There are some moments in life when there are so many crucial emotions surging through your brain that it just shuts down. Instead of being capable to make a controlled responsible decision, you find yourself doing the very thing you shouldn't be doing.
At this particular moment, the sudden influx of emotions almost knocks me to my feet. Shock, confusion, anger, hurt, and then just…numb.
I stand there, nailed to the ground and stare at them. Her arms are shaking from the weird position she is in, and he is having trouble holding onto her because of the sweat glistening from their bodies. I listen to the soft grunts and gasps that pour from their lips. Each and every sound of pleasure tears new holes into my heart.
It could be seconds, minutes, or hours but I can't stop. It's like watching a fatal car crash, but I'm the one who isn't walking away alive from this.
Trying to gain control, I take a deep breath and exhale.
Even though I'm not yet at the point for basic motor skills I know I don't have to move, because the widening of Jacob's eyes tells me that he sees me standing there, and the nightmare will end.
It doesn't.
inhale
exhale
I finally notice the tendons protruding from Jacob's neck. I see the shaking of his legs. I hear his breathing turn to shallow gaps. I realize that not even an earthquake can make him stop when he's so close to the brink.
inhale
exhale
I drop my bags, turn around, and run.
I should run to my best friend Alice's house so I can collapse and cry into her arms.
I should run to her brother Emmett's house and ask him to knock out every one of Jacob's perfect pretty veneers.
I should run to the nearest hotel room to drown myself in every item of the room service menu and watch lifetime movies, because 70% of the time those fuckers only deal with cancer, and I could use a healthy dose of death.
Instead, I run to my red Chevy pick up truck and somehow manage to drive myself to the neighborhood Barnes and Noble.
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As a recipient of a bachelor's degree in English, I always feel a bit guilty when shopping in this massive two story brick building. The pretentious side of me feels like I should only browse through mom and pop book stores with the local freaks and geeks while sipping on a cappuccino. However, I like to buy books. I like to buy copious amounts of books, and the over abundant stock and membership discounts are just too good to pass up.
So when I step through the mock green French doors I know exactly where I'm headed without a single thought. Across the floor, up the escalators, take a left, pass five rows of shelves, and end in a slight right. I sit down on the beige carpet in front of my intended section with a loud plop.
inhale
exhale
After the shaking of my hand subsides I grab the closest book and turn my body clockwise so I can sit against the bookshelves.
It doesn't take an A+ in psych 101 to understand what I'm doing. My mind is on self-defense mode. I saw them, I know I saw them, but I can't focus on what exactly they were doing together right now, I only allow myself to focus on the act itself.
Thus the reason why I have a sexual positions guide in my hands.
Once I pass the threshold of actually opening the daunting book, I start to flip through the glossy white pages with fervor. One by one I flip, only pausing long enough to decide if the tangle of limbs on each page are what I need.
In another frame of mind I would have been highly curious of some of these positions. I possibly might have even bought this little ditty for my collection.
But I am definitely not in the right frame of mind, and I am here on a mission; a mission that is accomplished when I turn to page 63.
The Wheelbarrow.
Described as a rigorous position that is both stimulating for the recipient and the receiver.
If they hadn't been naked, I would have thought I was looking at two adults playing games such as those of an elementary P.E. class.
But wheelbarrow races on a school playground are far more innocent than this.
I can only describe this position as a tool to possibly ruin Bella Swan-Black's marriage, and possibly life as she knows it.
I stare at the page. I don't want to think about it because it hurts, but oh god I can't stop as it comes rushing to me. The figures start to morph on the page below me, no longer a fair skinned adventurous couple. They turn into an olive-toned Jacob Black pounding into an equally dark Leah Clearwater. They are my husband and his secretary ruining my marriage while I watch in the doorway. They are flashbacks of our first house, our wedding, and the first time we met. They are all the moments in my life that revolve around Jacob.
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The love story of Bella Swan and Jacob Black isn't new and it isn't exciting. We are the classic tale of two kids who become friends, lovers, then husband and wife.
The first time I met Jacob I was 14. I was on my annual summer vacation with my father Charlie in Forks, WA. After years of several failed attempts, he finally convinced me to try fishing. We met up with Charlie's friend Billy Black, and Billy's son Jacob. Jacob, who was missing a "wicked" day of surfing with his friends at the nearby La Push beach, decided to take out his anger on me. The fishing trip ended when I forcefully shoved a worm up Jacob's nose.
The next time I saw Jacob was a year later. After several minutes of trying to remember me, Jacob asked me and my new boobs simultaneously if we could start over and become friends. He introduced me to all of his friends from the nearby reservation and even let me help restore his VW Rabbit. That summer ended with promises to keep in touch through exchanged phones numbers until the next year.
The few summers after that were a blur of new feelings, first kisses, and taken virginities.
When we were 18 we moved in together, in a shabby studio apartment across from our school, Arizona State University.
When we were 20 we decided that we might as well just get married, and we took the bus to the downtown courthouse.
When we were 24 Jacob opened up a car dealership and hired his old friend Leah from the reservation to be his secretary, and I got a job as a receptionist for the Arizona Republic News.
At 25 we bought a 3 bedroom Santa Fe styled home in the sub-city of Tempe, and life become easy.
Our love story was composed of answers such as why not, might as well, and sure. I've always been okay with that.
Since I was a little girl, I never expected to have the type of clichéd love that "burned with a power of a thousand suns." My mother Renee and Charlie showed me exactly what happened when a flame like that could burn out. Instead, our love was like the slow crackling campfire you wake up to the next morning.
Our love was easy, realistic, and safe.
Until now.
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I don't even realize I'm crying until I hear the soft pitter patter of tears falling on the pages below. The sound snaps me out of my trance.
inhale
exhale
I need to take back control of this new life, because it isn't just me who I am responsible for. I tilt my head down, place one hand on my lower abdomen, and try to find my calm.
I don't open my eyes again until I hear a throat clear from above. As my eyes open, I become face-to-face with knee caps dressed in dark denim jeans.
With tears streaming down my face, snot bubbling out of my nose, and a picture of naked people sitting on my lap, is the first time I see Edward Masen.