Chapter Eleven - "Reanimate"
Thank you so much to lightlacedwithbeauty for your thoughts, edits, and eeeeps. I couldn't do this without you!
Everyone else, thank you for favoriting, following, and commenting on this little story. Your words mean so much and help to keep the motivation going.
I hope y'all enjoy this!
Disclaimer is still the same: I don't own the characters *sadness* but I'm keeping Jasper's dogtags and his g dropping. ;)
There are five things my mama taught me 'bout bein' a man:
Work harder than anyone else ever has. If you get tired, suck it up and shovel a few more feet down, just to make sure you gave it your all.
"Ain't no man worth a lick that'd quit before a job's done and done right," she'd say. "Even if yer feet's fixin' to fall off yer legs, ya get out there and do it 'til ya drop dead."
Always say please and thank you, even if the other person doesn't respond in kind.
"People's not always gonna be decent, Jasper," she'd say. "Ya just gotta show 'em with yer own manners how to be right."
Address everyone, except close friends, with "sir" or "ma'am." It doesn't matter if they're your age or one hundred and two, everyone should be treated with respect, even if they don't deserve it.
"I'll take a switch to yer hide if ya make others think we ain't taught ya right."
Be sure to lower the toilet seat when you're done takin' a piss, 'cause no one of any gender appreciates a midnight ass bath.
"If I end up with a behind full of toilet water I'll take a switch to yours!"
Never make a lady cry.
"I ever hear a you making tears come outta a girl's face, I'll take a switch to yer hide!"
(I think it goes beyond sayin' that Mama values her switch.)
Now, I've tried all my life to be a man Mama would be proud of—not 'cause I was scared of her switch, but 'cause her thoughts 'bout me mean the world to me—and I thought I was succeedin'. I always work hard and try to remember to ask politely and express my gratitude. Sir and ma'am are just so ingrained in my head that it's hard not to say it, even to my friends sometimes. And I don't think I've ever forgotten to put down the toilet seat. But if I have: my apologies to whomever may have fallen inside.
However . . . that last one. Number five. Well, I'm not doin' so hot on that one lately.
When Bella left the ranch yesterday afternoon, things were still a bit rocky, so to speak. Her tears were dry, but I could see the way she wasn't lookin' at me anymore. Like she was afraid to peer into my eyes. Like she was afraid to see what was there.
And I deserved it. I shoulda told her I was goin' back. I shoulda told her a lot of things. But the truth was, I hadn't been thinkin' 'bout it. When I'm home, I try not to think 'bout bein' over there. I try not to think 'bout bein' so far away. I try not to think 'bout all the things I've seen and done, and the things I'm goin' to see and do again.
R&R for me is more like "Remove and Refocus" instead of "Rest and Relaxation". I want to forget it and be the Jasper I am here. And that's what I do. I forget. But it was wrong of me to forget that crucial part of myself, when I was askin' her to remember.
The sound of shots bein' fired and grenades explodin' blare from the television in front of me and bring me back to reality. Edward and Emmett sit on the floor, leanin' back against the front of the couch, both of them absorbed by what's happenin' on the screen. Emmett's tongue is trapped between his teeth as he maneuvers his character through the war-ravaged streets on the game he's playin', and Edward does the same, though his face is fixed and determined.
When they'd invited me over to "hang with the dudes" while their girls were out shoppin', I'd accepted. Partly 'cause I had missed them over the past four years, and partly 'cause I was hopin' to see Bella at some point today. Unfortunately, when I'd arrived, I'd been informed that Bella was at work. But I stayed, expectin' a guy day like we used to have: movies and video games and junk food. That's exactly what I got, but I'd failed to remember that action flicks and war games were Emmett and Edward's genre of choice.
Not that I mind it much, in theory. I am a guy and I do like that kind of stuff. Or, at least I used to. I guess livin' these exact scenarios makes me forget that this is only for fun for the majority of people. And the fact that Emmett and Edward don't, means they forget that some of us do.
"Aww, dammit, Emmett, we agreed no target lock!" Edward cries, as his character crumples to the ground, a puddle of blood growin' 'round his head.
Memories flash through my mind and I blink them away, forcin' them from existence. 'Cause when I'm here, I'm here. There doesn't exist. It can't.
"You agreed. I didn't say anything like that," Emmett says, bringing his controller up and twistin' it slightly as he shoots a few more enemies on screen. And when he runs over their downed bodies, more images swirl around in my brain. Images I can't have there right now.
"Dick."
"Girl."
They continue to argue, callin' each other all kinds of names while they shoot at one another time and time again. I try to pay attention, to keep their voices loud in my ears so others won't take over, but the sounds of the shots and explosions from the television trigger everything I don't want them to. And then all I can see, smell, and hear are screams, and smoke, and blood, and the thud of body parts as they hit the dusty ground all around me.
Shakin' my head hard, I stand, my knees hittin' the coffee table in front of me with a loud bang and displacin' the magazines scattered over the top. Emmett and Edward turn 'round and stare up at me, their brows disappearin' 'neath their hair.
"All right there, dude?" Emmett asks.
I swallow against the anxiety risin' in my throat and nod. "Yep, just goin' to get a drink."
He stares back at me for a long moment, as if he doesn't quite believe me, and I think he's goin' to ask me things I don't want him to. Then his mouth pulls up into a lopsided grin. "Cool. Hey, can you bring me a beer when you come back?" He pauses and his face loses all jokin'. "But don't tell Rosie. I'm not allowed alcohol before dinner."
Edward coughs into his hand, and it sounds a lot like, "Whipped."
Emmett shoves him and turns back to his game, findin' and killin' Edward's character in retaliation. I make my way into the kitchen, my heart slammin' against my ribs. When I reach the sink, I turn on the cold water and splash my face several times. The cool liquid trails down my overheated skin, but it doesn't really help. My hands shake against my cheeks, and the images keep on comin': fire, and smoke, and blood, and pale, pale flesh.
The pops and bangs still ricochet off the walls into my ears from the other room. I close my eyes and concentrate, remindin' myself that this is normal life, that I'm not there, that this is all part of bein' outside of those camps. That I'm okay, I'm okay.
I'm okay.
In the Army we're given briefin's 'bout this very thing, along with methods on how to relax our minds when it happens. PTSD is no longer a thing some soldiers get; it's somethin' every soldier gets. You can't not, when half your career is spent with Kevlar strapped to your back and a gun slung over your shoulder. Shots and blasts are a way of life for us, as is shootin' someone you don't know, watchin' those you do go down, and pickin' up what's left of their bodies with your own two hands. There's nothin' we can do to stop the images from comin' back from time to time, we just have to know how to handle it when it does.
Though, honestly, it doesn't matter what relaxation and copin' method you use, it never gets easier.
With my lids clamped shut, I breathe in slowly, exhalin' even slower as I push the visions away. My hands hold tight to the edge of the counter, but I don't feel the hard Formica under my palms. I feel the harsh metal of a gun in my hand, blood drippin' down between my fingers, and the tightness in my chest that is a constant when I'm there.
I don't know how long I stand there like that, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. My eyes fly open and I whirl around, smackin' the arm stretched out toward me away. I immediately feel like hell the moment I see who it is.
Bella stands before me, her eyes wide, hair comin' free from her bun and hangin' all 'round her face. She's sweaty and dirty from workin' all afternoon, but she's still pretty as a peach.
"Bella, I—" I start, but she cuts me off.
"What's the matter? You're so pale," she says, reachin' for my face, but just before her fingers touch my skin another loud burst of shots and shouts comes from the livin' room, and I involuntarily flinch back. Immediately, Bella's face recognizes what's happenin' and her eyes narrow into slits. "Goddamn them," she says, and spins on the ball of her foot.
"Bella." I reach for her, but she slips through my grasp as she turns the corner toward the livin' room. I follow, callin' after her, "Bella, it's fine."
Stoppin' in her tracks, she turns to look at me, her face fixed in anger and determination. "No it isn't, Jasper. It isn't."
Powerless to stop her, I watch as she crosses the rest of the distance between us and Edward and Emmett. Without sayin' a word to either of them, she bends down to where the gamin' console sits and yanks the plug out of the wall, throwin' the cord down on the ground. And I see her then: a spark of the Bella I once knew. The girl who was always outspoken and brave. Who couldn't stand bullies or pricks or jerks. The girl who protected me more times than I can count, when I didn't have the guts to do it myself.
I thought she was amazin' then, the way she stood up to everyone, no matter how much smaller than them she was. But she's just astoundin' now, 'cause this means somethin' different.
This means more.
"Hey!" Emmett and Edward both complain.
"What the hell, Bells?" Emmett asks. "I was in the lead!"
"What the hell?" she says, her voice risin' with every word. "What the hell, Emmett? Tell me, are you both just completely stupid or are you really this cruel?"
Edward's face twists in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"What am I talking about?" Bella repeats his question too. "I'm going to take that as confirmation that you both just don't have brains." She lifts her hand and points in my direction, but her eyes never leave them. "Have you forgotten what your friend does when he's not here with us? Have you forgotten that he lives in a reality much like the one you were just screwin' around in for fun?"
"Oh, shit," Edward says.
"Yeah," Bella answers, her voice shakin' like it does before she cries. "Yeah, 'oh shit' is right. How could you be so insensitive? So stupid?"
Emmett turns his face in my direction, and I can see that he is remorseful. "Dude, Jasper, man, I'm so sorry. I didn't think. We didn't think—"
"Yeah, man, we didn't think about it at all," Edward adds.
"It's oka—"
"No," Bella points at me, her water-filled eyes stabbin' into mine like daggers. "No, it's not okay. Don't you tell them it is." Tears fall over her bright red cheeks, and I'm certain this isn't 'bout what she's sayin' it is. Guilt claws up my throat, 'cause I did this to her. I'm still makin' her cry.
"Bells—" Emmett starts, but Bella cuts him off.
"Don't talk to me, Emmett," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not right now."
A strangled sound escapes from her throat and she bolts out of the room, rushin' past me and out the front door. I don't wait to see what Emmett and Edward have to say, and I follow her.
"Bella," I call, but she ignores me as she fumbles with the keys to her truck. When I reach her, she's the one who's shakin'. "Darlin' stop. Stop." I wrap my arms 'round her, pressin' her back to my chest. "Just stop."
She struggles against my hold, but it's feeble. "Let me go, Jasper."
"No." Grabbin' her shoulders, I turn her toward me. Her eyes are glued to the ground and her cheeks are still as bright as they were in the house. I move my hands from her shoulders, to her neck, to her face and lift. She still refuses to meet my gaze, but that's okay. I see enough just lookin' into her face. "Mia . . ." I say, and she closes her eyes, her surrenderin' breath stutterin' against my cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"For what?"
"For blowing up like that. For overreacting. I just . . ." She finally looks up at me. I'm surprised by the amount of anger still in her eyes. "I'm just so tired of their insensitivity, of their thoughtlessness. They say they care; they say they're only trying to help. But then they say and do shit like that . . ." She draws in a breath. "They've been doing the same thing with me for over a year and sometimes I wonder if it's on purpose, if they're trying to punish me."
"Bella, I don't think—"
"It'd be okay if they were," she says, her voice quiet and low. "I deserve it. I deserve to remember, to see how much I hurt myself and my friends."
"No you don't." I brush the hair away from her face. "No one deserves that."
"I do," she says. "And I don't say that because I feel sorry for myself, or because I want you to feel sorry for me. I say it because it's true. I need to remember, so I don't make the same mistakes again. It just sucks that my friends feel like they have to be the ones to remind me, because believe me, I haven't forgotten. I don't think I ever could. But you . . ." She closes her eyes and leans into me. "You don't deserve to be reminded every second."
My hands tighten on her face, and I want to kiss her more than anything. "But I remember anyway, Bella Mia. I remember every second anyway. I don't need nothin' else but what's inside my head."
"I saw your face," she whispers, as if she didn't even hear me. "In the kitchen. I saw the look in your eyes, how pale your skin got, how you shook . . ."
"I'm fine. Look at me. I'm fine."
"You're not fine." She wraps her hands 'round my wrists and stares up at me. "You're still pale. Your hands are still trembling . . ."
I glance down at my hands on her face, and she's right: I am.
"I don't like it when people hurt you," she whispers, her gaze cast down. "I've never liked it. It makes me do things." She looks back up at me. "Things I shouldn't."
And I know exactly what she's talkin' 'bout, 'cause I know exactly what she did the last time.
I study her, the way her eyes are so intense when she speaks, how her cheeks blaze in a shade of red I don't think I've ever seen before, and how her lips pull down in the corners, juttin' the bottom one out in an adorable pout. No one has ever protected me the way she does, the way she always has. And I don't even think 'bout what I'm doin' when my fingers tighten on her jaw and I lower my mouth to hers.
Bella gasps and pulls away before our lips touch. "What are you doing?"
My hands fall from her face and I step back. "I don't know, Bella. Kissin' you? Doin' what any guy would to a girl he likes?"
She swallows. "You can't do that here. Not yet. You know that."
I sigh and squeeze my hands into fists, because, yeah, I do know this. I know it, but I don't like it.
"I told you I needed time."
Shakin' my head, I let out a pained laugh. "Time. Right."
Bella narrows her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean? We already talked about this, Jasper."
"Yeah, I know," I say, cuppin' the back of my neck with my hand. I glance up at her, and she's lookin' at me with an expression I don't recognize. It's harsh and soft all at the same time. "But how much time are you goin' to need, darlin'? 'Cause I ain't got much left."
Bella sucks in an audible breath, and I move toward her again, wantin' to comfort her, wantin' to hold her, but I know I can't do either.
"I'm sorry." My voice lowers. "I'm sorry if it seems like I'm pushin' but . . . when I'm with you I forget 'bout goin' back. I forget I have no time here. And I want more time. God, I pray every day for more time, Mia, but I just don't have it. I don't have it," I whisper. "And I don't wanna go away with this still just between us. With me bein' your secret."
Bella's eyes move from one of mine to the other. "You won't be."
I look away. I want to believe her, I really do. But the past speaks for itself. She's always been afraid of what we could be, of what we are. And I just can't see that changin' anytime soon.
Bella grabs my jaw and tugs my gaze back to hers. I like the heat of her fingers on my skin. "I promise."
I sigh. "Sure, darlin'."
Bella eyes me and drops her hand. "You don't believe me."
"I don't not believe you."
"Right."
Tippin' my head up toward the sky, I close my eyes. 'Cause she's right. "What do you want me to say, Bella?"
"I want you to tell me what you really think. Stop being so damn polite and tell me."
I let out a growl and lower my head, openin' my eyes once more. "You wanna hear that I hate this? That I hate lyin'? That I hate wantin' to touch you, and kiss you, and tuck that flyin' hair behind your ear when it goes crazy and I can't? Do you wanna hear how much I wanna stop wastin' all the moments we have left pretendin' we're just friends, 'cause someone's feelin's might be hurt? Do you wanna hear that I believe you believe what you're sayin', but that when it comes down to it, I'm afraid you won't tell them? That I think you're more scared of what our friends might think or say or feel 'bout what we've got going on than you want this? Than you want me?" I lift my hands and hold them palm up before droppin' them back to my thighs. "Is that what you wanna hear?"
Bella nods once, and when she does, the flyaway strands from her bun twist and sail in front of her face, lickin' cross her cheeks and neck, caressin' the soft pink paintin' her skin. As always, I wish I could be the one touchin' her so freely, so effortlessly. Her voice breaks when she speaks. "Yeah, that's what I want to hear." I can see the hurt gather in her eyes, and I want to take it back. I want to take it all back.
"Jesus, Bella, why? Why do you wanna hear that?"
"Because," she says, her chin tremblin' a bit. "I always want you to tell me the truth, even if it hurts me. Because you're the only one who ever has." She takes a step forward. "And it's not true. You have to know it's not."
"What's not true?"
"That my fear is stronger than what I'm feeling about us. About you. It's not true."
"Isn't it?" I say, swallowin' down the hope tryin' to worm its way up. "'Cause that's what it feels like." I shake my head. "I'm a patient man, Bella, but . . ." Reachin' out, I tentatively take her hand in mine, brushin' my thumb over her soft knuckles, wishin' it could be my mouth instead. "When I wanna hold your hand, I wanna do it without thinkin'. When I wanna put my arm 'round you, I wanna not wonder how everyone else might interpret it. When I go back to my unit and the guys ask me if I got a girl waitin' back home, I wanna tell 'em all 'bout you."
I touch my fingers to her chin. She closes her eyes, and I lower my voice to a whisper.
"And when I wanna kiss you . . . I wanna know I can, and you won't push me away. I wanna know it won't matter who's 'round and who's watchin'. That you're not ashamed of this anymore. That you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you."
"I'm not ashamed of this," she whispers, openin' her eyes and focusin' her chocolate browns on me. "And I do. I do want that. You."
I cup her face in my hands. Bella swallows, and I watch her throat bob. "Then do this with me, Bella. Please." Lowerin' my face, I touch my forehead to hers. "Let's stop pretendin', and waitin', and wastin' precious time worryin' 'bout what everyone else is goin' to say." I brush my fingers along her cheekbones. "Do this with me, darlin'."
Bella sighs and pulls her face out of my grasp. My fingers linger in the air, and the weight of a thousand pounds kicks me in the chest.
"Jasper, I—" she starts, but as soon as the words leave her lips, a car pulls into the driveway, and the front door to the house opens.
I glance up and watch as Rosalie parks the car, and then she, Kate, and Alice step out, their faces fixed in confused expressions.
"Bella? Jasper?" Alice says, walkin' 'round to the front of the vehicle, Rose and Kate behind her. "Is everything okay?" Her suspicious eyes focus right on us, on how close we are, on the way our bodies are positioned in relation to one another. Alice has always been perceptive. Always. And I know she's perceivin' everything we're broadcastin' now.
A screen door snaps shut behind me, and I turn 'round to see Emmett and Edward standin' on the front porch, their faces conveyin' the same perplexity the girls' do. I glance back at Bella, but she's not lookin' at me anymore. Her eyes are drawn down to her shoes, and her cheeks are pinker. I let out a defeated sigh and shake my head. She can't do it. She can't let go of it. No matter what I say or what I do, or what we both want, she just can't. She's stuck in this endless loop of guilt and there's nothin' anyone can do to help her out of it.
Least of all me.
I eye her for a few seconds, beggin' her in my mind to just look at me. Just do this with me. But she doesn't, so I do the only thing I can: I glance up at Alice, put on a smile—even though my chest aches like I've been stabbed in it—and say: "Sure. Everything's fine." And then, even though it's hard and it hurts, I turn away.
But before I even get two steps, I hear my name: soft and whispered, barely even audible over the sounds of traffic comin' from a nearby busy street. But I hear it. I always hear it.
"Jasper."
I freeze, feelin' the word spread throughout my chest, sparkin' hope I know it shouldn't. Slowly, I turn back 'round, and when I do I almost lose my breath.
Bella's standin' straight and tall, her shoulders back and her eyes on me. I focus in on them, tryin' to read what they're sayin', but I don't need to, 'cause she says it for them.
"Okay."
I blink, surprise reverberatin' through me. In my periphery, I can see the girls' bewilderment grow, but I'm not confused. I know what this is, what it means.
I take a step toward her, and she doesn't even flinch. "Yeah?"
Bella nods. "Yeah."
Slowly, I hold out my hand, my gaze askin' her to take it, to prove it.
But she doesn't take it.
She does somethin' better.
Bella's eyes search mine for a few seconds, and then she takes a step forward, and then another, and another, 'til she's standin' right in front of me, so close I can feel the heat of her through my shirt. I want to reach out and grab her, pull her into me, take her mouth with mine. But I don't. Instead, I run my palm down her forearm to her hand, lightly and cautiously, just in case. Her fingers tangle with mine, and it's the best feelin' in the entire world.
Bella's shoulders rise and fall with every breath, but she doesn't move, she doesn't flinch. And I can't take my eyes off from her, 'cause this is the Bella I used to know. This is the girl who stood in front of me when Tyler Crowley threatened to break my face in seventh grade. This is the girl who held my hand as we walked through the doors of the high school on our first day of ninth grade. This is the girl who picked up all my pieces after Alice shattered me.
This is the girl. Strong and sure and unafraid.
My girl.
My Bella Mia.
"Bella?" I ask, makin' sure one last time that she's sure. Makin' sure I am too.
A small, nervous smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, but I don't see any doubt. I don't see anything but sincerity and faith. Faith in me. Faith in herself. Faith in us. She nods, ever so slightly, and repeats the word I need to hear. "Okay."
And then she reaches for me, and I go to her. It isn't forced, it isn't clumsy. It's easy and smooth and natural, even with the rest of our world watchin'.
Her hands slip up over the curve of my shoulders and cup my neck, fingers soft but sure. Mine hold her face, molding to her like they were always meant to be there. And somehow, I think they were. Even when we thought we belonged to other people. Even then, I think I was hers.
Her hair tickles my knuckles and I can feel the featherin' touch all the way down to my toes. Our heads dip and our mouths finally touch. And it's perfect, and relievin' and right. Bella's fingers slide 'round to the back of my head, threadin' though my hair, and she holds me so tight. Tighter than she's ever held me, tighter than anyone's ever held me.
And I hold her just as close.
I hold her like I'm never goin' to let go. And I think maybe I won't.
I hear the sounds of shock from our friends: the gasps and exclamations and curses comin' from their mouths. But I don't care. I don't care 'bout any of them or what they think or anything else, for that matter. 'Cause I've got Bella.
I've got her.
I've got her.
And she's got me.
Until next time,
XOXO ddpjclaf