A/N: This one is dedicated to my beta SweeneyAnne, who said, "Hey, you should write a JPOV of chapter 18!" I then proceeded to write this, which takes place during chapter 17. Oops. ;-)
Thanks to carolinagirl1275 for pre-reading.
I don't own Twilight.
It starts with teeth.
This time it started with my teeth, and I honestly can't figure out how I ever thought that might lead to anything but pain, because it never has before.
It ends with a kiss.
One press of lips to skin and mouth and she's gone before she's even started running, and before I even realize I've done it I've let her go; I'm left staring blankly at the door as it swings on its hinges, wrestling with this new and sudden onset of anger and frustration toward everything in sight because once again that just wasn't good enough.
It's been months.
Months of uncertainty and doubt pushed callously to the side in favor of getting her to this point, this moment. Right here, right now, and I still can't get it right—but it doesn't really matter because she's not looking for it. A little part of me wishes that I could hate her for all of this, but it passes quickly with guilt quick on its tail; she's probably just not ready to see what's happened between us, and I'd known this wasn't going to be easy.
Still, nearly six months of repressed frustration is boiling inside me, and the pressure is building too high to keep it in anymore.
I hate the fuck out of this goddamned house, this stupid sofa, and that far too innocent beige splashed across the walls—it's all tainted, it all belongs to her, and no matter what happens it always will. I know that if this ends badly I'm never gonna be able to come back here again, and fuck, this is my purgatory. This is my place for grief and atonement, and I foolishly let myself believe that maybe Bella could turn it into something better than that, and it's just too hard for me to remember that maybe she still can.
I'm pissed at Peter, because he tried and tried to tell me to step up and do something, but he never pushed just a little bit too hard.
Charlotte's the easiest, because really, is it so much to ask for her to just give a shove in the right direction?
Mostly I'm just mad at myself—at what I've become, because before she came along I never would have let myself get all caught up and twisted backwards over something so far outside of anyone's control.
I never would have let such a minor victory inspire me to forget all the carefully constructed scenarios I'd concocted, and somewhere between despising absolutely everything and trying to figure out what the hell happened tonight, I decide that Peter will have all the answers—and he does, just not the ones I want.
'Yes, Jasper, there is something wrong with you—it's that you've completely lost your balls. Have you tried looking in the last place you had them?'
At least he's promised to send Char out to find her.
It takes a lot to convince myself that his words aren't why I sprawl out on top of Bella's bed and stare at the ceiling rafters that were step two in this monstrous fuck-up of mine.
Really, I just want to know how the hell she always manages to do this, how with the bat of her eye she can ensure that absolutely nothing goes according to plan every single time.
All she had to do was turn one goddamned page in a book, and all sanity flew right out the window, and I threw everything away on that pitiful excuse of a kiss.
It could have been hard, could have been throw her back and pry her lips open and just drown. It could have been all those first kisses I'd imagined over the months rolled up into one, and instead I let it be a soft congratulations, a thank you, when it shoulda been an 'I love the fuck outta you.'
The regret's almost enough to make me want to just stop, stop everything and retrace my steps and get back to that place we were in back in Forks—but you can't stop something like this. No matter what I tell myself as I lay here, when I get up she's still going to be long and soft brown hair, wide eyes trying to be brave when she doesn't understand the world around her, and little lies told just because she likes the feel of my arms around her.
She'll still be the first person who ever completely believed in me with no reservations, regardless of all the evidence that she shouldn't. She'll be forgiveness, small smiles, and trying to make me feel better when she's so fucked up she doesn't even know how bad she's hurting.
She'll always be that little girl who put on boots two sizes too big and got pissed off 'cause she couldn't even walk in them, much less run. She'll always pry answers out of me that I don't want to give, and she'll always ask why instead of how.
She's always going to be that thing that chases away the rage and hate, and that's something that just can't be ignored—not when it only takes thinking about her to calm me down and eradicate the flow that had been running through my veins less than an hour ago.
And I'm always gonna love her for it.
All I'd wanted was to do right by her, to be able to look back and say that I did my best and this time it had actually been enough—but that was a lie, and it was never that simple anyway. I just want her, and I can't have her if I can't be good.
My best slaughtered, my best destroyed, and when I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of her off the sheets I wonder if I'll ever be able to say that now she's my best instead of that beast pacing it's cage, patiently waiting for me to let it out again. I want her to be, for her to be that one thing I didn't screw up, for her to be that one time I got it all right—but now it might be over, and her flight is evidence that I got it wrong yet again.
Her short strides echoing in the hall make my eyes snap open, and for just a second I can see what she did the first time she laid on this bed and stared at the dust swirling around those rafters; it really is entrancing.
Footsteps sound closer, pausing outside the door before I hear her take a deep breath and enter the room, and it's without thought that I roll to make room for her, completely out of my hands to be pleased when she accepts the invitation and climbs up and lays next to me.
For a second I let myself think that maybe this won't be so bad, but that's only until she takes another breath and utters words that spell potential death to any relationship, no matter the type.
"I need to talk to you." It's just another version of 'we need to talk.'
I get a good look at her and realize just how hard she's trying to stay angry, and when I smell Peter on her my first thought is that he really is a lying son of a bitch, but that's quickly followed by the realization that I just might be completely fucked.
"Sure." Not like I could stop it now if I tried.
She breathes in and out, tries to shore up her courage, and fiddles with the buttons of my shirt, and that small, insignificant action makes me feel just a little better. If she was really as pissed as she's acting she wouldn't do something like this, and that's all it takes for me to make up my mind.
One way or another it's all gonna come out in the open tonight. Either she'll ask, or I'll tell her—I'm just too sick and tired of all these games.
She makes her move, and everything...absolutely everything comes gushing forth.
It feels too good to just tell her, to finally say these words to her face and let out everything that's been pent up for months on end, and I'm not really all that sure how I'd even managed to do it. This weight that's lifting...it almost doesn't matter what she thinks of any of this as long as that burden is gone.
Almost.
Even the look on her face that tells me she's heard enough and she just might be able to see the other side of the coin can't make me stop. In some sick way this is so much like that very first time, that dreary day in Philadelphia when Alice told me that the strange and disorienting emotion swirling all around was called hope.
For one reason or another, she forgives me, and I think that maybe if I hadn't loved her already I would now. It doesn't really matter that I can't figure out if hiding everything from her is just another thing to add to the pile of shit I gotta make up for, I don't even care, because it's over. It's done, and I can tell from the look in her eyes that she thinks so, too.
A hundred whispered words that mean little more than 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' come spilling out of my mouth anyway, and I don't think I've ever apologized as much as I have to her in my entire life, but then again, I'd never been forgiven before she came along, either.
"I promise," I whisper after she delivers her poorly disguised ultimatum, and I do.
Her insecure request for definition is almost enough to have me laughing at her, but this shit's important to her, so I try and give the best answer I can, and somehow it's enough, for now.
She doesn't know, she won't know how all encompassing the word mate is until she has to feel it for herself, and that's fine by me. I'd rather her think in terms of love forever, and never have to know what it's like to think you're going to lose the one thing that matters most.
She fidgets and lets out little sighs, and I can't help but look for an in, for that one small chance to go and fix the too friendly kiss I pecked across her cheek, and it's almost eerie how quickly she gives me one.
And Jesus, this girl is so much damn trouble, but she's always been worth it, and the feel of her finally pressed against me is no exception.
It's one of those times when I hate having the ability to think of a multitude of things at once, because what I want is to be completely lost in the taste, smell and feel of her under my hands and mouth—but somewhere in the background is that persistent thought that I've never done anything in my life to deserve something this amazing.
I don't care; I won't let myself, because it doesn't matter. Who gives a fuck if their reward comes from hell or heaven when she's lying underneath, breathing heavily, and chasing all the bad away.
"You wouldn't believe how fucking long I've waited for this."
"How long?" she asks, and it takes me a second to answer, because I hadn't actually noticed I said it out loud.
"Hmm...That's a tricky question," I answer as I try to figure out how to say I've waited forever for her. All my life, she's the one thing that's always been missing, and once she was there I'd always wanted something from her, even if in the beginning it was just her blood. "Forever? It feels like I've always wanted you in some way or another."
And for once I think that maybe I got it perfectly right.