A/N: Another "you're sort of beautiful" re-do. This one's even more depressing. I think I'll make a happy one next?
Disclaimer: Do you really think I'd be here if I owned anything?
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I'm never really sure that I'll ever change
But if it makes you happy then I will lie
She looked at me and softly said
I'm going to love you till the day I die
– Sugar Ray; Waiting
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You know you're beautiful, she says, smiling at him.
He chuckles, the corners of his eyes turning upwards in mirth, the deep growls nestling in her stomach, cornering her lunch until her stomach is swimming with husky-sounding dragonflies.
You're the beautiful one, he mumbles, biting his lip. She barely hears him, but it makes something jump in her chest—a sudden movement that surprises her. Her heart has been silent for a very long time.
She blushes and turns away, facing the window, pretending she didn't hear. Pretending she wasn't watching his reflection in the side-door mirror, watching how his teeth shone white against his dark lips, his eyes intent on the road ahead; on getting her home safe.
Edward—he chokes on the name, almost screams it—Edward never kept her safe.
But this brown-skinned boy promises her every day: If nothing else, I'll keep you safe. And she sees the hurt in his eyes when she trips, when she runs away, when she wants to stay in danger so she can hear him—she is tearing herself (Jacob, her heart) apart for the one who could never do the same.
Vampires never get hurt. Not even by love.
She doesn't know much about werewolves, but from the look on Jacob's face when she tells him (No, I'm not beautiful, I'm not strong, that's you, Jake, always you), they are not immune to heartbreaks.
Protector, he calls himself. Alpha. Animal. I'll keep you safe. Forever—no, but long enough. For life.
She takes his hand in hers and he turns his gaze from the road. His eyes meet hers and its electric—reigniting the beats in her chest, the birds in her stomach, the fuzzy static in her head.
For you, Bella honey, I can be beautiful.
She loses coherent thought and turning back is no longer an option. She takes his face in her hands, pressing her fingertips along the slim lines of his cheekbones, following the patterns that she has studied for months and months, wondering what they would feel like (taste like), wondering how something could be so hard and gentle and perfect.
She kisses him and her heart thumps louder; the taste of his tongue is sweet and dark—different; stronger, deeper, realer than anything she can remember. She does not say his name. Not then.
It is one kiss, but it is enough. He stares at her (Are you sure?).The silence is thick and hangs in the air like a perfume, they can feel it on their skin—daunting and wondering and judging.
Her mouth twitches involuntarily and he watches, licking his lips. She cracks a smile and then they are laughing—high, long laughs that press against the windows like fog and choke them in forgotten release.
When they are done, she looks at him and there is sadness in her eyes—she frowns and shakes her head in a motion undetectable to the human eye, but he sees it, he sees it.
They both pretend nothing has changed.
You can't love a guard, she thinks. I can't have a knight in shining armor.
She looks at his face, so sad and forgiving: You don't deserve this.
He nods, because it's true. And she says his name, the other name; quietly, soundlessly, the syllables merging together in a breath, in a sigh, in a truth. Because she doesn't want someone to protect her. She wants someone to love her.
And she can't decide which heart costs more if broken.
I know, he sighs, rolling his head back against the seat. But I don't really care.
I'm sorry.
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END