Whew! I'm trying to be so serious about this fic…. Thank you to all the readers and commenters. It makes me so happy !

Chapter 4: Peekaboo

He's a siren. No, an anchor tying my every thought and fantasy to the depth of nowhere.

I'm stuck in my head, thinking about the next time I'll see him, the next time he'll look at me. The next time he'll run his fingers through his hair and say my name. I'll be sure to look him in the eyes from now on. I'll make sure to search for the heat.

I want him to show me the other side of him - the beast, the animal, the criminal. He wouldn't look at me. He wouldn't look up from the table. He left the diner without saying bye.

I wonder if I've caught his attention like he's caught mine. Does he like good girls, plain girls. Girls with rough, bleach worn hands have never been sexy. I'm worried about hands when I should be more concerned with my face.

What did he say? Half dead. I look like a zombie.

I mindlessly pick at a hangnail before my prayer is answered. Jake's here again, except this time his energy feels cloudy and grey. He quietly walks over to his usual table, but today he's not smiling. But his face wasn't the first thing I noticed.

I see his hands before I see his face. What the hell happened?

"Hey Bella." His hoarse voice is almost unrecognizable. He wears a tired and torn expression.

"Hi Jake, what can I get for you?" Now I've got a stone lodged in my throat. You make me nervous ya' know.

"Just give me a stack of pancakes and a coffee." He slides the menu to the edge of the table.

"Ok do you wanna try the new ricotta pancakes? Gus's mom finally let us have her recipe." Cheese makes people happy right? My cheerful tone is forced and thick with worry.

"Uh sure, sure. Listen, I want to apologize for my brother. It won't ever happen again." He finally looks up and our eyes lock.

"Ok."

"Ok?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Nothing happened." I'm not sure what you're apologizing for. I don't know how to receive it. People don't apologize often, not to me.

"No, I'm serious. I'm sorry." Jake's eyes search mine for a reaction.

"And I said ok. It's fine."

"Shit, Bella don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" Am I missing something?

"Like you don't care."

I'm not a weak chummer who can't ride the tide. The weak don't survive in this town. You know that.

"Should I care? That's what some guys do. How some guys are. It's nothing new." Does every action call for a reaction? Some men have more power than others, but all men do what they want. I can't control that.

"No, don't ever let a man disrespect you." His voice raises with sharp intonation. He exhales deeply through his flaring nostrils.

"Is that what these are from?" The sores, cuts, and scrapes on your fists. Jake's strong hands mindlessly flex, his fingers flat on the table.

I take a closer look at his appearance. Clean, neatly combed hair, forest green sweater with a crisp white crewneck tee underneath. But his hands give him away.

"Did you get into a fight?" I foolishly grab one of his hands from the table and study his injuries. "Was it your brother? It wasn't because of me, was it?"

"Nah, it was nothing, a long time comin'. I told you it would never happen again." He winces as I examine his broken nail, beaten blue and purple. You can tell the fight wasn't pretty. High impact, high intensity, I can still feel the fire in between his fingers.

"Why would you do that for me." I mean fighting your own brother. "You don't even know me." I'm just some hard knot that turns into a random silly waitress when I hear your voice when you say my name. You don't know me at all.

"Sure I do. You're Bella, the good girl. The girl who fights a smile, but peeps a giggle. The girl that never asks any questions."

"Huh?" my heart has set an ugly beat that my breath can't catch up to. The baseline is a rough and arrhythmic jump. I'm pulling for a deep breath that won't surface. His hand feels like it weighs a ton within mine.

"You never ask any questions. I can tell you want to, but you never do."

I never ask any questions about him. "You don't ask a man that looks like you questions. You're not the type of man you question." Then again, he never asks any questions about me either. I thought we had an understanding.

"What do you mean?" His head tilts to the side letting chin length strands fall forward.

"You have tattoos that your shirts can never conceal. They're on your neck, all the way down to your wrists. Your hands are usually well manicured. Your hair is always clean. You come in random times, no set lunch hour, no rhyme or reason. I don't want to come up missing because I ran my mouth asking stupid questions."

"It doesn't sound like you're afraid of me making you disappear. And I've never given you the impression that I could ever harm you. I've been careful." Careful to hide the other side of you. But I got a peak, a shaking fist, a shadow of a dark glare, and now a marred hand. Does your brother control you? Does he make the beast come out?

Our hand positions flip so mine is held in his. He rubs at the callus on my middle finger. Even though there mangled, Jake's hands are so soft and gentle, light as a feather. I expected to feel fire or waves of aggression. He has the power now.

I'm disappointed. I want a death grip. This is not how I envisioned the touch of hands that have killed before. I want you to brake me. I want to feel everything.

"I'm not afraid because I haven't asked you any questions. Your aura is dark but not cold. You seem fair. You don't seem like you commit crime without reason."

"So you know I commit crimes?" He smiles and looks up at me from where our hands are joined, running his thumb slowly over the tops of my fingers.

He can overpower me, but won't. He can make me listen, but doesn't. Hands used to pillage, refuse to take hold. They should feel like a vice. They should feel like desire. Why did you fight for me if you don't desire me?

"I never said that." My head shakes in denial.

"But you did."

"No I said you don't seem like you commit crime without reason. I never said you commit crimes." It's all hypothetical, just like this sex driven invitation.

Why won't you pull me in? Why didn't you look at me that night.

All I want is for you to grip my hand tighter. This lull of heat is not enough. I'm still frozen. This one bolt of lightning is not enough to sink my boat. Pull me into the devil's sea. You're one of the Kings, aren't you?

••••And that's all I've been able to think about. What type of criminal Jake is. What type of man he is. How old he is. How skilled he is at getting me to say what I'd never say out loud. I can't focus in class. I can't even hear half the words people say.

"Oh! Hi there, Bella. It's been ages." A delicate hand takes its place on my shoulder.

Angela's shoulders slightly jump at the hollow bang of the old lockers.

"Hey Angela. I just saw your mom at the diner a few days ago." And she's still pining over my deadbeat, drunk father.

"Yeah, she told me. You still considering taking the bar job? That's all my mom's been talking about." She awkwardly blushes below her overgrown bangs.

"Yeah, um I'm going to drop by there this week." I wonder if Jake frequents the bar. I wonder if he's a different person when he drinks?

Am I a different person when I drink? Maybe I'm a quiet and soft drunk like my father, or attention seeking like my mother. Maybe I'm not a buzzkill. Maybe I'm an erotic girl, a woman.

I lightly close my locker, leaving open space between us. Cramped hallways are always impersonal.

And here we are face to face. The silence between us is oddly comfortable, almost like staring at a reflection of ourselves. Do I look like her? Does she look like me? We must look like two future cat ladies, disheveled and depressed. Is this what giving up looks like? Is this what it means to be eaten by this town? A byproduct of Forks desperation.

The bell for the start or fourth period sounds off. Students push through like schooling fish. But like a true herring in darkness, Mike breaks apart from his followers and drifts into my personal space.

"So did you block my number or— because every time I try to call you, your shit goes straight to voicemail." Irritated and restless Mike. His tone is brackish and impatient.

"Seriously, fuck off Mike, you're interrupting our conversation." He blinks back in slight shock.

Subtle doesn't work. Being a good girl doesn't work. I'm a knot, a shrewd plain Jane. Why stop now?

Angela and I share a knowing glance before she peels away from my locker. "Bye Bella, we can catch up later." Her mouse like voice matches her quiet exit.

I've been left to fend for myself. My line of vision is rudely invaded. Mike fights for eye contact like he's been emboldened by my rejection.

"Take me off the block list. Now." His dumb eyebrows raise as if he's my father giving me an ultimatum.

"You sound like a girl, Mike. Stop calling. I don't want to talk to you." I try to push past him but become trapped between his steroid jacked letterman jacket and the cool metal lockers.

"What do I have to do, huh? What do I have to do to get you to listen." His hands jut out to touch me but I slap them away. His hands are sweaty and clumsy.

He barely hisses above a whisper, but he makes his point clear. "Don't embarrass me, Bella. Cut the tough act. I know you. You're nothing but a basking shark. You ain't gonna bite."

"Don't fucking touch me. You're embarrassing yourself. You always do. You make me itch. You give me the hiccups." I don't want to talk to a traitor.

"Look I told everybody you couldn't come to the movies because you're still working at that shitty diner. There are only so many chances that I'm gonna give you to keep embarrassing me. Why do you insist on doing this the hard way?"

"Get over yourself. Seriously, stop making Eric do your dirty work. Stop calling me. And you need to stop touching me!" I slap his pudgy fingers away from my hair. He makes me cold and hard.

"Aren't you tired of working? Aren't you tired of wearing the same clothes every day? You need me." I need you to bleed from every orifice on your body. I need you to melt into the floor. I need you to burn down to a crisp. I want to feel the heat.

I thrust myself away from the lockers, throwing my backpack over my shoulder.

You deserve to be ignored. You deserve to be left out in the cold.

Is that what I am? The cold? Is that what I feel when I sleep at night? The cold starts in my palms and the soles of my feet. It's starting to eat away at what's left in between my sternum.

But all I dream about is the warmth in the rain, the empty voice box, and the heavy mouth.

I'm pushing for depth here! I hope you guys liked it. I'm still undecided on what exactly Jacob does… Anyway things will move outside of the diner soon. Do you think Jacob even likes Bella at this point? LOL