Scars
Jacob tried very hard not to think about her. He wouldn't let himself think of her. It was hard. Very hard. He blasted the music in his garage and ignored everyone. He took Sam's commands and did his duties (albeit with complaint), but he was suffering.
There was a hole in his life that had once been filled by Bella. Sometimes he lost control and thought of her, but the image of that bloodsucker didn't take long to follow. 'She had to choose…' He repeated to himself. It wasn't enough. He wanted her to be happy with him. He knew she could be. He knew she WOULD be, if it weren't for…
'HE SHOULDN'T EXIST!' A growl erupted from his throat, but it was drowned by the music. The pain was almost unbearable. Jacob, however, preferred the pain to not feeling at all. He remembered when she had preferred the nothingness, but had lived through the pain regardless. A sudden image burst across his mind – one from a very long time ago, before he came back. It was of Bella, sitting in her truck, clutching her chest against the physical pain of her loss. Jacob suddenly understood. It felt like every day his heart ripped open again, and yet he couldn't stop himself from the self-inflicted torture.
Self-inflicted because he still looked after her. He still ran around her house late at night. He knew the bloodsucker was there, he could smell him. Just being there elicited not only pain, but also security in his pain. The security that he could still feel every ounce of emotion as he tore his heart open again and again. And every day he stitched his heart up again. He couldn't help her. She didn't even need his help anymore. She was getting married. And then she would be lost forever.
He fell onto his knees and let out a loud whelp of pain. It was lost to the noise of the garage.