Please note, this is rated M. Be warned, it contains bad language and adult content.
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to these characters. However, I do own the rights to this story. You may not reuse it, rewrite it, or borrow it in any way, without my permission.
I thought I knew what I was doing when I started writing to him 4 years ago. I thought I was trying to understand the man who stole so much from me. I wanted to know something other than what my Uncle Billy told me when I was a kid and what I could make out from his blacked out police files.
I thought I'd be safe. I thought I was safe. He was serving two life sentences for killing a police officer. The police chief of Forks, my father and he got another 15 years for the death of my mother. It was the harshest verdict they could give him, considering Folks doesn't believe in the death penalty.
In some ways I was thankful to him, he spared my life that night. He saw me at the top of those stairs. He knew I was there, he knew I saw him clear as day, but he still walked away. Maybe he didn't think a 12-year-old girls testimony would hold up in court. Maybe he thought I'd be to scared to say anything after seeing what he'd done to my parents, but none of that mattered because the day I was set to testify he changed his plea to guilty. Still, to this day, I don't understand why. He held his ground for 3 years and from what records I can get into at the station, there wasn't very much evidence against him.
I was never allowed in the courtroom. They said it was because I was going to testify and hearing other people's testimony could change my memory of the events that took place that night. I don't think any thing could ever change my memory of the events that night. It replays in my head like a movie on auto replay, how the devil with the smile of an angel brought hell to Forks.
CHAPTER 1
It's been 3 weeks since I received his last letter, 4 weeks since I last heard the horse crackle of his voice. Forks prison started sending back all my letters unopened about the same time. I know that the prison guards open and scan all letters before giving them to the inmates, so that means he's not receiving them.
I can't help but wonder If he's okay. Did his past finally catch up with him? Did one of the other clubs finally get a hold of him? If he's hurt or dead, should it matter? He hurt so many others, including me. Doesn't he deserve to be destroyed as well?
I know I shouldn't care, it's stupid, but I do and now my nights are left wondering. I long to hear his voice or maybe silence it.
Tonight's the annual Pack Tribal party. It's the one time when all of the packs come together, talk about new business ideas, swear in all new prospects and get completely shit faced. This year it's being held in Forks, and my uncle Billy, the President of the Wolf Pack insist that I attend.
Billy and my father, Charlie were best friends growing up. Billy and his son Jacob took me in after my Parent's death. Jacob was my best friend for most of my life, pretty much my only friend. Growing up on the reservation was nice, but diffidently wasn't easy. It wasn't until we gave into Billy's wishes and Jacob and I started dating that I thought it was best to move away from the reservation.
Jacob's not a bad guy, but he's changed a lot since joining up with the club. I always knew he would, his grandfather founded it. It was meant to be his one day. He's not covered in tattoos like the rest of the brothers. He just has the one large pack tattoo on his bicep that all Pack members have. He cut off his long hair shortly after becoming the club VP last year, but with the loss of his hair, his arrogance grew. Everything that was enough for him before wasn't enough anymore and that included me in some ways.
The heat of the bonfire mixed with the warmth of the whiskey tucked tightly between my thigs isn't helping me forget like I'd hope it would. It makes me think about it all far too much. Jacob, the Pack, my parents and him. The sound of his voice seeps through the loud crackle of the fire and the laughter that fills the air around me. What I imagine his skin would smell like bleeds into me, passed the smell of burnt wood, and I'm lost with his letters playing in my head.
"I always knew I would end up in a place like this. I never dreamed I would have the worlds of an angel like you to keep me company." His words play clear as day in my head.
"Can you write me more often? Just tell me about your day. Your letters make each day more bearable. I know I don't deserve easy, but I haven't needed anything as much as I need your words." His words never match the angry man I thought him to be, but then neither did his smile. He's always so soft-spoken, sweet, respectful, even when he's not.
"Bella, come on let me take you home." The smell of his skin fades away, and everything that is familiar becomes clear. Jacob's voice in my ear, his arms wrapped around me and lifting me from the huge log, I've been planted on the entire night.
I want to push him away. Tell him no, that I'm okay. However, I know I'm not, and we both know that I'd never do anything to tarnish my clean reputation. I worked hard to keep my name as clean as possible, as much as I love my father. The stories of him being a dirty Chief of police and in bed with the Pack will follow me forever.
"Let's go, I'll take you home," Jacob repeated. I liked him like this, this was the Jacob I loved, but I didn't say a word back because there's nothing to say. Nothing would change where we were at, I was tired of fighting with him. I walked away from him, over to his bike, and waited while he talked to his father.
Jacob throws one leg over his bike and hands me his helmet. This is the norm for us, minus the silence. He's always been the crazy one riding with no helmet, even when we were kids. He always said "your brain is worth more than mine." to this day, I don't think that's true. I think if Jacob put as much work into a real job or school. As he puts into his bike or the club, he'd go pretty far.
"You good," he asks as I side on to the back of his bike. Wrapping my arms and legs tighter than I'd like around his brood body. I nod my head against his back and let him know I'm good. Closing my eyes, I pretend in every way that he's someone else, someone that I shouldn't want him to be.
The ride to my house is a long quite one. I moved back to my parent's old house when I moved off the Reservation. Everyone thought it'd be weird but its comforting. My grandfather built that house for my grandmother. My father and his brother grew up there. I spent half of my life there. Every memory that I have with my parents is in the house, even the worst ones. I felt like as long as they were alive, I was alive.
Jacob's bike came to a stop at the top of the hill. My dark house sat almost as empty looking as the day I moved in. My dad's old bike sat covered in the driveway. Jacob had been working on it before the final fight started. Who would have thought with all the things we've done to each other, this would be the fight to end all battles.
I jumped off the bike and tossed Jacob's at him. Not so much as a thank you from me. But that didn't stop him from following me up the driveway to my front doorstep. Old habits die-hard, he always walked me to my door and waited for me to deadbolt the door before he'd walk back down to his bike. I don't know why. I'm a police officer. I carry a gun, but then so does he.
"Are you still writing to him?" Jacob, asks me, grabbing my arm before I can make my way into the house. This is why I prefer the silence. If I uttered a single word, he'd think it's okay to start this conversation all over again, and I was tired of this argument.
Three months ago Jacob was here working on my dad's bike. The plan was that after he fixed it, he'd teach me how to ride. I think this was like our hundredth time of maybe trying to give it another go.
Flashback:
"Hey, Jack!" I yelled from the kitchen, "Want another beer?" Jacob was in the front driveway working on my dad's old bike. The kitchen is on the other side of the house but with these old houses, the sound carries, and you can usually hear a whisper from any room in the house. So, I was surprised when he didn't respond, Jacob never says no to beer or pizza.
"Jacob!" I yelled again "I asked if you wanted a beer?" I made my way through the house, and when I got to the front living room and looked out the front window, I knew why he wasn't answering me. He was sitting in my old red beat up Chevy with my newest letter in his hand. I'd just picked it up from the P. and hadn't even had a chance to finish reading it when Jacob pulled into the driveway this afternoon.
Jacob's eyes met mine through the cracked window of my Chevy, and I could see the vein in his head pulsating. "What the fuck is this?" He screamed at me, throwing himself from the truck before slamming the door.
The letter crumpled tightly in his hand. I hadn't even gotten to read it, so I wasn't sure what the letter said. Some letters he just tells me about his day, in others he talks about his past, his wife and in some, he tells me what he dreams of.
I ran out of the house and down the driveway as fast as I could. "It's not what you think, Jacob," I reached for the letter, but no matter how many self-defense classes I've taken there was no way I was getting it away from him. "It's part of an investigation into the Fangers. It's not even addressed to me." The lies kept on coming but they were still lies, and he knew it because he had read the letter and if anyone had read any of our letters they'd know I wasn't investigating anything.
"Okay, Marie." Marie wasn't the best fake name because it wasn't even a fake name. It was my middle name. Jacob knew that, and anyone who had access to the police files knew that, including him.
"So what, I used my middle name. I told you it's part of an investigation." I reach for the letter again but instead, Jacob holds it up above my head and starts reading it and I'm dead where I stand.
"Tomorrow when I call you. Can you touch yourself? Don't tell me when you're doing it. Don't do it right away but talk to me the whole time. I want to hear the change in your voice. I want to learn everything about you, without you telling me. I want to imagine that I could make those changes…." I ripped the letter from his hand. That was private, that was mine, and he had no right to read it. What was he doing going through my truck anyways?
Jacob pushed me against the truck. "Why him? You like killers, cause I'm a killer as well Bella." He said before pushing his mouth against mine. "Do you need me to take from you like he did?" He said trying to move his mouth down my neck. I did my best to push him off.
"Jacob, stop!" I yelled pushing and screaming at him.
"What's the matter, not the right kind of monster for you?" He said dropping me back to the ground and walking away.
Present:
"No," I answered. The memory of that day fading into the background. I didn't want him to believe that his tantrum that day had anything to do with it but I always didn't want him to know that he stopped writing to me and that something possibly happen to him.
"No?" He asked me again, grabbing my wrist tighter before I could pull away.
"No, he's not writing me anymore." It hurt to say it out loud, but I said it. It was done, and I'm hoping this argument is done as well. I pulled my arm away, slammed the door, dead bolted it and sank to the floor to cry.
