I NEED HELP! I only have enough for one more chapter, and then I'm probably going to have a uber long writers block again. I really don't want to abandon this story, but this is just annoying me.
Writer's Block is a vindictive bitch.
Chapter Four: Skeletons in my Closet
LPOV
After my little moment of bravery, I made a decision. I, Leah Clearwater, would not let those vapid, pea-brain, fuckheads get to me any more. My first obstacle: Jacob Black.
He came limping in ten minutes after I stomped his foot. I simply smiled at his glare and snatched my bag out of his hands. When I came back down the stairs, Jacob had gone back to bed and Billy and Charlie Swan left for a fishing trip. Not really wanting to watch T.V., I sat at the kitchen table and typed an essay on my MacBook, (bought with every penny of babysitting, art-store, and allowance money I had been saving since I was eight.) feeling really bored.
I heard Jacob before he appeared and rolled my eyes at the stomping noises coming from the stairs. Could he be more ungraceful? Stupid oaf.
I kept my eyes on my laptop screen, pretending to be really into my work. He shuffled around the kitchen, slamming cabinet doors and making a bowl of cereal. I was expecting him to leave so I could sit in peace.
No such luck.
Jacob plunked his cereal bowl on the table and settled in the spot across from me. There were a few moments of silence, then he began to eat. Listening to Jacob Black eat had to be the single most disgusting and annoying thing I had ever experienced. I wanted to punch him, but the table was a nice one and I didn't feel like cleaning up blood.
I calmly closed my laptop and pulled out a magazine, still ignoring him. I had yet to even look at him.
"Are you just going to ignore me?" He asked, obviously annoyed. I smirked, enjoying his restlessness.
"That's the plan." I said nonchalantly, flipping a page and settling on an article about the importance of good skin health. "Why? Does widdle Jakey-Wakey hate the quiet game?"
"Shut up."
"Gladly. Now stop talking to me."
"You don't have to respond."
"But that means you will get the last word, and I always get the last word."
"You're so fucking competitive."
"Whoa... Using a big-boy word there aren't you..."
"Would you stop that?"
"No."
He glared at me again over the rim of his cereal bowl. I rolled my eyes and set my things into a neat pile on my chair. "I'm going outside." I practically ran to the back door. "DO NOT FOLLOW ME, asshole..." I yelled over my shoulder, whispering the last part.
The backyard was surrounded by the peaceful green forest and I sighed, breathing in the fresh air to calm my nerves. There was a path leading further into the forest in front of me. My curiosity got the better of me and I began to follow it, not stopping until I encountered a garage.
It was old, dilapidated, and looked ready to cave in at any moment, so of course I wanted to explore it. I pushed open the sliding door and stepped inside only to be hit by the strong scent of motor oil. There was a fridge, a television, and even an old, rusted car that looked as if it had seen better days.
I was about to see if the T.V. had cable when I heard the garage handle turn. Twisting and turning frantically, I spied a place to hide. There was a crate behind me in the corner, covered with a blanket. It looked big enough to fit a person. I ran toward it and jumped inside, grabbing the blanket and throwing it over myself. I had just finished adjusting it when the door flew open. I could see the light through the cracks in the crates.
Peering out through a hole in the crate, I tried to get a glimpse of whomever it was.
It was Jacob. He had changed into a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and sneakers. I must had made a sound, because he turned and looked around the garage suspiciously. I threw a hand over my mouth to muffle any further sound.
Thankfully, he shrugged and closed the door again.
How in the hell am I going to get out of this one?
Have I mentioned how much I hate Writer's Block...?
IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS, PLEASE REVIEW OR PM ME!