A/N: I had a lot of trouble with thinking of what comes next immediately after chapter 9. I believe that's the only excuse I can give for the time delay.

Tell me if you are interested in the way things are going or if you think it's awful.

Chapter Ten.

An immeasurable amount of time passes as you try to comprehend what Jacob has just told you. Comprehension doesn't seem to be on your side today, though; try and try as you might to grasp your head around the impossibility of a mental bond—and between Jacob and Natalie, no less—you just cannot force yourself to accept that.

So, instead, you settle with disbelief and sarcasm, in the hopes that perhaps—although this is a long shot—Jacob could be just joking. Despite the fact that you knew this was definitely not the right time to joke about anything, and despite the fact that in actuality, you have absolutely no clue what to think or say.

Still, you hold off believing what has just been said for later, though you realize things could not look too good in that area for long.

You smile a small smile and finally acknowledge the three people warily expecting your reply. "Jacob, I hope you know how far out that statement sounded," you murmur politely, forcing every amount of doubtfulness you possess into your voice. You move your weight between your feet, disguising the fact that you inched a bit further backward, now in the best position to run when needed. Because, obviously, you didn't plan on staying longer than you had to.

"I know that," Jacob says uncomfortably, his eyes flashing in acknowledgement of your miniscule move away from him, though he seems to be the only one who notices. "As far out as it may be, it's still the truth. You can't believe how doubtful I felt when I realized it."

You frown. Exactly how were you supposed to respond to any of this? Because they definitely were waiting for a response. Why would Jacob tell this to you, anyway? How did his and Natalie's super freaky bond concern you? Was there anything you could say?

"Well," you admit, "I'm at a loss for words."

The atmosphere in the room seems to become less intense, as though your words triggered some kind of unspoken and invisible reaction in the three people that are present before you. As though they're glad you don't have a response, as though they're glad you didn't explode with anger at the news. Was that what they expected you to do? Make an angry scene about it? Obviously, you weren't exactly thrilled. No, you weren't pleased at all. In fact, at Jacob's marvelous revelation, you now feel as though your life at this point is something of a slow-moving rollercoaster, although constantly moving downwards, the end hidden by nothing but bad news, bad news, and more bad news. Like a hole that everyone around you seems to be digging, trapping you inside with no way of escape, because they hadn't given you a shovel, they hadn't prepared you for this torment...

But you sure as hell weren't going admit that, not right now, and especially not in front of Emily and—oh, especially—Natalie.

Still, Jacob studies your face closely. Natalie unseats herself from Jacob's lap—decreasing your displeasure, but only slightly—and walks along with Emily into the kitchen as pots and pans are removed from cupboards. Appliances start running loudly and the two women begin evenly talking to each other as though the matter is settled. You take this rare opportunity to fully turn your body around and yank the door almost off its hinges in your haste to leave the place, all the while ignoring the fact that Jacob, of course, follows you out into the morning sun.

You almost expected to see your red truck sitting there in the driveway, but of course it is not. Wherever it was, you couldn't be sure, but this was obviously the least of your worries. And you still ignore Jacob's shadow that you can only see a few inches of if you didn't turn your head to look back at him. Calmly, you take the road you know directs back to Forks, deciding irrationally, but seeing no other option, to walk the whole way. You didn't want to have to depend on Jacob for anything anymore. Clearly, he had other priorities. So why would he still follow you?

"A mental bond," you mutter under your breath, knowing full well that Jacob could hear you perfectly, but still acting as though you were speaking to yourself. He seems to be trying to respect your personal space by following just a few yards behind you. "A fucking mental bond! What the hell am I supposed to say to that?"

Jacob would have to do or say something sooner or later, wouldn't he? In the meantime, though, you try focusing on your feet not tripping over the rough, rock-covered road, looking up only once in awhile to be sure you weren't drifting off the road or going to run into a tree.

"This is ridiculous," Jacob says suddenly, his voice much closer than you had anticipated, making you jump in shock. "Oops—sorry."

"Geez, Jake," you say breathlessly, seeing that he's only two feet away from you, looking like he was prepared to catch you if you fell or something. "And what are you talking about? What's ridiculous?"

"You walking the entire fifteen miles home, that's what's ridiculous. Wouldn't you rather drive?"

You feel just about ready to slap someone. "Gee, Jake, that's very considerate of you," you drawl sarcastically. "Giving me my own truck to drive home in. What a concept."

"No, I didn't mean your car," Jacob says, ignoring your rudeness. "Your car's way too far away. I'll tell Embry to pick it up later. But I could run to my house and get the Rabbit to drive you home in and be back in about thirteen seconds. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. But still."

You scowl, conceding to the fact that it would be very brainless to refuse a ride home when it was offered to you. That, and the fact that you must have been away from home for nearly an entire day. It was best that you were home as soon as possible. Charlie certainly would be worried.

"Alright," you say reluctantly. "Better get running, then. I'll time you."

Jacob laughs just once, throwing a comment over his shoulder as he recedes: "Don't break any bones while I'm away."

For just a second after he's gone, you actually do think about timing him. On any other day (any other day that was more than two months ago), you would have done just that. You would tell Jake his time when he got back, he would joke about blowing seconds off of it next time, and you would probably shoot back something clever, laughing as he did something like tussle your hair or literally sweep you off your feet and set you back down again. And that would basically be the story of your life. Would.

But not now. Not ever.

You quickly erase that thought, laugh at yourself for being so hopeless, and stand guardedly on the edge of your toes, uncomfortably and almost hesitantly awaiting his return.

The drive home was not pleasant. Not unpleasant, but not pleasant, either. If you were to sum it up in one word, that word would be awkward. There seemed to be nothing to say. It wasn't the same as it would have been, under different, more preferred, circumstances.

And twenty minutes later, you stumble into Charlie's living room.

You vaguely fill in Charlie's questions with answers, and surprisingly there aren't many; apparently he called around and was informed that you were perfectly fine, in the presence of Jake, which was only partly true. Charlie tries not to show his alarm at your state—the open flesh on your cheek, new blood now blocked by dry blood, somewhat infected; your face, muddy and red from crying. Jacob seemed to not want to keep his promise about getting it taken care of, but you try not to let that hurt you too bad. It wasn't exactly the first thing on your mind on the way over to Charlie's house.

Nevertheless, Charlie quickly erases his alarm (probably as not to alarm you) to be replaced by a kind of wary cheeriness, assuming at once that you just tripped and fell and one point or other, as it always happens. Which was only partly true. But you smile and nod your approval, saying something like, "Yes. That's totally what happened," not wanting to go into details about your pitiful runaway the night before, and definitely not wanting to worry Charlie. Lightheartedly he tells you to take a shower, as well as offering to take you to the hospital. "No," you say immediately, then nothing more.

But it didn't matter anymore, and made you feel shallow and foolish for letting one person affect you so much, to actually get the idea that you were running away... Ugh. How stupid could you be?

You wouldn't let anyone do that to you ever again. No matter what happened. No matter how much you wanted to just break down crying. You would not let that happen.

You trudge slowly up to your room, your clothes still somewhat soaking from the shower of rain the night before. You're wearing so many layers and your clothes couldn't find enough dry air, bunched together on your body as they were for a day. Not to mention, you could never be totally dry anytime you walked outside—there always seemed to be a light mist falling upon Washington at all times, in your experience of the outdoors, at least. Maybe you just have bad luck. Yeah, you definitely have bad luck.

You close the door and immediately run to pull the blinds of your windows shut. You strip your mushy clothes off in the privacy of your dark room, sighing as you see your figure in the mirror atop your vanity stand, stumbling around and looking pathetic. You silently drop your clothes in the hamper, pick up a semi-used towel from your floor and try your best to wring out your hair and dry your damp, cold body as much as possible, carefully avoiding your bloody cheek.

Very hesitantly, you flick the light switch by your door upwards, almost blinded by the dull light that the lamp hanging from the ceiling in the middle of your room gives off. Your eyes hadn't tolerated so much direct light for awhile. Even before, as the sun peaked its way through the clouds for even a few seconds, you either closed your eyes or looked down.

Then, you brace yourself, looking at your naked body in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of your door.

You look worse than you thought you would.

Your hair straggles in clumps down your chest on either side of your neck. Drops still very slowly and occasionally trickle from the ends, sliding down the round shape of your breasts (which are bruised purple from falling so hard) before finding better purchase on the smoother skin of your body, finally reaching the carpet. Your face is an almost perfect example of what your insides feel like: sore and emotionally bruised and—ow. Starving.

You notice after a few seconds that you've begun to tear up again. "No," you say fiercely, "no more crying. Not now, not ever, and definitely not over—"

You purposely don't allow yourself to finish.

But it did no good basking in the horror that was you. You probably would have time to feel sorry for yourself later—but first things first. That meant taking a shower. And a hot shower, at that.

Afterwards, you carefully cleanse your cheek with peroxide and Neosporin and place a large bandage over the damaged skin. As you study your face closely, you notice unhappily you've begun to break out. Bad. Your complexion had never really been this way—it usually wasn't like you to stress so much. But, you realize, if any of this were to go away (any of your problems, in general), you had to stop stressing so much. And stop falling in the mud so much. And maybe... a bit of sun on the sunniest days wouldn't hurt.

You quickly pull on your favorite old sweats, loving how they smell like detergent and... warmth. Then you pull a large t-shirt (once owned by Charlie) over your head. For a few minutes you stand over the heater in the bathroom and savor the feeling of being freshly clean, and, more importantly, warm.

You head downstairs to get a quick bite to eat. Charlie is—as usual—watching his favorite sports channel. As you pass by him, he smiles and says, "Sorry you had such a rough day, Bells. Have a good sleep."

You smile too, a small smile, just to make your voice sound somewhat as cheery as you reply, "It's okay, Dad. Thanks. See you later," and proceed to locking yourself up in your bedroom.

The sight that meets your eyes as you turn around should not have taken you by surprise—but lately, you hadn't exactly been in the favor of the opposite. Or maybe it was the fact that it is Embry sitting upon your bed, not Jacob, almost as you half-expected (or hoped) him to be, that shocks you senseless.

His dark form would not have been visible if your wall was a few shades darker—and already he was extremely difficult to pick out, half of his body being in front of your mahogany dresser. But you can vaguely see the contours and shadows of his face, lit up by the filtered—and thin strips of—light that escapes through your opaque curtains. The skin between his eyebrows is pulled together worriedly. He crouches slightly as you enter, but jumps up once you take notice in him. You stumble upon your feet (as you were about to head over to your bed to settle in for a full day's rest) and try not to make the gasp that escapes your mouth too conspicuous.

For just a few seconds, the two of you stand and just stare at each other, both seeming to be just as confused. Embry's face contains an expression that practically screams, What the hell am I doing here, again? You could ask him the same exact question.

It takes much too long for your eyes to comprehend what they're seeing—but when awkwardness takes over shock and tension, you walk over to the opposite side of the bed, looking down at the covers and trying to find something to say. But there's nothing. You're absolutely speechless.

Thankfully, Embry makes the first move.

"I—guess I should probably gets this over with," he mutters. But he pauses for several seconds, not seeming to know how to start again.

Finally you find your voice. "What are you doing here, Embry?" is all you come up with.

"Jake," he says simply, looking up to see your reaction. But you don't let yourself react. He speaks again after another long pause, taking in a big breath before starting. "He... wanted me to... explain things for him."

"Then that's very considerate of you," you murmur, crossing your arms.

A little something flashes in Embry's eyes—hope, maybe? Wistfulness? Or maybe that was just his eyes way of saying 'thank you'.

"Well, he said that he told me all you needed to know, so if you have any questions, I might not be able to answer them," he continues. You wait patiently. "Right... here we go." He takes another big breath.

"No doubt you're confused by the... mental bond shit, right?" You simply nod, not willing yourself to show any emotion. "I figured you'd be, and so did Jake. That's... why I'm here, I guess. He... needed to be with Natalie." He scrunches his eyebrows together again, seeming to concentrate very hard on where to begin. Again, you're silent. "So, he thinks you were probably confused by him freaking out before, you know, right before he rode you over to Sam's house. Well, first things first: I'll bet you didn't know that Jake wasn't being completely honest when he told you that his and Natalie's brain-connection-thingy works all the time, whether he's in his wolf or human form."

You aren't entirely sure what he means. "What?"

"Yeah," he says softly, that somewhat hopeful look in his eyes coming back. "He couldn't tell you the complete truth in the presence of Natalie... and, believe it or not, he can hardly tell you the truth when you two are all alone. God knows why. Jake didn't exactly explain that part to me very well..." He looks down in concentration again.

"Well, go on!" you urge impatiently.

Embry nods. "To get right to the point—apparently, Jacob says that he can shut Natalie out. Whenever he wants to. Natalie doesn't know this, but he's positive it won't stay that way forever. This isn't exactly something you can just lie about, especially when they're both supposed to know each other's thoughts at all times, you know?"

Meanwhile, the only things you can do are stand there with an open mouth and disbelievingly stare at Embry's face, trying to find any evidence that he may be lying. There's nothing, though. He's definitely telling the truth.

Embry doesn't wait for a response, thankfully. "So, the reason he freaked out so much about Natalie before is because he'd shut her out for more than an entire day. Which, as you probably know, is an extremely uncommon thing between the imprinter and the imprintee. Jake says he'd never been away from her that long, but realizing that he had when you brought her up made him totally freak out. And it made it even worse that he'd completely shut her out of his brain for that long, too. It affects both people, both ways, so I'm assuming Natalie was probably in deep distress."

"Yeah," you finally manage to croak. "I... had talked to her the day before I saw Jake for the first time in a long time. She was definitely in... distress." Remembering the look on her face that day (just yesterday, really?) brings shivers to your spine. You could only imagine the pain she was in.

She was the one in a sort of mythical, magical and forceful relationship here—not you. She must have felt worse than you at that time if she was separated from Jacob for more than a day, being his imprint and all. Before, when Jacob was explaining to you the concept of imprinting, he told you the effects being away from your imprint for just a day could have. Now you finally understood.

"So, you understand," Embry continues, seemingly glad he knows what words to use now. "Apparently, they both experienced physical pain from their short-term separation. Nat experienced headaches while Jacob literally felt a sort of fatigue in his gut—only after he realized what had happened. Jake thinks this is because Nat can't shut him out of her head, so it was weird having him there one second, then the next second being forcefully erased. Jake didn't have anything happen at first because she was completely gone, thus not on his mind at all." Again he pauses, while you feel breathless. "The day before you saw Natalie was the day their mental thing established... I guess. Both of them felt crazed, but Jake was crazed enough, while not fully understanding yet, that he shut Natalie out.

"But then—and here's where it gets really weird—when he wants to, he can allow her into his brain again, which he started to do again after he realized he'd shut her out for so long. And it doesn't stop there—God, sorry this is so complicated," he grumbles. "I'm only repeating what Jake said for me to say. Anyway, apparently when they're together, their mental bond no longer functions. At that point, they can just tell each other what's on their mind. No need for a mental bond, you know? Which is why Jake could explain to you what he thought made sense to Nat. But afterwards, when he was driving you home, he let her back into his head—while blocking out certain things he didn't want her to hear. Still, he knew he wouldn't be able to explain all this very good... and apparently I can," he complains sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Whatever. Any questions?"

"Excuse me?" you manage to choke. Did he really just say everything you thought he said? "So, let me get this straight. Jacob can just... control this whole mental bond thing? I thought this was something forced upon both of them! At least that's what it seemed like when he explained it."

"Exactly," Embry says, nodding. "He made it seem like that, only because that's what Natalie believes, and because he's got it all figured out and she doesn't. He told me it was something about having a wider knowledge things on all things weird."

"I wonder how long it'll be until she figures this all out," you mumble mostly to yourself.

Embry barks a sharp laugh. "I give it a day."

"But—what'll happen when she does figure it out? What will that mean for me?" You become suddenly frightened, not wanting to face a torrent of despair again.

Embry seems to think hard about your question for a few moments, but then just shrugs his shoulders. "I dunno. Personally, I'm gonna try hard to not get involved in this shit-fest. I suggest you do the same."

"But... you're, like, basically Jacob's messenger, right?" you point out.

Embry glares at nothing in particular. "Something like that. Regrettably." He sighs and takes a wide view of your bedroom. You blush as you realize how filthy you let it get over the last two months. "Nice place you got here," he says wryly. You shrug and giggle slightly at his attempt at small talk. "Anyways, I should probably get going now..." He heads for the window, which you just barely notice through the curtains is wide open.

Suddenly, you panic. Your small smile fades instantly to be replaced by an expression of horror. Your eyes widen in fear, and your heart does an uncomfortable flop in your chest, making a dull kind of ache.

Embry pulls aside the curtains, positioning himself to jump. "Well, see ya later," he murmurs, and looks back at you. His eyes fill with worry as he notices your expression. "...Bella? What's—"

You speak quickly. "You really have to leave right now? Don't—don't leave, please don't leave." You climb over your bed to reach the window and grab his shoulders desperately. "I can't be alone right now," you whisper sadly. "I need... someone... I—I need you." You're amazed at how earnest your words are, even if spoken a bit rashly.

He jumps down from the window seal, his face absolutely baffled, and turns to face you. He speaks after a long time, quietly, slowly, "...Me?"

You take a deep breath and make sure your words are honest before speaking them. "Yes," you say just as softly. "You. Please. You're here now, I don't want you to leave, and I'd be all alone..." You begin hyperventilating at the thought of being alone... all alone... yet again...

He quickly grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you to his bare chest—the chest that is so warm, so much like...

"Don't worry," he whispers to into your hair. "I'll stay, then. Sorry I scared you."

You find your hands through the numbness, put them between you and him, and push him back ever slightly to get a good look at his handsome face. You never realized just how handsome Embry really was. But now, only inches from him, you could see each line that came with growing up too fast, each black strand of hair that reached just past his ears, each crack in his lips. The lips that were slowly getting bigger as you stood on your tiptoes to reach them. The lips you press yours against, softly, cautiously, until you are sure he gets the message and begins kissing you back. It seems to be a whole century later when you both part, breathing hard from lack of oxygen. Again he embraces you.

"Thank you," you whisper into his dark skin, for more than one thing.

From there, you lead him easily to your bed, lying down first and then bringing him down with you. He lifts his long legs onto the creaky bed frame, letting them dangle slightly off the end. You don't bother with blankets—after all, Embry was warm enough for that. You up curl into a ball, shaping yourself to the bend of his hips. He sprawls his arm over you uncertainly, and you grasp hold of it tightly with both of yours to assure him that it is where it is wanted.

It's remarkably easy to take all unpleasant thoughts from your head to be replaced by happy ones. You were so deprived of sleep that it seemed your brain was liable to shut down as well, and you are not able to think too hard about yours and Embry's conversation that took place just minutes ago.

Only moments later, your exhausted eyes close, and sleep consumes you. You are aware of the werewolf lying next to you, even in unconsciousness.

And for the first time in what seems like forever, you sleep dreamlessly.