Title: Magnetism

Author: buildmeapyramid

Fandom: Twilight Saga

Rating: M, for crude humor, language, slash pairings, and mature themes

Pairing: Edward/Jacob, very slight Edward/Bella and Jacob/Bella

Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga does not belong to me; it belongs to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. So please don't sue me.

A/N: There's not much Edward in this chapter, sorry m'dears. On the bright side, though, I'm introducing a new character that I absolutely adore just 'cause she's disturbingly like myself. So watch out for that bowl of soup!

~oOo~

4. Questions

I've met Edward twice this week since Monday. He's already got his poem picked out, but he fucking refuses to tell me what it is until I find one. I almost chose one by this guy named Wordsworth, but then I remembered that you have to understand the poem, and "A Poet's Epitaph" is way beyond my reading level. Hell, I don't even know what the fuck an epitaph is. So I'm still stumped. And Edward's being a fucking ass about helping me too. Every time I ask him to fucking help a brother out, he starts stuttering and saying something about "outside influences". Which means I'm stuck. I don't know how to find a poem, and I don't know how to get him to help me find one.

We don't talk at all today; we stare ahead with stone faces at the teacher as he lectures, and when he's done and the bell rings, we gather our shit and don't even look at each other as we leave. I sort of thought he'd be a little friendlier, but I'm grateful that he's not. Every time he speaks I have to catch myself to keep from simply watching his face as the words leave his mouth, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle and those pale cheeks light up with color.

It's different at lunch though. Today I talk to him, because when I walk through the door, I see her, and it makes my steps falter and my eyes widen.

Her hair is curled, and she's wearing more makeup than I've ever seen on her—hell, I never knew she wears makeup in the first place—and she's giggling like an idiot and practically sitting on Newton's lap. Her left hand is in his hair and her right is toying with the buttons of his shirt, and Newton looks like he's in fucking heaven. I know I shouldn't be surprised—Newton's been after her since freshman year—but I've never seen her act so . . . shallow. Like being sprawled across a guy's lap is all she's ever wanted in life. She looks like a slut, and it makes me want to puke.

My nails dig into my palms as agony rips through me, and my eyes roam the room, searching for something—I don't really know what—until my gaze land on him, and I smile as I glance back at Bella. She's got her lips against Newton's ear, and she's whispering something to him, but I see her cast a burning stare at Edward as she does, and I know that stare will be on me the second I sit down. My smile widens.

I breeze past her table, pointedly ignoring her incessant giggling, and stride toward him. He looks up as I approach, and I see his eyes widen in surprise as I give him a tight smile, hiding everything I'm feeling, and slide into a seat next to him. I see passing kids crane their heads to stare at us, whispering to each other, but I square my jaw and grin at him and say, "Hey."

He swallows. "Hey."

I glance back at Bella, and she's glaring at me over Newton's shoulder, but the kid has his mouth fastened to her neck, and she can't do anything more than shoot daggers at me with her eyes. A surge of vicious satisfaction runs through me. I turn to Edward. "So, what're your plans for the weekend?" I ask, smiling a bit more as I feel her stare burning at my skin.

He seems to have struggle speaking for a moment. "I-I'm going-I'm going camping," he finally stutters, avoiding my eyes, but I'm too high off Bella's jealousy to care about his obvious discomfort.

"Oh, sounds fun," I reply, smirking. I can feel her anger from across the room. Adrenaline is pounding through my veins, and electricity is crackling along my skin, energizing me. She's right there. And she's angry. And it's because of me. I grin and Edward's lips part, and the movement makes me stare for a moment before I meet his eyes again, and those flecks of gold are bursting in his emerald eyes, like fireworks. I thought Bella's eyes were beautiful, but his . . .

"Jacob." The words come out in a half-sigh, and I forget how to breathe for a moment as he says my name. Everyone calls me "Jake" now; my mom was the only one to ever call me by my full name. I savor it, but I don't why. "Jacob, why are you sitting here?"

I take a deep breath, staring into his eyes, and I'm just about to answer with a carefully cheerful lie when we're both startled by the loud slam of a tray against the table. We look over to where Alice is sliding gracefully into her seat like a fucking bird without wings, and her eyebrows are up all the way as she studies the two of us. Her eyes scan me, and I don't like the knowing gleam that flickers in them when she smiles at me coolly. "What are you doing here, Jake?"

I smile back just as politely. "Just thought I'd sit with a new friend," I say, but I make the mistake of glancing once more at Bella, who's now feeding Newton with her eyes zeroed in on me, and Alice notices.

Her eyes narrow. "Why aren't you sitting next to Bella?" she asks, taking a dainty bite from her apple even as Bella lets out a loud, trilling laugh that reverberates around the room, making people pause and stare.

I swallow hard and try to smile. "She's doing just fine without me," I answer shakily, and Alice's eyes harden for a moment before she looks away and falls into silence.

We don't talk much for the next ten minutes of lunch—I attempt to ask Alice about the eating habits of giraffes, but she stubbornly ignores me. Once, Edward mentions something about the weather, but seeing as Forks doesn't have a very varied forecast, I don't really know how to reply, and we all sit there with mouths shut. It's strange being with Edward here, in school. At his house I'm comfortable, and we talk and stuff, and once or twice I crack a joke and we have a laugh together. Here though, whenever I try to have a real conversation with him, I freeze up, afraid I'll say something wrong or end up distracted by his eyes or his smile or the way the light from the window catches the gold tints in his hair. So I stay quiet, and sometimes he gives me this long look, like he wants to say something but doesn't know how, before returning my silence.

Bella's laugh draws my eye just as the bell rings and I brace myself as her gaze falls on me again. I can see it in her eyes—she's pissed. Really pissed. End-of-the-world pissed.

In my moment of distraction Edward and Alice stand to leave, and I know I can't chicken out this time and go to the Cullens' to avoid her. I've got to go home and wait for her, and lay it all out so I can figure out what the fuck we're doing. Which is why I hesitate for a moment, but take a breath and reach out a hand to stop Edward. "Um, I don't think I'll be able to come over today," I tell him awkwardly, distracted by the feel of his cotton shirt beneath my fingertips.

He studies me, moss-colored eyes narrowed in contemplation, before he nods and gives me a tiny smile. "Okay."

I take a step back and he slips past me, and my hand shakes as I lift it to tangle in my hair.

~oOo~

I hear the door bang open and angry footsteps, and I know who it is even before I hear her shrill voice shrieking down the hall. "Jacob Ephraim Black, get your fucking ass out here now!" she screams, and I wince when I hear the sound of shattering glass. My mouth is dry and I have no idea what I'll say when I see hear. "Jacob!" she shrieks again.

I swallow hard and try to remember how to breathe as I stand up shakily and cross over to the door. She's storming down the hall; I can hear her feet pounding against the floor with each rage-filled step, and one part of me wishes I hadn't made her angry, while another part bristles at her boldness in so freely setting foot in my house, acting like I'm the one who's done something wrong. I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and open the door. She's standing in front of me with burning eyes, hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. "What the fuck was that about, Jake?" she yells.

I step forward, forcing her to move back as I shut the door behind me. "What the fuck are you talking about, Bella?" I growl.

"You fucking know exactly what I'm talking about, Jake!" she shrieks. I try not to flinch, but I've never seen her like this before. She's been pissed at me, yeah, but never this mindless, animal rage, like she's about to pull out a knife and attack me. I'd be lying if I said it doesn't scare the living shit out of me. "What the hell are you playing at?"

I can't let her see the struggle twisting my face, so I brush past her and move down the hall, toward the kitchen and the front door. She follows me, screaming accusations that don't even make sense, and my heart is clenching like it's trying to rope itself around an iron rod to keep from collapsing. I don't want to hurt her, but I'm fucking sick of hurting myself, and she can't expect me to just fucking sit by and watch while she makes a slut out of herself. I'll get back at her for doing this to me in any way I can, even if I still love her regardless.

"Why are you doing this, Jake?" she moans, and when I turn, my back to the kitchen entrance, I see tears streaming down her cheeks while desperate pleas for understanding glitter in her eyes. She's angry, yes, but now I can see how confused she is, how hurt, and I don't know if I can reject her, but I have to try, because I can't keep letting her use me.

I run a hand through my hair and keep my eyes averted from her, training them instead on a framed newspaper clipping hung on the wall. "You'll never want me, Bella," I finally whisper. She makes a sound of protest but I continue before she can say anything: "You'll never want me, but you keep trying to hang on to me." I shake my head. "It hurts too much to watch you with someone else, but I keep hoping that someday you'll . . ." I rub a hand over my face and ignore the pinpricks of fire that her stare is igniting on my skin, determined to tell her exactly how I feel. "You're never honest with me, Bella. You tell me you care about me, so why do you keep using me when you know how much it hurts? Why don't you fucking tell me I don't have a shot, instead of just letting me delude myself and hoping, always hoping—" I break off abruptly, suddenly unable to breathe with the pain that's slowly destroying me.

Her voice is cold, menacing even, when she replies, and I almost think I imagined it, only her words slice through me with vicious accuracy. "It's not my fault," she hisses, "if you don't know how to grow up and get over it, Jake."

My eyes flash up to hers and I suck in a harsh breath. I don't know what to do—my limbs are locked and I can't feel my lips. She's hurting me, she's hurting me so much—

I watch, blinded with stunned shock, as she steps directly in front of me, until I can feel the heat of her body less than a foot away. "Just back the fuck off Edward, Jake," she spits, eyes flashing ice-cold sparks, and I don't recognize her. She's not my Bella. "You owe me at least that."

I snap to life. "No, Bella, I don't owe you a fucking thing!" I roar at her, and she backs up until she's against the front door, her eyes widening in shock at my outburst. Hell, I'm surprised at myself. "I'm fucking sick of settling for friendship! I'm sick of trying so fucking hard just so you'll put up with me! I'm sick of being your back-up plan, and I'm sick of hating Edward!" I almost choke on the last word.

A tear shines in her eye for a second, and I really wish she wouldn't just start crying because then I'll crack down and let all her shit slide. So I'm surprised when her eyes harden and she hisses, "I don't give a fuck what you say, Jake. I can't just fucking watch you smile at him and laugh whenever he so much as speaks a fucking word; I don't wanna see you with him, Jake." Her back is pressed against the door and her face is twisted in an expression I never knew she could wear as she adds in a low whisper, "Don't be so fucking cruel."

I stride forward and slam my hands against the door on either side of her head, probably leaving a dent in the wood, but I don't care. I'm too busy fighting back the fury building up inside me; I'm shaking with anger, and for the first time in my life I want to hit her. I want to hit her so hard that she bleeds, and I want to make her see that she's turned into a stranger, unrecognizable in her bitterness. "Don't fucking talk to me about cruelty," I growl, spitting out the words like each one is a knife, and she flinches, cowering into the door with fear flickering in those chocolate eyes. "You can't—you don't even know what that word means." My voice is strangled with emotion, and I feel like I'm going to cry or explode or scream in rage at any moment. An animal wildness is pounding in my blood. "I'll sit next to Edward, I'll smile at him and laugh with him, I'll sleep at his house, I'll fucking hold his hand," I spit out, "if it'll teach you how fucking much it hurts to be pushed aside and kept waiting. You deserve every fucking bit of it."

She's gasping for breath, and I hate myself for putting that fear in her eyes, but I mean every word I say, and I'm not gonna back down this time. I watch her, and she watches me, and we stand like that, my body trapping her against the door, for what seems like eternity. I can feel her warm breath blowing against my shoulder and smell the scent of strawberries in her hair, and I look away, squeezing my eyes shut against the tears that threaten to fall. I'm never going to have a shot at her after this; I'm not sure if I want one. "Get out," I rasp.

Her breath hitches and I feel her fingertips ghosting along my chest, but I jerk away, putting a good five feet of distance between us. "Get out," I say again, and when I open my eyes she presses a hand to her mouth to smother a sob as she turns and flings open the door, banging it shut behind her. I hear the sound of an engine starting and squealing tires against dried mud, and I know she's gone.

I grab my keys.

~oOo~

"Jake!" Emily's eyes widen in surprise as she opens the door. "I wasn't expecting you." Her dark, shining gaze sweeps over me, and I know I probably look like a train wreck—red, puffy eyes, crazy hair, mud-covered boots and a jacket that I didn't realize until now belongs to my dad. It smells like shit.

"Sorry," I mumble, looking down at my feet and rubbing the back of my neck uncomfortably. "I didn't mean to bust in on you like this, I just—"

She cuts me off with a soft hand on my chest that warms me all the way through. "It's fine, Jake," she murmurs, smiling at me and beckoning me inside. She shuts the door behind me, and I can smell steak and some type of pie coming from the kitchen. There's Indie folk music playing on an old stereo, and I feel the warmth of a cat's lithe body winding lazily around my leg.

Emily claps and shoos the cat off. "Leave him alone, Starbucks!" she hisses, and the tabby obediently skitters away into another room. I raise an eyebrow at her and she grins and shrugs unapologetically. "So I give him a bit of decaf once in a while—sue me." I roll my eyes but don't comment and she frowns at me for a moment before wrapping her hand around my arm and leading me into the kitchen.

There's what appears to be an apple pie cooling by the window, and from the smells coming from a whistling tea kettle on the stove, I'm pretty sure she's made some of that disgusting herbal shit she adores. I wrinkle my nose and she notices and punches my arm with a light laugh. "Shut up," she says, smirking at me. I try to smile back, but it doesn't work very well. Her eyes soften and she tells me to take a seat as she crosses over to the cupboard and takes down two teacups. Shit. She's probably gonna make me drink her tea; she calls it a "stress reliever". Stress reliever, my ass. I'm having a panic attack just thinking of having to swallow that shit.

"How's Billy been?" Emily asks, stirring something in a pot as I sit down by the tiny breakfast table next to the window.

I shrug. "Same as usual," I answer, fiddling with a loose thread on my jeans.

She sighs. "I haven't seen him in a while. Tell him to come round some time; I'll feed him good."

I smile weakly. "Will do," I lie.

The kettle clinks as Emily pours two cups of her tea shit. "I need to write Sarah a letter too. I've missed talking to her." Emily's not quite into the paranormal stuff, but she likes to write letters and go to my mom's gravesite and burn them in front of her tombstone. It's sort of a tradition; she does it for her dad too. "Maybe you can come with me next time I go?" she asks.

My lips curl up in a sad smile. "Maybe," I say, but we both know I won't. I've only gone to my mom's grave once, for the burial service, and I'll never do it again.

She sets the kettle back down and moves back toward me, balancing the two steaming cups in her hands. I grimace as she sets one of them in front of me and sits down, but she glares and I obediently take a sip, managing not to gag as the scalding liquid trickles down my throat. Fucking disgusting. "So," she begins, and I look out the window and sigh, knowing exactly what she's about to ask, "you gonna tell me why you look like shit, or should I just fuck off?" I glance at her, and she's smiling a little, but her eyes are serious and sad.

I sigh again. "Just a bunch of shit with Bella, 's all," I mumble, twisting the cup in my hands. It's hot, but I don't really care; it gives me something to do.

She scowls. "That whiny bitch sniffing around again?" she asks, wrinkling her nose; she hates Bella, for a lot of reasons. "What'd she do this time?"

I hesitate before answering, and I know she notices. Emily notices everything, and it's really fucking annoying. "It's . . . kind of complicated," I say, but she rolls her eyes impatiently and glares at me.

"Jacob Black, you did not come all the way over here just to tell me 'it's complicated'," she says sternly. "Now spit it out, or I'm pouring you a second cup."

If that's not a threat, nothing is, so I hastily give my reply: "Edward broke up with Bella."

I hear her sharp intake of breath. "Oh," she says. It takes her a moment to add, "So what did you do?"

"I decked him." She makes a noise of sympathy. "I decked him and felt like a total jackass, and then I got suspended for three days." I rub a hand over my face and take a sip of my cooling tea shit even though I know it tastes like zebra piss, because I'm ready to try anything just to get a bit of peace in my mind. "Then this week I went to his house because I got partnered with him in English, and Emily"—I'm rambling but I don't care anymore, it just feels so fucking good to talk and know I won't be judged—"I don't hate him. I tried but I can't anymore. And now Bella's acting so different and I want to hate him for changing her like that, but I'm sick of trying." I'm gasping for breath by the time I'm done, but I'm not crying, which I'm proud of. I don't want anyone to see me cry.

I feel her hand slide over mine, and when I look up she's got this look on her face, this tenderness melting the darkness of her eyes. She looks like an Indian doll, with a worn tan cotton face and black yarn for hair and black button eyes. It makes me want to hug her and hold her and let her warmth comfort me, but I haven't hugged anyone for years, except Bella. "Jake," she begins, but then she pauses and shakes her head a little. "Jake, hating someone is never worth effort." She smiles a tiny smile and her fingers draw patterns on my hand. "If hating him hurts you, you have to let it go." I let out a shuddering breath as she adds quietly, "It's not worth trying for."

I look away from her eyes out the window at the swaying trees and watch the wind writhe and twist through the grass as my cup of tea grows cold.

~oOo~

Emily lets me sleep in her guest bedroom. It's tiny and cramped, and I have a feeling she keeps the litter box in here, but there's a window by the bed that's jammed open a bit, so I can smell pine and ocean and fresh earth every time I take a breath. My mom used to take me up here to the cliffs and if the wind wasn't blowing and it wasn't raining, we'd lie on our backs and watch the clouds move across the sky, and she'd tell me old stories about our ancestors. Whenever I think of her, I remember this smell, and something in me aches because of it, but the scent coming from the window soothes me, and my eyes slide shut into sleep.

I wake up the next morning, and it's not raining, but the clouds are darker and I know bad weather's coming. Emily left sausage and toast on the table, and I pop into her sewing room to say good morning. She's partially covered by a mass of half-stitched fabric swirling with different shades of red and blue, and she looks tired, but her smile is happy. I warm up the sausage and eat the toast cold, switching on the tiny kitchen TV and watching the news for a few minutes before I shut it off again and wander around the house. I don't want to go back home yet. Emily won't mind if I stay the night again, but I don't want to hide out here all weekend, so I know I have to go back sometime today.

I stare outside the window for a while at the tops of the trees swaying and shivering in the March winds, and then I step outside, breathing in the cold, salty air and feeling it rifle through my hair. I shiver because I'm only wearing my boxers and a T-shirt, and go back inside.

There's tons of pictures all over the walls. Emily's into all that photography arts and crafts shit, so a lot of them are close-ups of tulips and trees and stuff like that, but there's also ones with faces. My dad when he was a kid, in a fishing boat with my granddad and a huge bass hanging from his hand. Emily's cousin, Leah, leaning against the front of an old car, smirking and tilting her head so her waist-length black hair fell over her shoulder. My mom with her arms weighed down by a blanketed baby, her smile practically leaping out of the frame. My dad in one of those hideous '90s jogging suits, running down the sidewalk and waving at the picture-taker with a cheeky grin.

I don't run very often. I'd rather ride my bike. But today, I need to get away, to feel the wind against my skin and taste the ocean air, and my bike isn't exactly fit for remote cliff-side trails. So Emily lets me borrow a pair of Sam's sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and I head out for the cliffs. The wind howls and beats against me, trying to push me back toward the house, but I keep going, and soon I'm jogging around the rim of the forest, following an old trail that runs along the jagged cliffs. It's rough, but it calms me, even with the hissing and spitting of the waves below me and the angry groans of the harsh winds. I don't think, I just move, and the steady pace keeps my breath shallow and my heart pounding and my blood pumping. Because now all I can hear is nature colliding and grieving, and I don't have to have the answers. I don't need the answers anymore.

I just need to breathe.

And let go.

And forget.

~oOo~

A/N: Oh, I'm snazzy! Check me out, updating all quick-like! I think this means I deserve some love, so get off your lazy asses and review!