AN: First fic on this account! : )
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Pressure
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It takes a lot to make him crack.
Jasper is supposed to be the one with the tight rein around his emotions. He's supposed to be the one who can calm himself and everyone else down. He's supposed to be able to make sure nobody else gets out of control. He's supposed to keep them in control. It's his job; his responsibility.
But after a while, having such a responsibility thrust upon someone can really wear them down.
Jasper sits and he stares, because he doesn't know what else to do. Hiding himself from everyone (it's no problem. Really); trying to control himself (never once been tempted. I promise); pushing others away (I just don't like other people); feeling the whirlwind of emotions around him (anger. Sadness. Joy. It makes my head hurt). It's like he is wood and everything else is sandpaper; it grates at him and rubs the layers away until he is left with nothing to hide behind.
Eventually he shatters and doesn't know what to do with himself—being a vegetarian is hard, he decides, because not only does he have to stop himself from drinking human blood, but he has to hide himself from them. He can't show himself for what he truly is, and he has found that it's harder to hide himself when he lives among them.
Everyone around him is just as confused or frazzled or messed-up as he is, and he doesn't know how to handle the pressure. He knows that they expect him to fix it, or at least make it better—he can see it. They all look at him and their tired eyes are asking him why he isn't doing anything about it yet.
They don't understand. They don't understand. It's not his fault. They just don't understand.
He needs to calm down. He needs it, but thinking about calming down so much makes it hard. He needs to breathe, he needs to stop and think about everything—he needs things to slow down and just stop for a moment so that he can finally handle it all.
He feels it—so sudden and so warm and so nice and so calm. He feels it and he wants it. He needs it. He craves it. He wants to hold it, touch it, feel it—consume it. He wants to bask in it, to drink it all up, to control it once again, because that is all that he needs—to have it.
Human—he can't have it; her. He can't have her. Her sweet smile and her red cheeks and all that blood inside of her calm body. No. No. He can't—he shouldn't. He knows nothing good will come—that he'll snap and he'll break and that soon enough her heart will stop beating because of him.
Angela—her name. Even her name is so reassuring to say. It's like she's become a comforting beacon in all of the darkness—like she's a layer between him, the wood, and everything else, the sandpaper. It's like she's stopping him from falling, breaking—like she's saving him.
He'll fall and she'll catch him—radiating the calmness that he needs. She feeds him, shares with him—she gives it to him and he takes it. It's like drinking her blood, only better. He drinks in her presence, basks in her glory, absorbs her calm—and knows that somehow, he'll be able to fix everything because she shared with him.
And he knows—he knows—that they'll have to be together a lot. He knows because her calm is his drug. He knows that he needs it to be himself again—knows that he needs it to calm everyone else down, to stitch them—and himself—slowly back together.
He knows that he needs it (her. She's not an it) in case he ever breaks again (pressure. So much pressure). It takes a lot to make him crack (control. Emotions. Hiding).
But he knows that it will happen again.
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AN: And that, my friends, concludes it. This was written as a challenge response from my friend (and LJ wife as of a year!) SpiritualEnergy. The pairing to use was Jasper/Angela and the theme to use was "And we're given the chance to fall over the edge". I wrote this. I hope you liked. : )
I own my Cinderella cup that I got I-don't-know-where-or-how-long-ago. It's quite old and very cute. : ) But I don't own Twilight.