mutt."

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Mom turned to look at me. I pushed Shep's big doggy head off my lap and went to hug her. I was still a little mad at her, but I wasn't about to let her go and not see her for a year without a goodbye hug.

She hugged me tightly, nearly suffocating me. "I know you're upset with me," she said, "but I know you'll get better here. I can feel it."

I still didn't believe her, but I nodded against her, feeling the sudden urge to cry.

"Promise me you'll do your best." She said, her voice wavering a little.

I nodded again, struggling to keep the tears back. "Okay."

"Love you. Miss you." She said, pulling away and wiping her eyes.

I nodded. "You to, Mom." I said, swallowing thickly as she got into the car.

Suddenly, a loud, piercing howl broke the emotional silence, making all three of us jump.

"Since when have there been wolves around here?" Mom asked, shooting an alarmed look toward the forest. "That sounded really close."

Dad shrugged, but he suddenly looked a little un-nerved. "There have always been wolves around here, May. We do live in an au natural place." He chuckled.

"Right." Mom gave me a look, buckling up her seat belt. "Stay out of the woods." Her tone was that of a mom giving a warning.

I nodded. "Be safe, Mom. Call me when you get back to LA."

She smiled. "I will. You be safe to, sweetheart. I'll see you soon."

Dad and I watched her rental car drive down the road until it disappeared from sight. Then the awkwardness set in.

"So what would you like for dinner?" Dad asked as we walked back inside.

"I don't know. I don't really have a taste for anything." I replied.

"Well, why don't you think about it until then? I have to make a quick phone call." He said, patting me on the back.

I watched as he disappeared back into his own room, shutting the door behind him. I watched the door for a second, not quite sure what I was waiting for. But when nothing happened, I sighed and went into my own room to unpack.

My room was pretty plain, since I only ever spent a week out of the year here. I had a dresser, a twin bed, an old TV set, and a large window that faced the side of the house, looking directly into the forest. I use to keep my curtains closed around it all the time when I was a kid because the forest always freaked me out. I even had a night-light, still lying on my dresser from the last time I was here when I was sixteen. Even then I was afraid of the dark. I remember how pathetic I had thought I was, afraid of the dark at sixteen, so I had unplugged it, tossing it on my dresser to throw out later.

Snatching it off the dresser, I plugged it back in, glad that I hadn't trashed it.

Two hours later I came out of my room to find Dad sitting on the couch, watching M*A*S*H*. He smiled when he saw me.

"Hey, kiddo. Get everything set up?"

I nodded, sitting down next to him. "Yeah, but I was wondering if we could go into Forks soon. I need a bookshelf for my books. And maybe some shelves."

"Sure. I have to work tomorrow, but how about Sunday? We can get anything you need."

"That's fine."

"By the way, how would you feel about going to a bonfire tonight?" He asked casually.

I looked at him cluelessly. "A bonfire? People still have thoughs?"

He chuckled. "Of course. Some kids your age will be there, along with some of my old friends. You should come; I want to re-introduce you to everyone."

"Dad, it's been a year since I've been here. And even then it was only for one week out of the year. How do you know they'll remember me?" I said, grasping at a reason not to go.

Dad smiled. "They'll remember you. Plus I've been telling everyone you'll be staying here for a while. They want you to come."

I frowned at him, feeling the longing to run into my room and lock the door. "You've been talking about me?"

Dad was still smiling, but I guess he caught the distressed look on my face, because it slowly faded to a look of caution, like he didn't want to hurt my feelings. "Of course, sweetheart. You're my daughter and I'm proud of you. I'm happy you're going to be staying with me."

"So you didn't tell anyone…why I was here?" I said, grimacing.

He quickly shook his head. "Of course not. It's nobody's business but ours." He said.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Ok, but that still doesn't mean I want to go."

Now he frowned. "It's for Billy Black's son."

"Who?"

"Billy Black. His son Jacob took off a couple of months ago and he just got back this morning. This bonfire is to celebrate him finally coming back."

"What's this have to do with me?" I asked, frowning back.

"You don't remember Jacob? You played with him sometimes when you were kids."

I still frowned, thinking back. I do vaguely remember playing with some kids sometimes while I was here during the summer. But nobody's face stood out. Though the name Jacob did pull at me a little.

"So why did he take off?" I asked.

Dad shrugged, but I noticed he didn't look at me as he answered. "He was having some girl troubles. That's about all I know."

"What, did he run off with a girlfriend or something?" I asked, feeling curious.

"I don't think so. I don't know all the details, it wasn't my business. But either way you should still come. It'll be a chance for you to make some friends."

I crossed my arms and sat back against the couch, fully aware I was acting like a child. "I don't want to make friends. I can't."

Dad laughed. "What do you mean, you can't? That's silly."

He got up, looking down at me. "It's going to be down at First Beach. Make sure you dress warm." He was smiling, but his voice was final.

I glared at his back as I watched him walk into the kitchen, feeling slightly betrayed.

So what did you think for a first chapter? I have up till chapter three written right now, so let me know if you want to read some more. Also, Gwen is eighteen in this story, and I think Bella was nineteen when she became a vampire, and I think Jacob was two years younger than her, so the timeline might not be right. So if anyone knows their ages for sure let me know. Either way, Gwen is eighteen. And that quote about the shadows was said by Ruth E. Renkel. I like quotes, so I'm going to use alot of them.

Reviews would be appreciated :)