Disclaimer – This is Stephenie Meyer's universe. I'm just playing in her world for a bit. Any names and characters not found in Stephenie Meyer's books could be my creation though.

I have one request. Please don't hate Jake. Okay, two requests. Please don't hate me. The happenings of this chapter I guess would be somewhere along the timeframe of Chapter 4 of The Rest of Forever. He was young and stupid at that point and for me he grew into the man he became.

My many thanks as usual to my wonderful beta Liljenrocks. I had trouble writing Embry in this chapter and she got me out of the funk. Please check out her Love you for Always and A Love that Defies all Logic. Both stories are written in this same universe. You'll enjoy them. I'm sure.

To everyone's whose following this story and reviewed, my sincerest thanks. Embry's different from Jake, so this whole story may be kind of not as sweet as Jake's. But I hope you stick with me and we'll see where the story goes.

How the Mighty Fall

Chapter 3: How Long Must I Cry?

Cold. She was cold. The baby would never know much love and tenderness. Her birth had not been like that of other babies around the world, born in a safe and warm environment. Instead she had torn herself out of her mother's womb and instinct would prompt her to bite into her breast and feed. She never knew how she came to be at the only home that she ever knew, and as she tiredly swiped the tears off her grimy face, she wished once again that she wasn't so thirsty and that her stomach did not keep making that rumbling noise and mostly she wished she wasn't so cold.

"Petra!" a harsh voice rang out and she jumped up from the pile of rags she had been lying on. "Petranella! Get up, you lazy child. The pigs need to be fed."

By the time the person behind the voice threw open the door to the shed she was locked in, Petra was standing ready by the door. Ignoring the string of garlic hanging over the door to the shed, and blinking in the bright sunlight, she trudged through the snow on the ground in her too thin shoes and clothes, heading towards the pig pen when she was cuffed at the back of her head.

"Hurry up," the man mutters and she tried to move faster.

She was put to work to attend to all the farm animals and she would carry out all her duties to her best capabilities, to the best ability that her six-year old skinny little body could handle. When she was finally finished with all her chores which took the whole day, she headed to the back door of the farm house and waited patiently although the noise from the empty rumbling of her stomach said otherwise. She was never allowed into the house and through the open door she could always see the table laden with food and the warm fire always burning cheerfully. The children in the house were never allowed to play with her. She was actually never allowed to play. Even in her young mind, she knew that the way she was being treated was vastly different from the other children. She watched the children as they sat around the table, eating their dinner and paying no attention to her. Finally when they were done, the woman would push whatever leftovers there was from all the plates together, add some old bread and passed the plate to Petra. The child would accept the plate thankfully and sit herself down on the ground by the door to finish her scant meal within minutes. Once done, she would head to the well and drink as much as she could to fill her stomach and attempt to quench the thirst she always felt. That was to be her only meal of the day and then she was locked once more into the cold shed.

She knew her name was Petranella. She knew that she was abandoned and that no one wanted her. She knew that she was evil and unnatural. A mistake. This was something she heard over and over growing up. What Petra never understood was why she was only two years old but looked like she was six. She knew she was found half frozen, by the family she lived with when the farm dogs had dragged her bundled up in the leather jacket, into the farm grounds. The man had taken the leather jacket for himself and in the pocket, he had found a note saying that her name was Petranella and that her mother had passed. The man's wife hadn't wanted her there in their farm. She had noticed the teeth and the dried blood and had decided then and there that she was something evil. She called her a Vampir or the Devil's child. The man wanted to keep her, guessing immediately that she would be a sturdy farmhand and he would have a slave to do all his bidding. The woman, with her fear and her inability to convince the man otherwise, would hang garlic chains around every window and doorway of the house. She would refuse to let the child into the house and the rickety old shed became her home from that day forward. She never grew up to kind words or loving touches. All she knew was the heavy hand of the man as he would knock her to the ground. Her bruises always healed by the next day. Her cuts usually took a little longer to heal but every time they had a visitor in the house, there was never a sign of abuse to be noticed on her. Except for the look of utter hopelessness in her young eyes.

Embry

The rain fell softly as I stood outside the little funeral parlor. I didn't have a raincoat on or an umbrella and I let the rain soak into my hair and the old suit I wore. My chest felt tight and heavy, and I didn't understand why. It wasn't like my mother and I had shared a close bond or there was any love lost between us. In fact, we've hardly even spoken since I'd started college in Port Angeles almost two years ago. It was almost nice that way. Two years of not having her remind me everyday that I had ruined her life, two years of not having to see the look of loathing in her face every time she laid her eyes on me. Basically it had been two years of relative peace, yet here I stood feeling...bad.

My mind drifted back to the call I had received from Emily two nights ago. I was in the bathroom in a little bar close to where I lived, thrusting into a girl I had grinned hello to less than twenty minutes ago. I never answered my phone when I was in the middle of a fuck and I didn't understand why I did that day. It was almost automatic, never missing my rhythm as I fished my phone out of my pocket and barked out a hello. I heard Emily's sobs over the low bass sounds almost vibrating off the walls.

"Emily? What's wrong?" I said into the phone.

"Embry, sweetie?" she sobbed and I went on thrusting. "There's been an accident."

"Uh-huh? Is it Sam?" I panted. "He'll be ok." Damn, she knows that since becoming wolves, we heal fast.

"Embry, it's your mother!"

I went still as the girl clenched around me and squealed as she came. But I was past all that. I pulled away from her and yanked my pants back into place. My throat felt tight suddenly.

"What?" I rasped.

"It's your mom, sweetie. She – she didn't make it."

And standing there in that dingy little hell hole, I realized that I was alone. I was basically an orphan.

Emily, true to form, had made all the arrangements and I was grateful. But somehow I couldn't bring myself into the building for the little memorial service. Right now there were a few of her fellow teachers and the principle of the Tribal School. And also some of her students. I had seen a few sobbing teens and I had wondered about that. She had always seemed bitter yet it looks like she had warmed up enough for other people's children. Yeah, they never ruined her life. I was sure that the place would be packed. I could smell my pack brothers in there, with their families. I was touched somewhat that they were here yet I couldn't make myself go in.

"Why are you hiding out here?"

I turned when I heard Sam's voice. He remained under the shelter of the porch, leaning his shoulder against the wall while I looked up into the sky and let the rain fall on my face. I was worried that the tears that were prickling behind my eyelids might escape and I didn't want Sam to see them. The cool rain felt good against the heat behind my lids. I didn't understand it, why did I feel like this?

"Seriously man, come on in and say a few words," he urged.

"Are you joking?"

"She's your mom, Embry."

I laughed, it came out sounding harsh. Why? "What do I say? Do I go in there and tell them that I ruined her life? That she would have had great success had it not been for me? That after all the sacrifices that she's done for me, I turned out to be a total ingrate?"

"Come on, man. There has to be something good."

"I can't do this," I turned and walked off. I heard Sam calling me back but I kept walking. Thankful that he was not using the Alpha command.

I had imagined a lot of things. She'd always said that I'd be no good, just like him, the guy who fathered me. And I wanted to prove to her. I wanted to be someone successful, force her to acknowledge that I'd made someone of myself. Maybe she'd be happy to see me then? But I guess that expectation of mine was all taken away, just because she chose to run across a road while some drunk off his ass schmuck was behind the wheel of his car. I guess I was never going to know if I would ever be good enough for her.

I wandered around the rez, not bothered with the rain. I kept ignoring my phone that wouldn't stop ringing, finally having enough with my own ring tone, I pulled it out of my pocket and turned it off. Eventually I wandered into the cemetery. I guess I owed her after all, she did feed me and raise me, regardless of how reluctant she had been. I was expecting the burial to be over, but I guess they were waiting for me and as I approached, I saw Jake's dad sort of signal me with a nod of his head and I stepped up beside him and did everything that he told me to do kind of mechanically. And then it was all over. I stood stock still as people patted my back and squeezed my shoulder or hand as they told me how nice my mother had been and how she changed their lives. And then finally it was just Jake, Quil and me. That was surprising. I hadn't even realised that Jake was in town.

"You came?" I said.

"Yeah, you thought I wouldn't be here for you?" Jake asked.

"How're you, dude?" Quil asked.

I shrugged. I really didn't know. I was numb, that's for sure. And ridiculously touched that Jake flew half away across the country not to spout bullshit to me about how great my mom was, but to just be there for me. I had not been entirely happy when Jake chose to leave with the Cullens, not entirely believing him when he'd said he'd be back. But times like this, you realize again and again that he's a true friend and you can depend on him to keep his word.

"Come on, you have a choice of going to Emily's, she's having like a thing in her house for your mom, or we can go to my place where you know the house will be empty coz my mom's at Emily's," Quil said.

"My mom's house would be empty too, right?" I asked. Technically it was my house. Not just because she was dead now, but because it was actually my house. Left to me by Sam's grandfather.

"Yeah, but dude, do you really want to go there?"

"Yeah," I said flatly.

I walked through the house. She hadn't made any changes at all. It was still tidy and clean like she always had it. I went into my room. She'd been in here. It was definitely cleaner than I'd left it. I looked into the closet, and was surprised to find some of the clothes that I hadn't taken to Port Angeles laundered and neatly hanging. I changed out of my wet clothes, into comfortable sweats and went back to the living room to find that Jake had ordered pizzas. Thank God. I didn't know why I had wanted to come back here. I couldn't bring myself to eat or drink anything that was in the kitchen. It just seemed wrong somehow.

"Where were you earlier? You didn't show for the service and you almost missed the funeral," Jake asked.

"Just walked around. I – I don't know what I'm supposed to feel," I confessed.

We all fell silent. If anyone knows anything about losing their mother, it would be Jake. But his mom had loved him. In fact, she had loved everyone around her, including me, anytime I had gone over. I used to wish she was my mom too. I had cried when she had died and Jake had sobbed and sobbed uncontrollably into his sisters' arms. Billy had been in hospital and had missed the funeral and Jake's aunts and uncles had all come down and taken over until Billy was well enough to take care of what was left of his family.

"Do you miss her?" I asked Jake.

"My mom?" he asked and I nodded. "Yeah, I don't think of her as much as I used to. But there are times that I wish she could see me. I like to think she'd be proud of me." He fell silent for a while, before he continued. "Esme, she does things for me, simple things like pouring me a glass of milk and I think of my mom. I've not had milk with a meal since I was a little kid, but she wants to do that for me and I let her and I remember my mom doing that for me," he trailed off.

Jake had memories of his mom, happy nostalgic memories that he wants to carry with him forever. I couldn't think of a single thing that my mom did for me with love. She never loved me. What do I remember so fondly? We chomped on our pizzas for a little while and then I decided to change the subject.

"How is it in vamp land?" I asked. Jake was in a mega expensive college, I was in college, but Quil had opted to go to art school. He was a really good air brush artist and he's been talking about going into business with little Claire's dad.

"Same old, same old," Jake murmured.

"Uh-huh. You get laid yet?" I asked.

"Dude!" Quil spluttered. "Nessie's just...like 3 now?"

"I wasn't talking about Nessie, you ass."

"I don't think Jake would—" Quil started rather defensively.

"There's this girl in his Investment class," I grinned. I had gotten this from Jake from one of our many nightly chats. "She's sweet on him, sending out all sorts of invitations and our friend here's actually contemplating her."

Quil turned to stare at Jake, mouth agape. "You're cheating on Nessie?"

"I'm not cheating on Nessie! We're not in a relationship!" Jake said.

"But...but."

"She's still a kid. And who knows what the future holds? She could fall in love with someone else," he explained.

"How about you, man? Aren't you in love with her?" Quil looked troubled and suddenly I felt guilty for steering the conversation in this direction.

Jake was silent for a moment. Gathering his thoughts. "I love her. She's my imprint, so you know how intense those feelings are. But am I in love with her? I don't know. Do other women turn me on? Yes. Do I want to explore something in that direction? I don't know. Am I pursuing other women? No, they're pursuing me."

"Then what about this girl in your class?" Quil demanded.

"I don't know."

"Tell him what happened last Friday," I urged Jake, the devil in me raising his head again.

Jake sighed. "We had this group study thing at her place and when it was time to leave she asked me to stay awhile to help her with something." I laughed out at this, I mean how obvious was that. But not to Jake. "So I stayed, and well, she kissed me and, I dunno, man, I kissed her back and suddenly her shirt was off and her boobs were in my hands."

Quil was hanging on to every word. The expression on his face was almost comical. "Then what happened?" he whispered.

"Then my phone rang, and I got the hell out of there."

"Who was it?" Quil asked.

"What, the girl? Her name's Lizzie. I've actually met her before in Port Angeles."

"No, you idiot! Who was on the phone? Why did you get out of there? Bet it was Daddy Eddie."

"Nah. It was Nessie. She was worried cuz it was late and I hadn't made it back for dinner."

"Ah!" Quil laughed. "You felt guilty, didn't you?"

"Nope. This is why I'm telling you that I don't know how I feel. I did not feel guilty. I had a massive hard on, but I didn't actually want to do her. So I left."

"I'll tell you this man, you have a hell of a lot of willpower," I said lazily.

But Quil had something else in his mind. "Aren't you afraid what might happen if Edward finds out?"

"He knows," Jake said as he kicked off his shoes. Fancy shoes I noticed. Soft leather. His dressing style had changed a lot in the three plus years he'd been gone.

"And he didn't kill you?"

"Actually he encouraged me," Jake shrugged. "I dunno, maybe he's hoping I may meet someone else and get out of his hair?"

"I thought you were taking an Engineering Degree? How come you have an Investment class?" Quil demanded.

"Taking some extra classes on the side," Jake answered in a sleepy voice.

It was hours and hours after Jake and Quil had left that I finally gave up any pretense of trying to sleep and wandered the little house again. Then I entered the one room that I had yet to step foot into—my mom's room. The last time I had run in here was when I'd been a little kid, after a nightmare. She'd marched me right back to my room. I'd never stepped foot in there again and here I was today. This had been her sanctuary. I let my eyes wander around the room, nothing changed over the years. Her brushes on her vanity, the little trinkets spread out everywhere. No photographs, I thought bitterly, yet almost laughing at myself. Was I actually expecting her to have my picture somewhere? Then my eyes fell on a photo album that sat on her bedside table. Curious I reached out for it.

The first page had a crumpled old picture of her. Her and him. I'd never seen this picture before. She looked young, very young and she looked happy and lovely. She had a flowered blouse on and she was leaning her head on his shoulder as he grinned cockily at the camera. He must've been so much older than her. And he looked just like me. She must have seen him every time she'd looked at me.

Then there was a picture of an older couple. Her parents I guess and I didn't dally around looking at that picture much. They didn't care about me, I don't care about them.

The next page shook me a little. It was a picture of me. At least I'm sure it was me. I was a baby, and I was sound asleep with my arms flung out over my head. She'd taken a picture of me and she'd kept it. I didn't know how I felt about that. And the next one was a picture of Jake, Quil and me, taken during Halloween when we were about five. I remember this picture. Quil's dad had taken us trick-or-treating and he had taken the picture just before we'd all set out. Basically, the rest of the album was pictures of me. The last one taken at my high school graduation. She'd kept them all.

I didn't understand it really. She had the album by her bedside. Did she look at them every night before she fell asleep or did she look at them in the morning? What did she think? What ran through her mind? Why did she have them?

This would be something that would bother me all through the years. Did she keep the album there to look at the picture of him? Or did she look at the picture of her parents. Or did she look at me? I would never know the answer and somehow that realization propelled the feeling that I had been suppressing for the past two days. I broke down and I cried.

A/N: I like hearing what you thought of my writing. I'd like to know what you think needs improving. For those of you who feel that my writing has improved from my first story, it's because of all the words of encouragements and constructive criticism that I received. So please review. Tell me what you think. Thanks!