A/N: Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer. I'm just playing with her characters. The concepts of Jasper as the God of War and Peter "just knowing shit" belong to Idreamofeddy.
oOo
Monday, November 1st, 2080
JPOV
I was waiting in Carlisle's office at the hospital, sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in front of his desk instead of the couch, and I was fuckin' jittery, the way a human would feel after they'd drunk way too much coffee or downed too many cans of Redbull. I'd absorbed that shit before, and it wasn't pleasant.
I had told Carlisle the night before that I needed to speak with him but that it had to be in private, being careful to let the Major sit in the driver's seat with one hand on the wheel so Alice wouldn't see, but with one of mine firmly on it as well to hold him back from taking over completely. That would be nothing short of a fuckin' disaster at the moment, but he did need to be partially in charge, since his mind worked so differently—making decisions without actually making decisions, operating solely on instinct. I'd already let Alice see what had happened between me and Edward as well as accidentally letting her in on my birthday gift hunt, but this? This, she couldn't see yet. Carlisle was the test run, and my maiden voyage of this shit had to start out confidential. This was the only way to ensure she couldn't unintentionally pry.
Peter and Charlotte were camped out in the staff lounge, located not far from his office. Carlisle was the Chief of Staff at Forks General, their most brilliant and versatile physician, one of only two surgeons, and that came with certain perks. One of those perks was getting away with letting Pete and Char loiter where they didn't belong with no questions asked. The two of them were here to come to my rescue if I pussied out like a little bitch as I told Carlisle the pertinent parts of what was going on, which was unlikely. This would be hard, ridiculously so, but I was not nor had I ever been a little bitch. They were also here to come to Carlisle's rescue if I lost my shit.
Carlisle had returned to his office three and a half minutes ago just after completing surgery on a victim who'd been in a car accident. I had been waiting a long time, and my nerves were fuckin' shot. Though I had not been forced into this decision, I still did not want to talk about this.
We had been watching each other for the whole of those three and a half minutes, Carlisle sitting there silently as I collected my thoughts. That was the kind of thing Carlisle did, and it was sorely needed at the moment.
He sensed that I was near ready to begin our discussion, but my conflict over it must have been evident. I really was losing it, the emotions and resulting facial expressions I was always so in control of beginning to falter. I did not fuckin' like it, but for this conversation, I supposed the openness and all that "wearing your heart on your sleeve" bullshit could be an asset. It needed to be an asset because I didn't want to think about this conversation strategically. This was me speaking to my father/brother/whatever the fuck else Carlisle molded himself into for me to look up to, and strategy shouldn't have anything to do with it unless that strategy involved figuring out how the hell to get all the shit I'd deemed relevant out.
"What's on your mind, Jasper?" he asked, ending my preliminary struggle. My primary one, unfortunately, had just begun.
I hesitated a moment more, sighing. I hoped Carlisle wouldn't be hurt or angry that I'd kept this quiet for so long though, there was a part of me that didn't give a shit.
"I've been having a difficult time lately," I finally said. My back straightened and my body went rigid as those words left my lips.
He waited to see if I would continue before he responded, pausing for several seconds to make sure. I didn't continue. This was the first time I'd discussed this with anyone other than Peter and Charlotte, people who had actually been there to experience it and what had caused it. I didn't know how to continue; at least not without some sort of prompting or direction.
"'Lately' is a rather vague term," he said. "Perhaps you could get a bit more specific."
"I'm not sure how long it's been goin' on," I admitted. "I didn't notice I was havin' problems until the rug was pulled out from under me, so to speak. When I begin heading in the direction I've been heading in, my realization isn't usually so brutal."
"Is that why Peter and Charlotte decided to move to Forks?" Carlisle queried astutely.
I nodded. "They're the ones that picked up on it when I didn't, when I should have."
I returned to silence after that.
"You don't need to be hesitant in sharing your struggles with me, Jasper. I won't judge you. I'm here to listen and support you and to do whatever else I can to help," he vowed wholeheartedly.
I nodded again. I wondered if I would find my voice. It seemed to have abandoned me.
It was several more minutes before I spoke again. "I go through periods where my gift gets out of control."
"I haven't noticed anything that would suggest your gift is beyond your control," he said with a frown.
"You're assuming there's only one way for me to lose control of it," I observed. It was a logical assumption. Most would never think to look at things from both ends of the spectrum. Truthfully, my position was entirely unique ... unless Maria had found herself another empath in the years since I'd gone. No stories of a second God of War had been swirling around the vampire world and that was not shit that could be hidden, even from us Cullens, who lived such an alternative and abnormal lifestyle, so I knew she hadn't. Maria couldn't create another God of War without Savannah, and Savannah was dead.
"I don't follow," Carlisle admitted.
"Losin' control of my gift is all about keepin' my ability to project in check. On one end of the spectrum, there's the inability to keep myself from projecting feelings into the atmosphere around me. On the other, rarely visited, end of that spectrum, there's the inability to project at all," I explained.
I had just opened the can of worms, and I wasn't terribly surprised to find that all I felt was indifference now that I had. That emotion, or lack of it, was something I felt a lot, more than was probably healthy. I was sure I would give a shit later. What I did not care for at the moment was how Carlisle was studying me with keen interest, like I was some sort of fuckin' science experiment. I knew he didn't mean to—voracious inquisitiveness was as much a part of his personality as his compassion. It was unnerving, but it failed to break through the fog of my apathy.
"I see," he said. He leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands on the surface of his desk as he listened.
I found it really difficult to continue with only that as a jump off point. It would have been better if he'd asked questions.
"Losin' control of my ability to project emotions into the atmosphere around me is actually not the worst thing in the world. As an empath, projecting is healthy, necessary. It's kind of like the release humans get from crying," I elaborated, my accent all but disappearing because I was strung so tight. "You understand how difficult it is not to be able to release that emotion since all vampires share the inability to cry, but it's different for me…worse. I'm not sayin' I need to go around sobbin' like my balls have shriveled up and retreated back from whence they fuckin' came, but if I can't release the emotions I absorb, they build up, and they continue to build and multiply until I go fuckin' crazy."
Carlisle studied me intently, his emotions going haywire. They reminded me of Bella's when we'd first met—flickering so fast it was impossible to separate one from another. I could feel them but not interpret what they were.
"The concept itself makes sense enough, but, Jasper, if I'm being honest, I have to tell you that I don't truly understand what that means," he said. "I'm hoping you'll explain."
"Well ..." I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes and blew out a gust of air, trying to figure out how the hell to explain this mind fuck. "I suppose you can think of me as a bank vault and emotions as money. Every emotion I come into contact with is like a deposit into an account that is comprised of my gift. The interest rate at this figurative bank of mine is sky high, and the rate that the money in that account increases because of it is exponential and not in a good way. That money is the physical, paper kind, and even when so much has been shoved into the vault that it's pressing into every crevice, it can't be moved to a bigger vault. Eventually the vault can't physically hold any more money but more and more gets crammed into it anyway. There comes a point when the walls of the vault are no longer a match for the pressure of its contents and they burst at the seams. You can also compare me to a powder keg that's just waiting for me to reach that emotional breaking point before the fuse is lit and I blow sky high, decimating everything within a hundred mile radius."
Carlisle turned contemplative. "Does this have to do with your time in the Southern Wars, Jasper?" he asked tentatively.
"Yes, sir," I responded, my voice a monotone. I needed all this to be as emotionless as possible on my part. It was the only way I would be able to get through it. It wasn't all that difficult. My indifference from minutes ago was lingering and taking the edge off of my anxiety, but the anxiety was still there, buried beneath it.
He nodded, mild surprise decorating his features and coloring his emotions. He hadn't been expecting me to admit any connection to the Southern Wars. I never admitted that my issues were, but that didn't make it any less obvious that the Southern Wars were the root of the bulk of them.
I then told Carlisle some of the things I'd told Edward two days before—that there was a difference between the Major and the God of War, about the torture while I was still human and how Maria had used it to secure my loyalty though I didn't discuss it in the same context as I had with my brother. I didn't mention anything about Alice or mating. Those were things I felt needed to stay between me and Edward as a brotherly bonding thing. It was also important that we alone shared that experience because of the history we shared over our relationships with Alice. As for mating, discussing that at all left a sour taste in my mouth. I also failed to see the relevance of that shit in relation to what was going on and so didn't see why he needed to know.
Mostly, I talked about Savannah.
"So this vampire, Savannah, created the God of War?" Carlisle asked with blatant, inquisitive interest.
"No," I responded, stiffening further. If I was human, my muscles would fuckin' hurt. "It was very much a joint fuckin' effort on Maria's and her part. Savannah's gift facilitated the process and allowed Maria to do the shit she deemed necessary to 'forge such a warrior.' That is an oversimplified explanation though. Savannah and her gift did play more of a part in all that, but I didn't come here to discuss all the gruesome details nor do I care to. One of the things you probably should know is that she altered my gift in such a way that when the God of War decides to pay me a visit without my permission, positive emotions don't affect me the way they ordinarily do. Normally I can absorb, trap and multiply them just like any other emotion, but I can't do that because there's no way all the negative emotions—the ones required to bring on the God of War—can build up and multiply enough to drive me that fuckin' crazy. Those positive emotions are there, I can feel them, but they're so diluted they just flow straight through me. I can't hang onto them long enough to form a counterbalance to the negative, but if they're strong enough, they can sometimes provide enough of an anchor to keep me from snapping."
Carlisle nodded, taking all of this in shrewdly. I knew before he spoke again that he would leave the subject of Savannah alone for now.
He raised his folded hands just underneath and in front of his chin. "Have there been incidents that have led you to conclude you're struggling aside from your inability to project?"
I dropped my gaze from his but only for a moment. "Peter's and my wrestling match, the one that destroyed about a mile of forest, happened as a result of him intercepting me before I tore into Emmett, and the days I sequestered myself on that rock off of First Beach were out of guilt for almost attacking Rose."
"I suppose you really are a mess," he sighed.
I snorted, my amusement minuscule but still there. "'Mess' is one word for it. I generally go with 'fucked up beyond all recognition' or 'severely fucked in the head,' but 'mess' does work."
"It may not be my place to tell you how to speak anywhere else, Jasper, but I won't have you speaking about yourself that way in my office," Carlisle scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. Whatever amusement I may have found in the situation, he clearly didn't share it.
I shrugged, not bothering to comment.
"This is why you voted no," he said. I could tell it was partially to himself and partially to me.
"Not entirely," I said. I was not about to reveal my other reasons for not wanting Bella to move in. There was only so much I was willing to cop to, and the rest of my reasons were not included in those things. "But I don't want Bella's blood on my hands, Carlisle. It has been nearly fifty-one years since I've fucked up and killed a human, and there have been several times when I've struggled through exactly this. You have no idea what a fuckin' miracle that is. I owe that to Peter and Charlotte, and they're here for me now just as much as they've always been, but this time is different. I can't quite put my finger on how, but it is.
"The bottom line is, I don't want to break my half-century record, and I especially don't want it to be Bella's blood I spill if I do."
"I'd rather that not be the case as well," he agreed.
"She's still annoying, and she still pisses me off, but, as much as I hate to admit it, she's grown on me," I admitted hesitantly. Carlisle grinned. I scowled. "But only a little. Don't you be expectin' me to start throwin' out offers to braid her hair or stick my nose up her ass."
"I would never dare to expect that," he assured me, finally finding his sense of humor.
It occurred to me in that instant that I probably would braid Bella's hair if she asked me to. It was an irritating, unwanted and disturbing thought that I shoved to the back of my mind and fully intended to repress. That shit was not something I would contemplate. I revisited how fuckin' pissed I was at her for pulling that dominance shit with me the night before to help with that, but I was closer to forgiving her for her little stunt than I thought I would be, so pushing it to the back of my mind happened more out of sheer force of will.
You are such a little pussy, I grumbled irritably to myself.
That we can agree on, my friend, the Major piped up. You're fuckin' blind too, but I'm gonna continue to let that slide...for now.
Whatever, I snapped at my unwanted mental conversationalist. Your opinion is—
I'm perfectly aware of your opinion on my opinions. I hold yours in equally high regard of late, you fuckin' idiot. I am almost ashamed we are one and the same. You've been highly disappointing lately, he informed me, his tone blasé despite that disappointment because I knew that he was. I was beginning to become irritated by it. He was me, after all.
I returned my focus to Carlisle and the matter at hand, zeroing in on him and scanning him thoroughly with my gift and senses. There was not even a hint of irritation or anger in his emotions or his body language.
"You're not angry with me," I noted.
"You were expecting me to be, I take it," Carlisle observed, though it wasn't a brilliant observation. He didn't wait for me to respond even though he hadn't posed a question. "Why didn't you tell me before now?"
"I was hopin' the situation would resolve itself before it became necessary," I admitted honestly.
"I suppose that's why you're expecting me to be angry?" he asked, his emotions still utterly calm.
I nodded.
"Would you care to impart your reasons for wanting to keep this between yourself, Peter, and Charlotte?"
My indifference was beginning to fade some, but it was still present enough that it would help me discuss that aspect of things more easily. "Primarily because I have been tryin' to protect you and the family from that part of myself practically since we met, and I've never been lookin' to change that."
Carlisle emoted a brief sense of hurt at that, but his placidity returned more quickly than I would have thought. That was Carlisle though—forever composed and patient. "Why do you think we need protecting, Jasper?"
"You've all lived sheltered lives for vampires," I stated bluntly. "I'm not discounting the things all of you have been through or diminishing your struggles and triumphs. I know that, of everyone, you've lived the least cushy existence, and that you are far more aware of the realities of our world than the others. Your age, time alone, and the decades you spent with the Volturi exposed you to those things, but even so, those experiences can't measure up to the reality of a vampire war. I'm not real keen on the idea of enlightening you, even more particularly everyone else, and burstin' that bubble or sharin' how I was when I was knee deep in blood and body parts, both vampire and human, during that war."
"I can understand that," Carlisle sympathized, but he couldn't. Not really. "But you're family, Jasper. I certainly won't judge you for the person you were then. Your circumstances weren't ones you were in control of, and you're right. I've never fought in a war, not as a vampire or as a human. I don't have the first clue what that must have been like. I do know enough about the Wars to understand that it took the brutal reality of our existence and elevated it to levels I could never fathom. It wouldn't be fair of me to form judgments without a frame of reference to put it all into perspective. No matter what you tell me about your time fighting, I won't lose any respect for you."
"So I've been told," I said wryly. Carlisle didn't respond to that, just waited with unassuming grace for me to continue. "I did thousands of vile things throughout the century I fought. I probably don't feel as guilty as I should over it all, though many of them I do regret. As Edward so kindly pointed out the other day, I didn't know any different, and I think that's always made it easier to swallow. You don't need protecting from that knowledge. You already know it, and it's vague enough not to distort the perception you've nurtured in the others for so long. What I've tirelessly been fightin' to shield you all from is the part of me that enjoyed all that shit because there is a part of me that did. The blood, the sex, the power, the battle, the kill—all of that is deeply connected to what it means to be a vampire, and I was the worst kind of vampire. I may not have been given a choice, and there are a lot of things about the life I led while I served that I fuckin' hated, most of which are directly connected to Maria, Savannah and the things I've told you about them, but I can't erase or deny the part of me that liked it all to some degree."
"Of course you liked it, Jasper," he acknowledged, to my surprise. "Any vampire turned under those circumstances would. I am not naive nor am I stupid, and I would have to be both not to recognize that. At one point, a very long time ago, I was those things, and I may have reacted to what you're telling me in a very different way." My eyes were practically popping out of my head, and he chuckled. "I'm not perfect. It took me a century or two to grow into this wisdom you all seem to think I have. It was awhile before I came to accept that the laws of humanity don't always apply to the vampire world even if I wish it was different, and blood, the kill, and sex are integral parts of vampirism. They are ingrained in us, instinctual. Those are things we can't fight against in their totality, Jasper. Those are things we can't help but to enjoy. This may surprise you to know, but I do take pleasure in the hunt and the kill, even if I've never had the desire to hunt humans. You most certainly know how much I take pleasure in being with Esme."
I coughed uncomfortably because I did not want to think about that. What truly shocked me was discovering that Carlisle, the man who so cherished all life, found the hunt and the kill exhilarating. I could feel it because he'd conjured it forth, and it threw me off-kilter.
"As for the battle, the power and the rest, I don't have much experience with them," Carlisle shrugged. "The fact of the matter is that human blood is what calls to us, not animal. That is the natural order of things for our species, and as much as I value human life and hate the idea of hunting them, that doesn't necessarily make the decision to live off our natural food source the wrong one. The family and I, now you, and perhaps even Peter and Charlotte—we are the anomalies, and that's okay. Another thing you might find surprising is that I don't always find the taste of animal blood that appetizing," he admitted matter-of-factly.
I was expecting this little chat of ours to be full of revelations and all sorts of personal shit on my end that I didn't find appealing. I should have known Carlisle would find some way to even the score because he was fuckin' Carlisle. I appreciated it, but what he'd shared still left me reeling.
"I don't know why things are different for me, why they're...easier. They aren't effortless by any means, but it is easier. It always has been for me to fight my instincts, but that's exactly what they are—instincts. They call them that for a reason, Jasper, and it is incredibly difficult to fight them. Even so, I do still believe we have a choice, as hard as it might be to make. I can't fault other vampires for the lifestyle they choose to lead," Carlisle continued. "And the reason I can't is because how they live is their choice alone, which brings us back to the root of things. As you pointed out and obviously need to be reminded of, you weren't given a choice in the way you were brought into this life, though nearly everyone who finds themselves a vampire ever is, nor were you given a choice in how you went about living the first century of it. The blood, the sex, the battle—those are things you would have enjoyed no matter what, but can you tell me with certainty that you would have enjoyed them with as much zeal if your situation had been different?"
"No, I can't," I said. I still couldn't picture any other life for those first decades or imagine myself as anyone other than who I'd been then or who I was now. "But does that really matter? The reality is that that is how I was brought in to this life, and nothing will ever change that just as nothing will ever fuckin' change that zeal, and I'll never know how much I would or would not have enjoyed the fight, the blood, the sex, the power and everything else if things had been different. What I do know is that if it weren't for my gift and the way it wore me down, I highly doubt even Peter would have managed to get through to me or convince me to leave. I probably would have killed the asshole right after his newborn year just like all the others, no matter how useful he was."
"Perhaps, but you don't know that just the same as you'll never know the degree to which you would have enjoyed the fight, the blood, the sex and whatever else your time there entailed if your circumstances were different. To be frank, I don't think you're being honest with yourself, Jasper."
"What does that mean?" I demanded, scowling. My hands curled around the armrests of the chair I was sitting in, and the leather creaked with the force of my grip but didn't tear…yet.
Carlisle sighed, but his emotions were steely and resolute. "It means that while there is a part of you that enjoyed those things, there is another part of you that didn't, and I'm not talking strictly about the things Maria and Savannah put you through. I believe there is a part of you that suffered a great deal as a result of the battles themselves."
I frowned but didn't respond because I had none.
"Can I ask you some questions, Jasper?"
I regarded Carlisle warily. I knew I wouldn't care for whatever questions he planned to ask, but I had to at least let him pose them. That was the whole point of this.
"I suppose."
"You've always been a very private man and have always made it clear just how much you don't wish to discuss your past," he said. "I have always respected that, and I'm shocked you've come to me and opened up as much as you have. I don't like prying, but there are some things I need to know. However, if some of these questions are too difficult for you to answer, I won't force you to or badger you about them. Does that sound fair?"
My expression turned wry. "Is there ever a time when you request something that isn't? It's really annoying, Carlisle."
"I suppose I could work on that," Carlisle said, amusement tinging his voice.
"You might want to consider it," I said. "It might help the rest of us to stop feelin' so woefully fuckin' inadequate."
His expression darkened briefly, and his emotions darkened with it, but neither lasted because he pulled himself together and went into doctor mode. If I didn't like where this was going before, I really didn't fuckin' like it now.
"Do you know what causes you to lose control of your ability to project?"
Oh joy, the fun part begins …
"That's not always clear, but it can sometimes be caused by something related to an experience I had during my time in the Wars. Then again, sometimes it's not. It's still difficult to figure out exactly what's at the root of it. I can tell you what happens as a result though. My control over my temper and my control over the Major and the God of War in particular, is balanced on a hair trigger. Sometimes I can identify that trigger, but there are other times when I have no idea what the trigger is," I told him. "There are also times when I might very well know what the trigger is but can't remember it because I'm not always aware when I lose control or it happens so fast that it's impossible to tell. I suppose it's the vampire equivalent of blacking out, and when I lose awareness I can never remember what I did. The evidence always gives me some idea, but how the damage was done? I don't have a damn clue unless Peter and Charlotte fill me in."
"Alright," Carlisle said slowly, thoughtfully. "Would you consider the Major and the God of War separate personalities?"
"No," I answered immediately, once again glad I was so indifferent at the moment. If I wasn't, I probably would have torn his head off for asking that. As it was, as soon as Carlisle had started asking these questions, Peter and Charlotte had moved from the staff lounge to flank either side of his office door. "Well, they are but they aren't," I backtracked. It was a reluctant admission, but I had come this far. I might as well continue to plow ahead. I was still feeling the urge to rip his head off though. "After Peter and Charlotte got me out of that hellhole, they continued to draw more and more of my humanity to the surface, but it was overwhelming. I was the Major for one hundred and six years and the God of War for sixteen. The three of those things did not mesh well, and I couldn't separate them from each other. They were this huge mess, a swirling jumble of shit tearin' me apart from the inside out. I was wild and crazy and fuckin' unstable. I kept switching back and forth from not bein' able to stop from projecting those feelings and not bein' able to project at all, goin' from depressed to caged animal to wounded animal fightin' for its life and back again. My head was chaos. I was chaos.
"Eventually, the only way the three of us could think might contain that chaos was to separate the three. That's when I started to teach myself how to compartmentalize, to establish very clear boundaries between 'Jasper'—the most human part of me, 'the Major,' and the 'God of War.' It took years but it worked. The thing of it is, is that each of them are so different and strong-willed that they take on a life of their own at times. I can hear the Major in my head. He speaks to me, reminds me that I'm still him even though I'm not entirely. The God of War is different. That part of me doesn't speak at all. There's too much pain and rage there for words. It lurks and waits. It's mindless, careless, sadistic, apathetic. It is insanity in its purest form, and that's the persona I have to keep locked away the tightest. The Major I don't have to keep on such a tight lockdown. He's like a second skin I can slip into and out of with ease. He's kind of a comfort. He's who I was for a century, and he's familiar, so I do become him from time to time. I don't do it a lot, but I do do it when I need to disconnect because sometimes I really do need to. It's all very difficult to explain. I suppose that those parts of me can be considered separate personalities, and, in a way, I also suppose I sometimes picture them that way because it's easier to make sense of it, but they're not. Fuck!" I exclaimed in frustration, some emotion finally leaking through. "This is hard! I don't know if I'm makin' any sense!"
I pushed that frustration back and clung to the indifference. I was good at that.
Empathy flooded Carlisle's emotions until I couldn't feel anything else from him. It was annoying. Peter and Charlotte were trying to remain stoic outside, but they were in shock. They'd known the game plan, but I'd never gone into much detail about how I'd finally wrestled who I was during the Wars into submission and figured out how to ride the line between "Jasper" and "the Major" without letting "the Major" rule me. I had flat out never told them about hearing the Major speak to me. They dealt with enough of my crazy, and I didn't think it was that big of a deal. I ignored their shock in the same way I was ignoring my frustration and Carlisle's empathy.
"You are making sense, Jasper," Carlisle told me. I could feel that he wanted to say more on that; I was expecting him to, but he didn't. He asked another question instead. "You've already said you can slip into and out of the Major with ease, but are there times when you don't have trouble controlling your ability to project that you have a hard time with that persona or the God of War?"
"For the most part I've got the Major well in hand, but there are some times when I'm caught by surprise, and he takes over without my permission. It's something I've learned to deal with, and it's not necessarily a bad thing," I responded. "The Major is cold and sadistic, but he's controlled, logical, deliberate, and calculating even though he operates on instinct. I never do anything without a reason when I'm him. Whether my reasons for doing something are good ones as the Major can be debatable, but I'm not mindless, and I'm still capable of loyalty. The God of War just happens—I have no control over it and I can't pull myself out of it at will. Part of it is because it's so mindless, but the majority of it is because I can't harness all that emotion and power. As I said, it builds and multiplies and amplifies until it explodes out of me, and I can't stop it from pouring out until I've spent it, which was the whole point of creating the God of War. That's what Maria wanted, and that's what Savannah enabled her to do. There are only two people I've never tried to kill while in God of War mode, and Peter is one of them. I'm sure you can guess who the other is."
Carlisle nodded. "Are there times when you struggle with memories from the battles you fought and of Maria?"
"Struggle how?"
"Do you have flashbacks?" he clarified.
"Yes."
"Do you ever see or hear things that aren't there?" he asked carefully.
I frowned, not understanding what he meant.
My expression must have illustrated that because he elaborated. "Things that may be connected to your time in battle or your experiences with Maria? Hallucinations, in other words."
My brows furrowed, and I began to grow uncomfortable. "Why are you askin' me this, Carlisle?"
"Can you just humor me, Jasper?" he responded, a pleading edge to his voice and emotions and his hands twitching just slightly.
"Sometimes," I said hesitantly. "But it's rare … really rare."
Carlisle nodded again, and then continued with his questioning. "Do you avoid things that remind you of Maria and your time in the Wars?"
My discomfort increased as did my confusion, my fingers tightening on the armrests, but I continued to humor him, and I didn't know why. "Yes."
"Touching," Carlisle stated with certainty. My gaze dropped from his for a moment. When I brought my eyes back to his, my expression was hard. I didn't respond, but he didn't need me to because it wasn't something I could deny. "Are there times when you lose interest in things?"
"Like how?" I asked warily.
"Do things you truly enjoy suddenly lose any and all appeal?"
I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth and bit down in my irritation before I answered. "Sometimes," I muttered irritably.
He gave another thoughtful nod. "I know with our eidetic memories this might seem like a ridiculous question, but aside from your blackouts, are there any lapses in your memory?"
"No," I snapped.
"Yes," Peter's voice sounded quietly from outside the door.
"What the hell are you talkin' about, Pete?" I demanded.
"Later," he answered just as quietly.
"Fine," I growled, my fury evident. Peter and Charlotte's emotions were somber and dejected, and if I wasn't so furious, I would be apprehensive.
Carlisle's emotions had also turned grave, but they had also taken on an air of determination that drew my attention back to him. His expression was contemplative but still clinical. There was hardly a trace of my father figure in the man sitting before me. This was Carlisle the doctor, and I did not fuckin' like it. "And how do you feel most of the time?"
"I'm a fuckin' empath, Carlisle!" I shouted, my patience wearing thin. "I feel everything!"
"I don't mean the emotions of others," he said calmly. "I mean, what do you, yourself, feel?"
I huffed in exasperation and ground my teeth together. "Sometimes I feel just like every other person does, but a lot of the time I feel detached and numb or angry and irritable. Then there are times when I feel so much it overwhelms me."
It was getting more and more difficult to answer Carlisle's questions, especially as my aggravation continued to mount. It would have helped if I knew what his motivations were and where the hell he was going with all of this.
His emotions were swallowed up by guilt, and as aggravated as I was, I felt the need to reassure him "I'm really fuckin' good at hiding that shit, Carlisle."
He nodded, his guilt only lessening a little. "Have you ever been happy?" he asked next.
"No," I admitted brusquely. "I've felt it before, obviously, but it's never been mine."
Carlisle sighed and defeat filled him, but it was a brief sentiment. He regained his professionalism and composure quickly. "Do you have problems relating to others?"
My teeth ground together harder, and my eyes narrowed. "Yes," I responded sharply, my jaw so tense I barely got that one word out.
"How often do you feel tense or on edge?"
"Enough!" I shouted, slamming my fist down on his desk hard enough to crack the wood. "Why the hell are you askin' me these things?"
Carlisle stared at me for a long time, studying my face so intently I again felt the urge to rip his head off.
"Jasper," he began slowly. "Have you ever considered that you might have post-traumatic stress?"
"What?"
"All the questions I just asked you are diagnostic ones," he informed.
I reared back as if he'd slapped me. "Diagnostic questions, Carlisle?" I repeated in utter disbelief. "I just opened up to you about my past and you diagnose me? What the fuck? What makes you think you have the fuckin' right?"
He turned his head away from me, his features twisting in remorse, and his emotions clouding over with sadness, but as contradictory as it was, there was no regret in them. There was only resolution. He straightened his back and turned to me again. That resolution was clear on his face and in his eyes. "Maybe I don't, but that doesn't change the fact that you answered yes to every question I just asked you, and there were questions I didn't have to ask you to know that the answer to them is yes. A person doesn't need to have all the symptoms to be diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. So, have you ever considered it?"
"No!" I barked, digging my fingernails instead of just my fingertips into the seat of the chair I was sitting in and relishing in the noise of the fabric tearing. "Why would I? That's a human thing."
"There are many things that make us different from humans," Carlisle said. "When we're changed, the venom stops our hearts and the flow of our blood, converting it to our own venom. It eliminates our need to breathe and to eat human food, replacing it with the thirst for blood. It burns away some of our conscience, but despite all the aforementioned things, we are essentially still human, Jasper. As we just discussed, our instincts are powerful, but at our core, most of us still want all the same things that humans do: love, companionship, a place to call home and so much else. We experience all the same emotions only amplified, and let's not forget that our species is derived from humans. Without humans, we would not exist, and though we, as individuals, do change as a result of the transition, we do retain our human personalities to a certain extent. Gifted vampires are a prime example of this. So you see, vampires are just as susceptible to the effects of trauma as humans are. How can you look at Rosalie's first decades as a vampire and not see that I'm right?"
And Carlisle was right … about some of it. Vampires did crave love and companionship. It was why they formed covens or, in our case, a family. The mating bond was rooted in our need, both biological and psychological, for love, and Rosalie had been traumatized, but that didn't mean I was.
My arms folded over my chest, and I radiated defiance, or I would have if I could fuckin' project. I didn't speak. I was too angry to.
Carlisle sighed again, but his determination didn't lessen. "Jasper," he said patiently. "There are soldiers that only fight in one battle and come back from it affected by post-traumatic stress. You were at war for a little over a century. Having PTSD doesn't make you weak, and it doesn't mean you're sick. All it means is that you haven't learned a healthy way to deal with the things you've been through."
"Whatever."
"You don't have to agree with my diagnosis," he said. "But that doesn't make me wrong. I have been a doctor for a long time. I know what I'm talking about. I'm not saying these things to make you angry or to hurt you. I'm saying them because I've been watching you for 96 years, and I might not have known everything, I know I still don't, but I've observed a lot of the symptoms for as long as I've known you. You are damn good at concealing your true emotions and keeping things to yourself, and you may be a mystery, but your pain isn't. I have never liked seeing you suffer. I have never liked seeing you being torn apart from the inside out, and I've never been able to say anything about it because I've always respected your wishes to retain your privacy. I hardly ever know what to say to you or what to do when you're sucked under, and you've limited my ability to try by keeping all this to yourself. Even if you'd been open about it, I don't know how to be there for you because I can't understand your trauma. Being able to definitively diagnose you doesn't change that, but it does help me understand better. This I have the ability to comprehend, not on a personal level but on a medical one. This I might be able to help you with, but I can't do that if you won't let me. I'm not asking you to let me in completely. What I am asking is that you at least consider that what I'm saying might be the truth."
"And say I come to the conclusion that you're right," I said. "What the hell do you propose we do about it? It's not like I can go to a fuckin' therapist!"
"We'd have to get a little creative," he answered. "But we would find a way, and once we do, you might be able to keep the God of War completely in your control. Maybe you wouldn't be miserable anymore. Maybe you could even be happy. Isn't that something you want for yourself?"
My lips twisted bitterly, and I let out an ironic chuckle. "There's no question I want control. As for the happiness, I don't know."
Carlisle frowned, but before he could ask why, I explained. "I don't know if I could ever figure out how to be or if I'm even capable of it after everything. What I want has never really mattered—not when it comes to that."
"We could change that," he murmured. "But you have to want to change it."
"Is this the part where you preach about skipping through a field full of daisies and tell me everything will turn into puppies and rainbows?" I asked sarcastically.
"No," Carlisle responded. "If you decide you want it and that you're willing to try, it will be hard and painful, but it would be worth it, Jasper."
"Maybe."
Defeat again flitted into his emotions, and I sighed, my anger losing some of its steam. "Look, Carlisle, I mean it when I say I don't know if I'm capable of bein' happy, but I'm okay with that. Do you know why that is?"
"Why?"
"Because I know how to laugh now. I know how to joke and smile. I have people that love me, and I've learned how to love them back. I struggle with control sometimes, but I'm not a wild animal. I haven't killed a human in nearly 51 years. My bloodlust no longer controls me. I control it. Bein' a soldier is still the only thing that makes sense to me most of the time, but I'm not where I was 112 years ago," I explained. "I may not know what happiness that's mine feels like, but, sometimes though it's not as often as I would like, I know peace. Sometimes, just the same as I don't know peace as often as I would like, I know contentment. I'm not sure what else I can ask for ... so I'm okay with that."
Wow, the Major scoffed, that is so touching!
Shut it, dick! I snapped. You like where we are now, and you can't lie to me about that. You are me, after all. My inner tone was smug.
So you're right, he grumbled crossly. Don't get all cocky about it.
Carlisle just nodded. "Alright, Jasper. I just want more for you."
"I know," I said. "And I love you for that. I'll think about the things you said."
"Thank you," he said gratefully.
I nodded in return and hauled myself up from the chair. "I'll see you at home."
"Yeah," he affirmed. His expression and emotions were contemplative, but I didn't bother trying to figure them out. I had enough of my own shit to contemplate.
oOo
Tuesday, November 2nd, 2080
BPOV
Jasper Whitlock was a contradiction. I honestly had no clue what to make of him anymore. Now I had more things to add to my list of stuff that had me doubting whether or not he was capable of turning me in.
For the past two days, he'd been dutifully helping his mother restore that antique roll-top desk and treating her with such kindness, love, and respect. It was a side to him I'd never seen, and I kind of liked it. I liked it when he was angry too. I had only been afraid of him that one time. Now whatever he threw at me didn't faze me, and it never would, including the other night, when he'd brought me to my knees right along with him. I had known going after him like that was a risky move, but I'd just been so damn angry over the attack on Riley and how affected I was by seeing Jasper dressed up as a fireman. Emmett's intentions had all been in the name of fun—I couldn't take my fury out on him even though he was responsible and very proud of himself for it; the look on Jasper's face wasn't the same as Emmett's. It was arrogant and smug. I'd wanted to wipe that expression off and get under his skin the way he'd gotten underneath mine. That was what made things so different between us now because I hadn't seen him so furious with me since the alley in Louisville, and I still wasn't afraid.
Even the one time I was, though I'd been pissed about it, I'd still admired and respected him on some level. There was just something so majestic about him when he was full of that fire—that beauty was just as present on Halloween as it was all those months ago, and my admiration over that had only increased since, which was why I hadn't thrown a shit fit when my plan to make him kneel before me backfired. I kind of loved how unyielding he could be and that he had the balls to hand me my ass whenever I attempted to hand him his. But gentle, kind Jasper was very attractive too.
He is not allowed to be any more attractive, Bella!
That wasn't what stood out to me most though. He had comforted me. I had been doing a really shit job of concealing my emotions lately, particularly in regard to the topic of our history project. Mr. Sumner had caught me completely off guard with that, and Jasper noticed. He'd put up with my attitude and insults, hadn't fired any of his own back at me and then he'd tried to make me feel better. He had made me feel better, and he'd helped me focus. He'd brought me enough peace on the matter, which was very little considering, so we could bang out a decent amount of work before I had to head in for my shift the first day we worked on our project.
That, in and of itself, was amazing. When he'd put his hand over mine, it was the first time we'd touched since our shoulders brushed the day I'd come to negotiate my moving in. There had been a zap then, like an electric shock, but it wasn't the same as in Louisville. I had wondered on several occasions if it would be if I touched him deliberately but had never considered actually testing it. As it turned out, Jasper's touch did still light me on fire.
The comfort he brought me wasn't the end of it though. When I returned home from work late that night, there was a surprise waiting for me on my bedside table. There was a little cake, bigger than a cupcake but still meant only for one, with a candle jutting out of the frosting at its center, a single pink tulip, and a stuffed horse along with a note scrawled neatly on a sheet of monogrammed paper with the initials JMW.
Bella,
I know it was awhile ago, but I wanted you to know I didn't forget. It may not be a milestone birthday, but a girl only turns seventeen once, and I wanted to get you a little something to celebrate that. I hope your birthday was special and that you had someone around to make you smile.
Make a wish,
Jasper
It was a simple gift. The cake was red velvet and amazing. The flower was beautiful, now sitting on my bedside table in a vase I'd secretly filched from a cabinet in the dining room—being light on my feet and a damn good cat burglar came in handy sometimes. Jasper had remembered from our time in Louisville that I liked horses. The stuffed horse even looked like Wildfire, though there was no way he could've known about him.
He'd remembered my birthday. I had told him about it in passing two months ago, and he'd remembered.
I'd teared up when I read that note, clutching the stuffed horse that smelled like him tightly to my chest as I lit and blew out the candle. It was only the second birthday gift I'd ever received and the whole thing was so damn sweet. I liked sweet Jasper. The problem was I seemed to like all the sides of Jasper I encountered, even the less than kosher ones, and that was dangerous, so, so fucking dangerous, especially since I was still trying to figure out if he had turned me in. That was the one Jasper I could not like, if that Jasper even existed.
Would a guy who bought you a birthday present and has really only been an ass to you when you started it do something like that Bella?
I just didn't know, and I didn't know how to ask without saying too much. Jasper had this uncanny ability to draw things out of me that I had no intention of discussing when I wasn't fighting with him. That was what had gotten me in trouble with him in the alley before, and I could not talk about any of it: not the things that happened after he left, not my past or where I came from. I already had that urge too damn often. Whether or not he was responsible for my shit-tastic Louisville adventures, if he had no idea at all and I brought it up, there was still someone in this house who was connected to them. I still didn't know Jasper, and if he went to his father with the information I revealed ...
Dr. Cullen was a man of his word, and he would stick to the deal we'd made. However, if he were to be given information about that time, he could potentially justify using that knowledge as a loophole in our deal. He had his suspicions about the events of that night, and he was clever enough to put the pieces together if he was given enough of them. For some reason, he cared and wanted to protect and help me, and our paths had crossed then. He could say it wasn't prying on those grounds alone, and I just couldn't take the risk. As good as these people had been to me, no matter how eternally grateful I would always be to them, I still couldn't trust them. I couldn't trust anyone. I couldn't ask Jasper about this outright, and I couldn't resort to my usual methods without violating my end of the deal. I would have to continue waiting and watching, doing things the old-fashioned human way, until I came to a solid conclusion about Jasper Whitlock on my own.
Luckily for me, our history project gave me the perfect opportunity to do just that. I found it pretty damn hilarious that what I had at first been so angry about, bothered by and absolutely dreading was something I now looked forward to.
It was just after school, and Jasper and I were working on the media part of our project until I had to head to work at six. I would do the rest of my homework when I got home from my four hour shift as I continued to wait for news on Jane's identity. My computer was fast, but it still had a shit ton of records to go through, and that took time despite its speed. I was getting antsy and impatient with all the waiting though. It was grating, and I needed so badly to solve Jane's murder. It was weighing heavily on my conscience, the guilt twisting me up into knots that left me feeling sick almost all the time. Now that I was settled here in Forks for the most part, I'd counted on my anger with Jasper to keep me from dwelling on it as much, but now that I was questioning his part in things, I couldn't rely on that. It was eating at me so much I felt like I was going crazy, and I didn't have an outlet for my frenetic energy. I wanted to go running or swimming or something to relieve the tension but still wasn't comfortable enough to let loose here. Of course, thinking about relieving tension in Jasper's presence always invited images into my brain that only made that tension worse. I hated that he still affected me so damn much after everything even if I was doubting his involvement. That didn't matter though. My craziness and the discomfort I felt over my attraction to him wasn't helping along the progress on our project, so I pushed it into a room in my head—my way of compartmentalizing—and broke the lock on the door to that room so I could focus.
When I brought myself back to the task at hand, I finally noticed the tingle of Jasper's eyes as he watched me from his seat across the table. My body temperature skyrocketed at the feel of it, but I regained control quickly. I moved my gaze to his, cocking an eyebrow at him in question.
He raised his own eyebrow. "You back with me, sugar?"
I scowled. I still hated it when he called me that. "I wasn't aware I left."
"Oh, you were definitely some place else," he remarked with a confidence that irritated the shit out of me. He tried to hide his grin at the expression that clearly matched what I was feeling, and I only grew more agitated. I was always in such tight control of myself, but he fucked with that. All the Cullens did, and I did not fucking like it. "You ready to get to work or are you headed back to La La Land?"
My scowl deepened. "You are an insufferable smart ass, Jasper Whitlock."
He grinned boyishly at me, and despite my continued irritation, my stomach flipped. "So I've been told."
"I hate you," I growled. It was becoming harder and harder to say it with any conviction, and that pissed me off.
An emotion I couldn't place flashed across his perfect face but was gone in an instant. He waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I hate you too. Now can we get started? I have other things to do."
He was annoyed now. That was good. Maybe I could keep picking at him, riling him up so we could argue some more. I rather enjoyed that, and it would put off having to look at pictures of the attacks I had already seen and had no interest in seeing again. They represented an awful, heartbreaking time for our country, but they represented something similar yet entirely different for me. Having that shoved in my face was not my idea of fun. I much preferred the prospect of arguing with him, but he was right. The harder I fought this, the more this project would drag out, making me miserable for that much longer. I had to suck it up. I was Soldier Omega, born to take on things infinitely more difficult and horrifying than a high school history project, but that was the problem.
"Ditto," I said. I suddenly wanted to tell him he wasn't the reason I was so uneasy, but I couldn't find the words.
Jasper got up and pushed a chair next to mine, flopped onto it and dragged his laptop across the table so it was in front of us. As he booted it up, he cast an unfathomable sideways glance at me, and his close proximity had that weird energy buzzing between us again. As always, I didn't understand either one of those things, but it stirred something in me. I couldn't name what it was, but the urge I was struggling with now was whether or not to thank him for my birthday gift. I didn't know if he was expecting one. He hadn't mentioned the gift at all, but I wanted to thank him. It was another thing I didn't know how to do. The words were simple enough, but they seemed inadequate. How did you thank a person for a gift that seemed so simple to anyone else but held so much meaning for you? I wondered what he would do if I kissed him. How that could possibly count as a thank you, I didn't know, but when words failed, a person was only left with actions. A kiss didn't have to mean anything more than thank you.
Just tell him 'thank you' and get that idea the fuck out of your head!
Before I could make a decision about it, Jasper had an academic website devoted to our topic pulled up. For the next half hour, we were inundated with images all related to the attacks with Jasper tagging pictures he thought we could use. He'd asked my opinion at first, but when he had very little success at getting me to share my input, he eventually gave up.
I was typically so good at separating myself from things, but I was having so much trouble with this. It was the first time in five years I'd had to devote any serious time to this subject and its connotations in regard to me, and I just wasn't dealing with it well. Memories from different rooms in my head started to rattle at their doors, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I wouldn't let this happen again. I refused to have an episode now.
When Jasper hit play on a video from The History Channel's website, the live action busted those doors open, flooding my brain with the memories I'd been fighting to keep at bay. The room started to spin, my stomach twisting into knots that had nothing to do with Jane for once, and I began to hear far off screams. I took a deep breath, trying not to squeeze my eyes shut again and bring more attention to myself, but Jasper was one of the most observant people I'd ever met. He'd probably notice the change in me whether my eyes were open or closed. I did my best to act normal regardless.
Deep breathing didn't help. I needed to get out of this room, but I was afraid it was too late for that. The screams were still far off, so I didn't think they were coming from me in the present yet, but they were getting louder, and my head was still filling with things from my past I didn't want to relive. My vision was turning hazy around the edges, and I was gripping the edge of the table so tightly my knuckles were white. If I tightened my hold any more I would crack the wood.
I was so lost in what I was seeing, it surprised me when Jasper's large hand closed over mine. It seemed to me as though I jumped a mile high at his touch, and my unfocused gaze snapped to his.
"Bella?" Jasper questioned.
"Hmm?" I asked distractedly but he was slowly pulling me to the present.
His eyes remained locked on mine, but I didn't know for how long. The gold of them was mesmerizing, and I was losing myself in them. For the first time that was a good thing, so I concentrated on letting the rest of the world fall away until it was just me and him. We weren't alone though. My memories were still swirling around in my head, and the screams hadn't dissipated, but the longer I stayed lost in his eyes, the more those things slowed and quieted. It was getting easier to breathe as well. Just as he had been the day I'd come home from buying my car, he was the tether keeping me grounded. I still didn't know why, and I still didn't like it, but that didn't matter. When he tried to pull his hand away, I grabbed it and held on.
His eyes dropped to our joined hands. "Do you want to take a break?"
I didn't know what the expression on my face was as I answered, "Yeah, my brain is kind of fried."
I sucked in a shaky breath and steeled myself to let go of him. I was sure I was creeping him out clutching onto him the way I was, but I was reluctant to throw away the only thing that appeared to be keeping me from losing my shit. I didn't want to do that here. I didn't want to do it anywhere. He already hated me, so maybe it didn't matter so much if he thought I was a clingy freak. The word "freak" echoed in my head, and despite the potential consequences, I let go of him anyway. I didn't want him to think I was a freak.
I propped my elbows on the table and rested my head in my palms, digging my fingers roughly into my hair and tugging painfully. I couldn't deal with my confusion and conflict over Jasper and all my other shit at the same time. Usually I would have been able to but not now. Cool fingers ran from my knuckles to my fingertips and gently coaxed them away from my scalp, stopping me from pulling my hair out at the roots. I sighed with relief but not for the respite from the abuse I'd been inflicting. Those fingers wrapped around mine again.
"Come on," he said, hauling me to my feet and leading me toward the garage.
Ordinarily I would have let him lead me there. Who was I kidding? I probably would have junk punched him for taking charge of me like that. No matter what I usually would have done, I couldn't be in such a confined space, and I was too dizzy for anything involving a motorcycle. Instead, I shifted toward the stairs. He didn't argue with me, he didn't say anything, just allowed me to guide him to where I needed to go.
I pushed open the door to my room, towed him inside, shut it behind me and dragged him over to my bed. Then I shoved him down on it, kicked off my boots and climbed in next to him. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling and reached for his hand again. I expected Jasper to finally protest that, but he didn't say a word. I hoped that was how it stayed.
I didn't remember falling asleep, but I startled awake, my eyes popping open as I came into awareness. I didn't bolt upright which I ordinarily would have done. I did, however, notice I was thoroughly wrapped around Jasper. My legs were tangled with his, my head snuggled into the crook of his neck, the scent of him assaulting my nose as it pressed against his skin. One arm had wormed its way underneath his back, and my hand was now resting on his shoulder blade, the defined muscle prominent through his thin T-shirt. The other was wound around his neck and buried in his hair. One of Jasper's arms was wrapped around my upper back with his hand resting on my shoulder, while the other rested casually on the small of my back like this was something we did all the time. My whole body was buzzing from the contact.
I moved out of his arms quickly and searched his face as I attempted to figure out how I'd ended up in that position. He peered at me, scrutinizing my face as I was his. He didn't appear to be angry with me for it, but he didn't seem amused by it either. That was good I supposed, but I couldn't read the emotion in his expression. That was nothing new.
"How did we end up like that?" I'd anticipated that my voice would come out sharply, but it came out soft and curious instead.
Jasper looked as though he'd been bracing himself for me to snap at him, but his features twisted into something else when I didn't. Was that relief I saw?
"You just sort of ... shifted after you fell asleep," he responded, his tone quiet and filled with more emotion I couldn't place.
"Oh," I said dumbly, but I wasn't irritated by my inability to come up with more than one word as a response, strangely enough. "Why didn't you wake me?"
I was confused.
Jasper scooted backwards and propped himself against my headboard, shrugging. "You seemed like you needed it."
"Oh," was my second brilliant monosyllabic response. It suddenly occurred to me that my memories were firmly locked away again, and I hadn't had any nightmares ... that I could remember. "How long was I out?"
"A little over an hour," he said. "You won't be late for work if you're worried about that."
That hadn't even crossed my mind, and it should have. I was grateful he'd reminded me. I got up from the bed and stretched leisurely, feeling better than I had in awhile. Jasper's eyes were still on me, but I ignored that as I made my way toward the en suite bathroom. I wanted to take a quick shower before I headed to work, and I had the time to. My muscles were tense from my near episode, and I needed the hot water to soothe them. I hoped it would.
As I passed by him, he took hold of my arm with a delicate but contrastingly firm touch and turned me to face him. My instinctual reaction would generally have been to go on the defensive and attack him without thought. I didn't, and I wondered why. For some odd reason, I knew if it was anyone else, I would have. I stared at him inquisitively.
"I can do that part of the project," he said softly. "If you want."
My eyebrows shot up into my hairline. "By yourself?"
He nodded, a tentative expression on his face.
"Why?"
"You're busy catching up in your other classes and keeping up with all the current curriculum," he answered. "Plus, you've got your job."
I opened my mouth to protest, but he stopped me with more than just his words—his hand on my arm tightened ever so slightly, sending little shocks through my body, and his eyes grew more intense, almost ... desperate. "I know you're capable of juggling all of it, Bella, but you've done the majority of the work on the paper and the oral presentation. Your outlines are solid, cognizant, and very impressive. You've got great insight, and you're clear and concise. Like you said, you know this shit, and we brainstormed the concept for the media project together. That's really the most important thing. Will you please let me do this?"
I found myself nodding before I registered what I was doing.
A flash of relief flitted across his features. "Thank you."
I nodded again.
"I'll just go now," he said awkwardly. It was cute, and I watched as he walked passed me.
Before he disappeared through my doorway I darted after him. I was the one who grabbed his arm this time, my touch gentle. He turned around, and before I could talk myself out of it, I pressed my lips to his cheek. I lingered longer than was probably appropriate and definitely not necessary, but I was grateful to him. He had no idea what he had saved me from, was still saving me from, and I didn't know how to verbalize that any more than I did a "thank you" for my birthday gift. I hoped this was enough.
When I pulled away, for once I could tell what he was thinking, at least in part. He was shocked and not just a little, but he didn't comment. I was grateful for that too because if he had, I didn't know what I would have done with myself. Things would have gotten awkward if he'd said anything, and my lips were still tingling from the contact with his skin. I was too busy wondering if his lips felt the same as his cheek—slightly rough from all the scars that marred his skin but still soft—to have given him a response that was remotely coherent.
He turned around and disappeared from my view.
I didn't know why he was doing this, but there was one thing I did know. Jasper didn't turn me in. I think I'd always known it, but I'd needed to blame someone, and he was the easiest target.
I would talk to him about this later. Not tonight but soon. I had to apologize for the way I had treated him. He hadn't deserved it, and it bothered me that he might think all there was to me was a cold, snarky bitch. I wanted to prove to him that that wasn't true. I knew I would have to work for it, but I was willing to do what had to be done to atone for my behavior. I was doing a lot of that these days.
I had thought in the alley that he was worth it. I would prove that to him too.
oOo
I was preparing to head home from work when my cell phone beeped in my purse, signaling that I'd received a text message. Each Cullen had a specific notification noise and ringtone so I wouldn't be caught by surprise when I answered it and could prepare myself for whatever might come from the other end of the line and what I might say in return. This notification didn't belong to any of them.
That only meant one thing—my computer search was over. When I got home I would either discover who Jane Doe was or I would have to devise another way to find out.
