A/N: I honestly hope I am not updating too slowly. :) (Three days—is that a large gap?)

Happy late-ish Halloween. (I assure you, though, this chapter isn't so scary.)

So with that, here is chapter three (along with more J/B than you can handle in a story this angsty…).

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Chapter Three.

Jacob runs for a long time. You lose count of how long it was after a time. (But then you realize that trying to count the time hasn't been doing so much good for you, anyway. So you give up.)

You find your breath hitching repeatedly, and with each unsteady breath brought some kind of assurance from Jake that everything was okay, everything would be figured out. You're not sure if you can believe him yet or not, though. It still seems too early to rise up on hope, only to be crushed the next moment.

As soon as you are within the depth of the trees (which, surprisingly, took a shorter time than you'd have thought—but then again, Jacob was basically super-human), it begins to rain. Hard.

Vaguely you wonder, as Jake sets you back down on your feet, if this was the storm Embry was talking about. But then you feel silly for thinking that—after all, he had just meant for it to be metaphoric. But when you feel the scorching cold and wetness through the thick canopy of trees above you, and you are getting wet, you decide that maybe he'd meant it in more ways than that. Because it wasn't just raining—it was positively pouring.

You're only subtly aware of Jake's stripping off of his long sleeved t-shirt, revealing his much-too-big-for-a-sixteen-year-old body underneath, and then you find yourself smiling to yourself as you realize Natalie probably would have been a bit suspicious if Jake wandered around half-naked all the time. At least you have that one guilty pleasure that she could never have.

All thoughts are blocked off a spasm of cold air rushes around your body, and you're thinking how stupid if was of you to wear nothing but a thin sweatshirt. Then again, you hadn't expected to be ran off to some remote part of the forest (and with remoteness comes coldness).

But you're not cold anymore, suddenly; of course, you shouldn't be surprised that Jake wouldn't allow that. His arms are around you in less than a second after the rain begins to pours down, and you automatically feel sweltering. The rain seems to sizzle right off his skin, hardly having a chance to throw its coldness into effect. You're wet, but you're warm. And you can live with that.

He's breathing hard, making you impossibly warmer, and you have reason to think it might not be because of the run. His body quivers against yours suddenly, violently (and continues), and you wouldn't have been able to tell he was sobbing if it weren't for the sound he made. Oh, God—just the sound of it. It was enough to get you going, and you realized you both were probably a pitiful sight; clutching each other like life lines, crying like that's what you'd been born to do. And then you realize you don't give care what you look like. The point of running away was not to stress about who could see you and who couldn't—but then you know that Jacob could hold a better façade than you any day. You almost thought he was happy back at the house, but looking at him now… made you seem ridiculous.

You're not sure how long you two stood there like that—maybe minutes, maybe hours, but then you realize they would have come looking for you if it had been that long… or maybe not. Natalie seemed willing to give you all the time you needed. All you know is that enough time had passed to the point where you'd memorized what Jake's tears felt like, sliding down your face along with yours, and you thought you knew those drops of wetness better from the rain around you.

Another enormous shudder passes through Jake's body before he begins speaking.

"Haven't cried… in so long," he gasps into your hair.

"Not me," you reply in a shaky laugh. "I can't remember a day when I haven't cried since you've been gone, Jake." You instantly feel awful for saying that out loud, though, no matter how true it is. No need to add to the pain that is inevitably engulfing Jacob right now.

"I believe you," he says simply, his voice choking, his arms constricting tighter around you. But as though an electric jolt shocked his body, his convulsions stop. And his retching sobs stop. And he seems to be desperately trying to make his voice audible, but you know you could have heard him from a mile away at that moment.

"Bells," he whispers now. "I am going to start talking and you have to promise not to interrupt."

"You know I can't guarantee anything."

He chuckles softly, kissing a line up the side of your face. "Yeah," he says at last, "I guess I knew that."

But then you realize that maybe Jacob deserves something, and the least you could do was shut your big, fat, stubborn mouth for a few moments while Jacob got out what needed to.

"I'll try and be good," you mumble after a few moments. "I'm sorry. I swear I'll try."

He doesn't reply for several minutes, but you are perfectly content with that. You use those few minutes to gather yourself together again, wiping your tears against the burning hot skin of his chest, and you calm yourself enough so that your breath is not as hasty and unsteady. You lean your ear gently against his bare chest, trying to find the sound of his heartbeat. It doesn't take you long.

His heartbeat is like… thumpump… thumpump… thumpump… repeated over and over. Very evenly, yet very fast at the same time. You have it memorized before his next words are out. And his next words were not what you were expecting.

"I've ran out of clever things to say, Bella," he murmurs. "So just shoot me now."

You're baffled, but not for long. "Never," you insist quietly.

He sighs; a long, huge sigh. You sigh along with him and swear you've never been more comfortable in your entire life—at least under the circumstances. Many more minutes pass, though it seems like just seconds.

"Oh, God," he growls, and his sudden aggressive tone takes you aback. "You'll never know how infuriating… how frustrating… how much it just sucks to be me right now."

"I could never even dream," you agree softly, tightening your hold around his neck and leaning back just a bit to get a better look at his face. His expression is so tortured that you regret looking in the first place.

You hadn't noticed until just then that the rain had gone to a faint drizzle. Jacob's face is entirely too gorgeous in the dim light of the evening… in the wondrous sparkle of the rain. Raindrops stick like dew to the tips of his jet black hair, and you swear you'd never seen a warmer face than his. Warmth could be tangible by just looking at his face, not always by being in contact with his skin; that was always a comfort, in some strange way, though. (Although you'd never turn down a chance to touch his skin.)

"Bella," he gasps suddenly, seeming to startle you both. His eyes are suddenly wide, his grip around your waist stiff. "I don't suppose… you'd ever thought… well…"

"You can tell me anything, Jacob," you murmur when he hesitates.

"I know that." He gathers a huge breath before starting again. "I don't suppose you'd ever thought that… that maybe an imprint… could be broken?"

"What?" This idea shocks you so much, you find yourself fidgeting in his arms. But also… just the idea of this… a broken imprint? It's too much for your brain to fathom, much too great at the same time.

And much too impossible, you're nearly sure of this. (Then again, you're not a werewolf, and you're definitely not a werewolf expert.)

Jacob's look suddenly averts down, like he's ashamed he suggested this. "Sorry," he says quickly, proving you correct. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"No, no!" you nearly shout, and he looks at you with a peculiar expression on his face. "Where did you get that idea, Jake? I would really like to discuss that." A look that suggest he is unsure flashes across his face and that look stays. "Please," you whisper, cupping his smoldering cheek with your hand. "Please."

"I'm not… really sure that would be… a good idea," Jacob chokes, and the tone of his voice reminds you of so long ago, when he'd first 'broken the rules' and came in through your bedroom window to tell you he was a werewolf. There's the same desperation in his voice, the same… frustration. And you suddenly understand.

"Because of Sam?" you whisper.

You were not expecting his reaction.

In a sudden burst of rage, he breaks free from your arms, letting go of you and stumbling backwards, leaving you to gasp in shock (while you stumble back a few feet as well). He grips his head with his two large hands like he has a major headache, and you hear a loud growling noise coming from deep within his chest. A string of swearing flows unmistakably under his breath, and his body begins to quiver dangerously. You can't move.

A few moments pass, and you're not out of your shocked state yet. He then begins to yell—quite loudly, actually—and you automatically feel the need to cry. What in the hell did you say to make him act this way?

Jacob is trying to calm himself, you can tell. You wouldn't have said anything if you'd known he would react so strongly. You try to recollect yourself, as well, and you remind yourself to breathe when your lungs begin to ache in your chest.

The whole of his body has stopped shaking, but his hands still tremble in clenched fists.

"God damn it, Bella!" he finally roars, and you're so taken aback that you have absolutely nothing to say. What did you do wrong, for crying out loud? "Must every fucking thing be all about Sam?"

No words escape your mouth. You're still deciding whether you should say anything at all.

"That's all you ever thought," he continues to shout, and you flinch with every word. At the same time, you understand now. You'd just never known he'd felt so strongly about the whole Sam issue. You'd never really thought it was such a big deal. "Sam's not the ruler of my life, you know!"

You finally find your voice, although your words are weak. "He's… pack leader, right? The alpha," you whisper.

"That doesn't mean he tells me what ideas I can and can't have! I thought up all that broken imprint shit all my own. It's probably not even possible," he says, his voice slightly calmer, breaking on the last word.

"I… couldn't have known that." You can't think of anything else to say. You still can't understand his rage.

"Of course you couldn't have," he growls.

Seconds pass. Confusion sweeps your mind. "What's there to be angry about, then?"

"I'm—I just—oh, Jesus, Bella, I don't know!" There's a pause while he seems to contemplate what to say next, and the fury in his eyes seems to grow impossibly larger. "There's everything to be angry about. You could not even believe the turmoil going on inside me right now. You couldn't even understand."

That hits a nerve. "Don't you tell me I couldn't understand!" you say, and now you're the one yelling. "Can you even being to imagine how broken up I've been these past few months? Do you even remotely know how painful being away from you has been?!" You don't stop—you're building momentum. "I'll answer all those questions for you. No, you can't! You're the one who doesn't understand, Jake."

But since you don't want to be angry at him, and you'd never wanted to be angry at him, you stop. It's too hard to be mad at Jake… too painful.

The look on his face is a solid, emotionless mask. Strange enough, tears trickle silently down his cheeks, but he doesn't acknowledge them. A frown seems to be engraved permanently into his skin. You want to look away from the sight; you don't want to know how much pain you've caused him…

"Sometimes…," he whispers at last, his expression unchanging. "Sometimes I wish I hated you, Bella. No—I just wish I liked you a lot less." His breathing turns very irregular, and his face and eyes turn upward. A cold smile plays itself across his face, and you hate that smile. "Then maybe it'd be a lot easier to live my life if I weren't so in love with you. Maybe if I… if I loved you as much as Embry loves you… I could live with that." That completely surprises you, that he'd say something like that; your bones freeze. He laughs loud (probably at the expression on your face), just once. "Don't think I don't know what's going on with you two," he murmurs dangerously. "But anyway, I guess I should know what's going on 'cause I'm the one that asked Embry to do it for me in the first place. He's doing much too good of a job, too, that bastard… and I know what he really thinks it's become in his mind." Jacob frowns, and so do you.

And silently, you agree with him; you know how Embry feels.

Jacob turns his eyes to look at you now, though his head still points to the sky. And suddenly, that smile is no longer cold, no longer strange and unwelcoming. It's the smile you've grown to love, the smile that could bright up your day in an instant. It was just a smile—but it was also your whole world.

"I should hate you, Bells," he murmurs, but his voice isn't hostile or angry. It's gentle and soft and soothing and calm, even if the words are not so much. With two strides he has you in his arms again. Gratefully, you weep into his bare skin. "So, why don't I hate you?"

"Yes," you quietly agree. "You should hate me. And I don't know why you don't. I guess you're fool or something." The words probably sting you more than him. You don't mean them, anyway, so you don't know why they hurt. "You are wrong about one thing, though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," you mumble, voice shaking. "Chances are it wouldn't be easier for you to live your life if you weren't in love with me." You actually hadn't had anything to say before you'd started speaking this theory, but it immediately makes sense in your head and you know it's true. "I'd always go back for you, you know. And then I'd know just what you feel like when you wish you hated me so badly, and you'd probably think it's what I deserved for loving you. But I don't wish I hated you, Jacob," you whisper, suddenly too weak to speak as strongly as before. "Never would I wish I hated you."

"Hm," Jacob mumbles simply, lazily. "Lucky for you."

His words make you feel strange, like maybe they probably weren't the best ones he could say. But he doesn't seem to know this; he doesn't seem to regret saying anything.

Like before, his hot lips find their way up and down the side of your face, brushing every so often against your noise, causing you to shiver. A light drizzle of rain continues above you, and you can sense the both of you are completely worn out from arguing, and completely content. You never know how the arguing starts, but you absolutely hate when it does.

"Ugh," he mutters suddenly, as if in disgust. His lips never stop circling the path of your hairline, down your temple, across your chin, and back again. Your heart beats erratically in your chest and you're breathing much too hard.

And then Jacob's lips veer off their regular path, finding a way above your lips, below your nose, stopping for a long time to repeatedly to kiss the skin there. You're shivering uncontrollably in his arms, and you know you should probably do something to stop this (even if he's not kissing your lips exactly—yet—but it's close enough), but you don't stop him. You don't want to stop him. And you know you wouldn't be able to, anyhow. So you don't.

And then suddenly you can't feel him there anymore—his face is moved away and his arms are holding you only lightly, and his lips aren't there anymore, even if the hot trail they left is. The feeling of denial and disappointment strikes through you so strongly and suddenly that your knees nearly collapse right then and there. Tears sting your eyes but you're too afraid to tell him what you want, so you bite your lip hard.

"We should be getting back now," he murmurs, cheeks positively flushing, even if he's smiling ever so slightly as well. "Nat is—I mean, they are probably wondering what the hell we're doing." You try not to flinch at his correction. His eyebrows pull together and a hard laugh escapes his mouth, causing you both to jump, intensifying the already-present awkwardness.

A pause stretches out for a moment, and you realize with a jolt that he's expecting you so say something. "Yeah, right," you gasp quickly. "It's… impolite to keep them waiting." Jacob nods, agreeing, and with one swift motion you are laying limp in his arms. Never was there a better time to represent you being generally so pathetic, always depending on other people. The thought makes the tears threaten to pool over, so you stop thinking about it.

"There could be more time to talk about this, if you'd like," he says in an almost inaudible husky voice, lips so close to your ear that they brush across it, and you're almost relieved to hear the same regret and wanting in his voice that you are currently feeling. It makes the pain a bit more bearable to know you feel the same about each other. But, at the same time, it almost doesn't help anything one bit.

And with that, you're flying through the air in Jacob's arms like before as he heads back in the direction of his house, where you will most definitely be forced to face a most definitely disastrous evening.

Vaguely, you remember Jacob's long sleeved t-shirt he'd left behind on the branch of a tree. (Just because he is a werewolf, it doesn't mean he has the memory of an elephant—you know him well enough to know this one thing about him.) And you are almost tempted to remind him, just to be nice, but then again you've never been exactly nice—so you leave it at that and selfishly smile to yourself, against the bare skin of his chest as your hair whips around you while Jacob runs through the forest.

You sense the clouds that part temporarily for the sun to peek out around the mountains, and you can breathe easier for the time being. Jacob has always been able to do that to you.

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A/N: Reviews are like cookies, honestly. (And I really like cookies.)