When we're torn apart, shattered and scarred, love has the grace to save us.
We're just two tarnished hearts, but in each others arms, we become saints and angels.
I once remembered thinking I was practically invincible. Years of stupidity and near death experiences eventually made me wonder why I never felt like a normal part of society. The events leading to that day would eventually change my life forever and opened my eyes to the promise I couldn't have been more wrong for breaking.
When I stared death in the face, I knew a part of me had been lost forever. The kid everyone knew as Jacob Black, was now a seven foot nothing monster who destroyed things that shouldn't exist. It wasn't something I was ready to accept, and now without feeling like a normal sixteen year old guy, I was on the verge of depression. Even though I had never been alone to begin with, something sparked, starting a fire inside me which burned to the edge of my darkest desire.
Feelings of regret and remorse toward me were also instilled in everyone else who dared to get close enough to know me. Why did I have to feel so guilty for doing this when it was what I'd longed for from the beginning?
I wanted them to suffer with me, although I was never satisfied long with anything once I'd gotten it.
Of course, I didn't want to remember the girl I once hated and loved at the same time. This was the same girl with a permanent scowl, pushing the word unattractive to new levels, but she was the one I would have done anything for.
It had taken some time to finally accept I could no longer change something that had happened to someone else, and she'd been the reason I hadn't committed suicide after the fact.
After the fact, I cried for a couple of days and then slowly started to change into someone I didn't recognize anymore. Pushing her out of my life was the only way I could tell her I wanted to be with alone. Yes, it was stupid and things became much worse when she stopped trying to help me altogether, but I wouldn't let her see how much it broke my heart.
Not in my right mind, I destroyed the things that meant the most to me and broke my father's heart. I even went as far as taking a knife to my wrists and kept cutting the tender flesh until the bitter brink of failed disappointment. I healed faster than I could make the next slice and it annoyed me, pushing me to drive the blade into my arm faster without successful results.
During my rampage, my violence effected my family and friends too. They no longer wanted to be around me until I got some real help.
I had only two words to say: fuck that.
Masking my true self into a different beast not known to any man, I was determined to make everyone around hate me. I had even hurt Leah so badly one morning with my words and a wrong course of action, she'd decided to run as far away as four legs would carry her, not looking back.
I chased her down almost a thousand miles away from La Push just as something terrible caught the two of us in the exact same place at the wrong time. The choice only took her one second to make, and no matter how much I cried out and blamed everyone but myself for things entirely out of reach, she was gone and nothing I could do would bring her back.
It was a moment of intense tension, which brought me to where I am now.
Blood ran down the side of my neck, tickling the skin on my chest as gravity pulled it toward the ground. I turned to face the stream of crimson red as it steadily flowed from an unseen place, probably at the back of my skull.
I followed the curving course carefully with my eyes, watching it journey to my abdomen. Lifting my hand and pressing it against my body, I stopped the too eager trail with my index finger. Swiping my hand upward, I brought it to my face and examined the glossy fluid.
Leah's motionless body laid before me, covered in dust, dirt, blood, and more blood. She wasn't moving or breathing, but I wasn't ready to accept what I'd done.
It was because of my selfish action Leah had gotten what I'd longed for, for months—death.
I'd had a chance to save her, but she'd chosen to save me instead. Her sacrifice was a total act of selflessness, but what she'd done made me angry. I was going to tell her everything I thought about her before any of this had taken place.
It wasn't fair. She deserved to know I loved her.
Red was the color of blood once it started to pour from her veins. Blood was the price of love Leah Clearwater was forced to pay in order to save my excuse for a life in the end.
But what did I know about love when hate was the only thing I could feel?