Chapter 4: Waking Up

"The sun, for sorrow, shall not show his head". It was one of the last lines from Romeo & Juliet. It rang in my head as burning sunlight entered through the window. I pulled my bed-sheet over my head.

Of all the wonderful things summer brought, early mornings were not one of them. The early sunrise wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the late sunsets. My curtains were not thick enough to keep the sun from disturbing me when I tried to fall asleep and less helpful when it was an hour before any normal student wakes during summer break.

My alarm went off a minute after I pulled the covers over my eyes. I had forgotten that I had the early shift today. Groaning, I forced my feet over the side of the bed. Money. That was my mantra. I wanted money. To get money, one needs to work for it. That was why I was sacrificing most of my summer working awkward shift changes and an unpredictable schedule. That and it had been a positive distraction from the dismal way the season had started.

The morning after Edward and I spoke, he kept his promise and I kept mine. He left. I didn't stop him. Rosalie would be pleased.

I didn't bounce back the next day, or even that week. The first two days I felt like a big dark cloud was building over my head. I acted like normal. I made plans with Jake. I went over to Jess' and was relieved when Jess talked all about Mike so I wouldn't have to mention Edward. It was after those first two days, when Dad mentioned some of the local gossip he'd overheard at the station that day. Dr. Cullen had given notice. She would stay for three months, and then she and her family were leaving Forks. Dad asked if Edward or Alice had mentioned it to me. I started crying. Poor Dad. He hadn't noticed he'd gnawed through the dam I'd built. I stayed in bed most of the next day. But it wasn't so gloomy. Dad let Angie in at noon and we had an all girl power afternoon.

As sad as it was to let go of my first serious relationship, I was so grateful. Because Edward had left I had the chance to experience one of those scenes in movies where the woeful lady eats a tub of double chocolate brownie ice-cream with her best friend. Because he left I was reminded how precious a friend like Angie was. Before Forks I hadn't had a friend like that. I thought about telling her the whole truth. It almost slipped out a few times that afternoon. But Edward's secret world had already killed once person I loved. I wouldn't let that happen again. With my connection to the Cullens severed I would also sever any memory of the supernatural world. Nothing extraordinary would exist anymore. I would forget. As much as I could.

It was strange how much hit me after he was gone. I hadn't expected myself to find myself staring into space and remembering him. I hadn't expected to wonder if anyone would kiss me like that again. I wondered if a relationship could feel just as intense if the danger wasn't there. Maybe Edward had warped me. Maybe I would compare every guy I met to him. Without him around to act as evidence to his negative points, I remembered the good. He paid attention to me (too much, I admit). Even when he was frightening, he was beautiful. He knew how to touch me. He was strong but he was gentle with me. He said he loved me.

Were all relationships this hard to get over? I'd had lots of good reason to let Edward go! Where had all my good reasons gone? Okay, so the reasons hadn't disappeared—but they weren't making as much noise in my head as the memories Edward had tainted.

Jess surprised me by making a helpful suggestion. Before asking for the details, or immediately texting Lauren the news, she took my hand and told me I needed a productive distraction. Something to keep my mind occupied while I recovered. Jess and Mike had decided to try again, and therefore she thought Mike might be able to put my resume at the top of the pile. Mike's parents owned an outdoors store. Not my thing, but Jess promised the customers knew enough that it didn't matter how informed I was about the merchandise. I wasn't sure how true that was but considering that my truck ran on gas rather than hopes and dreams, having a job that paid sounded like a productive distraction.

Turns out the pile of resumes wasn't that tall to start with. Before the end of that week Mike, as the senior employee, began my training. I can't say I was an expert by the end of my training, but I had the basics down and Mike promised that any tricky requests could be sent directly to him. I was grateful that Jess and Mike had worked things out again. As much as I liked Jess, it hurt when I had to choose sides when they broke up. Mike was a good guy. Now that he didn't have a crush on me, he was also a good friend.

Not so good a friend that it wasn't awkward when he'd tried to console me about Edward. But it had been sweet.

"You can do better," Mike had said. "Don't let it keep you down for long. Okay?"

Maybe in a past life Mike had been my big brother. He seemed to do me favours purely out of the goodness of his heart. For example, after finally willing myself out of bed, a text from Mike stirred my phone.

It's your lucky day, Swan. Go back to bed.

I texted back: And I was so looking forward to another day of the Great Hoe Sale.

His response: We're all out of hoes.

I rolled my eyes and let slip a quiet laugh. Damn. But seriously, why I'm I off now?

We're out of hoes, Mike texted. And so many other things. The supply truck was late getting in Port Angeles. We don't get our stuff until they do. We're closed for the morning until the stock gets here.

I was scheduled to work the morning. That took care of my shift. Ok. Thnx, Mike. C u Fri.

With my schedule spontaneously vacant, I had an entire day ahead of me. It was the first time completely on my own for a month. With my romantic vampire stalker cut from my life, Dad at work, Angie attending her grandmother's 80th birthday bash, and Jess forewarning me that she was spending quality time with Lauren this week, I had no one to turn to. Mike was the only guy friend that I wasn't on that shaky ground between liking me and being content with the friend zone, so I never encouraged one-on-one time with any of the other guys in our group. Maybe before I would have happily passed hours inside a book or even indulged in way to many comedy sketches on Youtube. Now I was scared. Of being alone. My lungs tightened. My stomach was hollow—and I was smart enough to know that it wasn't food I was hungry for.

My breathing quickened and my fingers scrolled through my contacts list. There was one person I knew I could count on.

Jake, free today?

I paced my room for a half an hour. I turned my phone off and on checking for a response. I checked the weather. I checked my email. My eyes found their way to my phone every few seconds. Finally, when the waiting had made me so anxious that I jumped when my phone buzzed, Jake replied.

As a bird, he said.

Me too.

He texted me his address—and then added, See you soon.

The trend of wearing pajamas or sweatpants out in public had never appealed to me. I had always considered it lazy at best and at worst a general lack of consideration for everyone else that had put in the time to get dressed decently. But today I wore knee-length shorts that had paint stains, my laundry-day shirt (it had once been a white shirt but a mishap had made it tie-dye in spots, mostly red—and rolled my hair up into something like a bun.

It was my first time visiting Jake at his house. Dad was convinced that he had taken me on fishing day trips with Billy and his kids when I was young, but I don't remember much. It felt like the first time driving onto a reservation, even if Dad had taken me here in the summers of my childhood. I wasn't sure if I regretted dressing comfortably—I was a visitor, so maybe I shouldn't dress so comfortably? Then again, I was a guest; I'd been invited. I shook those silly questions out of my head. I cared way too much what other people thought of me, even strangers—a habit leftover from years of being an outsider. I had true friends now. I didn't have to fear rejection.

It was easy enough to find Billy's house—thank you, GPS—but I admit I was indecisive about where to park my truck. There were no other cars in the dirt lane I assumed was the driveway, which would've been helpful to copy. In the end I parked there and decided to ask Jake when I saw him.

I was headed to the door of the house when a loud whistle made me turn my head.

"Over here, Swan."

Instead of coming from the house, Jake waved from the garage. The garage was as big as the house, maybe bigger. I smiled when a slip of the mind brought an image of the Cullen's home to mind. There was no comparison. Jake's home was barely bigger than the Cullen's living room. Not that Dad's house could compare to the Cullen's either, but at least Dad kept the paint fresh. Strips of white paint were peeling on all sides of this home and the roof had moss and warped shingles. It was probably difficult since Billy was a single parent of two kids—his oldest a recent college graduate—and also…maybe it was old fashioned of me to assume, but Billy hadn't always been in a wheelchair. That had probably been a shock to his life in more way than one. I wasn't sure how easy it would be to adapt the mechanics of being a mechanic when he'd lost use of his legs. It wasn't something I felt right asking about.

Jake had tied back his long black hair. He wore jeans and a shirt with a sports emblem I didn't recognize—but I did notice the circle of sweat soaking his shirt.

"If you were busy, you could've said so." I gestured to all of him, but mostly the glistening sweat on his muscular arms. Suddenly I was feeling the heat too. Had it been winter clothing that had hidden his shapely arms, or had my eyes been narrowed by Edward's constant presence?

"I can't say no to anyone in desperate need of my company," Jake said with a confident grin.

"Desperate need?" I laughed. "You know, I think I'm getting a text"—I pulled out my phone—"from people I actually like. I think I'll just go."

He rolled his eyes but he didn't lose his grin. I didn't even pretend to turn back to my truck. He waved me inside the garage and I followed.

Jake gave me a brief tour of his domain. He pointed me in the direction of the various projects, tools, and four disorganized benches that were meant for organization. There was definitely a truck and truck parts. I also took note of a couple motorized bikes, one more frame than motorcycle, against the far wall. Nothing else was recognizable. I confessed once again to my limited knowledge of all things mechanical—ashamed to live up to a female stereotype. I almost mentioned Rosalie, but I shut my mouth. My choice was to forget all about that world and all the people in it. Really the best thing about my break up was the end of vampire Aphrodite's mean looks.

"So this is what you do," I murmured. It made me envious. I wasn't devoted to anything. I enjoyed reading. I enjoyed funny internet memes and videos. I enjoyed peanut butter and honey sandwiches. I had nothing like this.

Jake snickered. "Yes I am one-dimensional that this is what I do. This is my identity."

"Seriously, Jake, this is cool." I tried not to sound angry, but I was hurt that he didn't get it. "You have a…thing. I don't have a thing. I mean I have hobbies, but I can't create anything. You're the reason I was able to drive here today. My truck runs today thanks to you. And all these parts can be made into something else. I wish I had something I could do."

Jake frowned. He leaned against a workbench. He picked up a grease-spotted rag and wiped his hands. He tossed the rag down, saying nothing for a moment. I ignored the silence I'd caused and tried to find a name for the scattered pieces Jake's garage contained.

Jake finally ended the silence. "You can."

"Can what?"

"Do something," he said. "If you have some free time this summer, I could teach you a few things."

"I think you're either being way to confident in my ability to learn or too optimistic about your teaching capabilities," I teased.

He picked up the blotchy rag and tossed it out me. Instinctively I tried to catch it—and my hands were rubbed with black. I tossed the rag back at him. I wrinkled my nose and showed him my hands—the mess he'd made. He smirked.

"Seriously, Bella," he said. "I don't mind trying to teach you if you don't mind trying to learn."

I crossed my arms and stared at the truck with the popped hood and the rusted paint. "I'm not sure I'm mechanic material. I can't picture myself making a career out of it."

"You better not," he said. "I can't have you stealing my business. But it's smart to know what to do when your car breaks down. And with a truck as ancient as yours—"

"It's stupid not to," I finished. "You're right. Life skills." I shook my head and exhaled heavily. "I can't believe someone so young is wiser than I."

"I'm not that young," he said grumpily.

"These lessons—do I have to get as greasy as you?" It was admirable how comfortable he seemed with blotches on his jeans—some in the shape of of fingers wiped across—but I wasn't sure if I had any clothes I was willing to sacrifice.

"What you have on is fine, isn't it?" He nodded at my shorts. "They already have paint all over."

My heart dropped. "I can't ruin these." I hadn't meant to lower my voice, but my throat and lungs had tightened. It had been hard to get the words out. My fingertips felt over the fabric until I found the handprint in deep purple. It still held the shape of her hand, even after I'd washed it.

I took a deep breath and laughed at my own silliness. Jake's eyes met mine.

"I get it," he said. "I have this sweater—and it hasn't fit since I was ten—and that's only because is was a super-sized hand-me-down to begin with—but I kept it. It's still in my closet. I was in the wood, climbing trees and stuff, and I tore it. The sleeve was almost cut in half. My mother sewed it back together. I don't remember much, but weirdly I remember her sewing my sleeve. I can't remember if I got in trouble or if it mattered. But it's important. Because I remember her when I think of that tear."

I joined Jake leaning against the workbench—well, I stood beside him, because I was afraid what leaning would do to the behind of my shorts.

"Just when I think I'm okay again," I whispered.

Jake nodded. He raised his arm, seemed to reach for me, but changed his mind. He patted my shoulder.

"I don't even know if I cared about these shorts before today," I admitted with a shrug. "I just took them out of my drawer of summer clothes because they're comfortable."

"We're a couple of teenagers alright," Jake said. "Obsessed with clothes."

I laughed. Jake laughed. We laughed.

That day I stayed in the garage, not doing much except watching Jake. Occasionally he'd stop when he thought he could show me something simple. We spoke, but I don't remember what we said. I remember I agreed to come down a lot more often. He was serious about his offer and I felt it my duty to accept—not only to end the reinforcement of a negative female stereotype, but because Jacob was dear to me. I wanted to be around him more.

I went back after my shift at the store on Friday—and this time I wore my least favourite, yet comfortable enough outfit. Jake made sure I was coated in grease. Because he thought it was hilarious how much I disliked the feeling. After that day I came back again almost every day. Jake took it easy on me. He did most of the hard work and I did more watching than doing—he did have projects he wanted to complete in time to use during the summer—but sometimes I really did learn something. I wasn't confident I'd remember everything if Jake wasn't around to remind me, but two weeks had passed since my lessons began. Maybe in a month I'd have enough experience—not that I was destined to find out.

It was the beginning of week three when it happened. For the second time that summer, I lost someone I loved.

AUTHOR: A reminder that the world of this fanfic is closely related to the original Twilight Saga, so a lot of big plot events will be similar. So, yeah, Edward will make a reappearance, and Bella will meet the Volturri, and Jacob will wolf out in this story. In case you forgot Bella's mother is dead (because I take so bloody long between updates) she's dead (thanks to vampire James). Also (spoiler) Jacob's mother isn't deceased. She's not going to make an appearance in my rendition of New Moon. But she's also not dead.

Thanks for reading. REVIEW!

To the guest reviewer regarding TP-CASTT: I had no idea what that was and had to look it up. From what I understand a) It mainly has to to with poetry, which this ain't, b) It's not that you couldn't (because that would mean you are quite limited in your own analytical skills) but that you might not be able to analyze anything profound or good, which I am willing to admit this is a sparse chapter, and c) You are aware this is fan fiction, yes? A chapter in a fan fiction? This is not the whole story. I would appreciate it if you were to further explain your meaning because your comment was lacking detail. (And I mean this in the sincerest way. As a student attending university writing classes, decipherable comments are very important to me.)