Okay, first apologies for the wait. You can thank PortiaKhalo and Forever17Lisa for tweeting all over my ass until I got my finger out and finished this chapter.
Big love, cakes, cookies and all the love in the 'Verse to my hardcore amazing, patient and generally bitching beta, PortiaKhalo. Love you lady - and whatever you say, you make me a better writer. Every time.
Just a warning - this chapter went to a pretty dark place rather unexpectedly. If you're offended by ... well, anything then I really ask that you don't read this. Especially graphic sex, boy sex in any form and well let's just say dark themes and leave it there shall we? This was damn hard to write so, if you're so inclined, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Ps, one of the lines of dialogue in this chapter is actually a line from one of my favourite songs. Name that song and you get a teaser from the third (and final) chapter.
It's been two months and Jasper hasn't called. It's a different kind of ache that settles in the pit of my stomach every day I wake up. It's the ache of knowing I experienced one perfect moment and everything in my life looks dimmer for it.
I get up, I get dressed, I try not to think about him. I eat, I watch tv, I try not to think about him. I shower, sometimes I go out, I try not to think about him. Except all I fucking do is think about him.
His skin under my mouth, his hands in my hair, his body against mine and nothing feels as good as the memory of that night.
That I try not to think about.
Except it's all I think about.
The first few days after he left I was practically catatonic. I moved into the guest room, unable to take the saturation of him in my personal space. Unable to even cross the threshold. Everywhere I looked, he wasn't there and the fresh pain that knowledge heaped on my already bleeding wounds was too much for my body to bear. So I checked out.
The next few weeks weren't a great improvement except I learned to get out of bed more and hide my devastation better. I still didn't really speak to anyone or leave the house but I did leave bed and that was progress at least. I lost weight. And time.
Now two months have passed and I feel like I'm sort of floating in my body. My brain is still doing all the things I should be doing, sometimes it even manages to hold a semi-decent conversation with one of my parents, but mostly I'm holed up in my head watching everything go on around me and aching for the one thing that isn't.
Mama sits next to me on the couch, smooshed up against my side, and strokes my hair. I know she knows that something is wrong. I know she knows that I'm broken. I know she knows that I don't want to talk about it.
"What happened with you and Jasper?"
His name, said so casually, makes a jolt of agony twist my bones and I gasp before I can seal my lips to hold the sound in. Mama's fingers still in my hair and I remain rigid, determined not to lose it. When I'm sure I can open my mouth without the blackness in my heart spewing out, I answer.
"What makes you think anything's wrong?" The casual set of my voice jangles wrong chords between us.
"You don't sleep," she states softly, "You don't go out. You sleep in the guest bedroom. I haven't seen you smile in weeks and you've taken to swearing like a trooper."
The last one makes me laugh, a short barking noise that sounds unnatural in its unfamiliarity. It was a mistake however to allow even that burst of emotion because everything I've been suppressing is now welling up through the cracks that laugh has make in my veneer and I'm sobbing on my mama's knee, clutching her sweater, the heart-breaking, bone-crushing grief that lives in my blood just seeping out of me.
She's shushing me and stroking my hair, whispering comfort and love and I need this but I need him more and how could he have just left me like I mean nothing? I have to mean something, right?
When I'm finally cried out, mama leads me to the bathroom and covers my puffy skin with a damp washcloth, the cold a sweet relief on my salt-burned skin. She sits next to me on the edge of the bathtub, hand rubbing soft circles on my back.
"Baby, sometimes life doesn't work out the way it should. Sometimes there is pain where there should only be happiness. Sometimes people fuck up."
My head pops up, surprised. I've never heard mama swear before. She smiles and playfully swats my arm. "I am a grown-up Edward," she play-mocks before her expression returns to serious.
"Edward, you can't give up on your life because someone doesn't meet your expectations." She raises a hand to silence me when I open my mouth to speak. "I've watched you zombie through the past two months and I've allowed it because I hoped that you'd bring yourself out of it. Enough is enough now." Her tone is gentle but her eyes are firm. "It's time to get out and start living again. The world hasn't ended," she kisses my forehead, "even if it feels like it has."
She leaves me in the bathroom and I'm examining my puffy, swollen face when I decide that mama's right. It is time to start living again. It's become clear that I'm always going to be carrying this hole with me so I'm just going to have to learn how to live around it. I know there's a gay bar in Port Angeles and I stand, squaring my shoulders at myself in the mirror, resolutely planning to check it out tonight.
0o0o0o0o
It's Christmas eve but the guest bedroom is warm and the bed is even warmer and I'm so reluctant to get up. I didn't get home until gone five this morning so I've slept pretty late. My body is still deliciously achy from the previous evening's activities and I let myself enjoy the sensation a few minutes before dragging myself up and heading downstairs before mama comes yelling at me to help bake cookies or mash cranberries or whatever cooking job she decides must be done by my hand.
I completely freeze in the kitchen doorway because Jasper is leaning against the counter, mixing bowl full of cookie dough on his hip, all bare feet and low-slung jeans, laughing along with mama at whatever joke dad just made.
His eyes flick up to me and I'm staring and he's staring and this ache that I've pushed down all these months is screaming that he's there, he's right fucking there! and it takes every single muscle in my body to lock my feet in place.
"Edward, you're up!" Mama breezes over and drops a kiss on my cheekbone, "Jasper got in this morning. Isn't this great? My family all under the same roof again!" She pulls me into her side, reaching for Jasper to pull him to her other side, her arms wrapping around us both, her sighing happiness zinging the air between us and all I can see are his eyes and his lips and his cheekbones, so close and not nearly close enough. Not nearly.
"E." His voice is strong but there's a current of hesitance that makes me pull away from mama, away from Jasper's false proximity, away from the picture perfect scene and retreat to the furthest edge of the kitchen. Mama is shooting small, picking glances between us but mercifully dad is questioning Jasper about college.
"It's just fine sir," he replies, easy smile, relaxed posture, "It's hard work but I'm enjoying it."
Lies.
He isn't at college. I know this because I'm the one who took the phone call from the admissions office a few days after start of term, enquiring as to whether Jasper Whitlock was still intending on taking up his allocated place. I told them no because if he hadn't turned up that first day, he wasn't going to. I didn't tell my parents though.
The rest of the afternoon passes in barbed silence and loaded looks that I can't even allow myself to notice. I am a jangled tangle of nerves and neurosis, the desire for what I can't have warping me into something hard and unpretty.
"E!" He calls me when I'm escaping to the sanctuary of the guestroom and my traitor feet pause on the stairs, my shoulders turning to him against my will. He's standing at the bottom, his face a perfect rendering of unsure, and I take one long look, rememorizing the faultless lines and angles of him before I start walking again because what's the point of talking when there's nothing to say?
0o0o0o0o
It's Christmas Day and I don't think I've ever eaten a more awkward meal than the one I'm eating right now. Mama is trying to cover the atmosphere by being the most vivacious she has ever been and dad is looking between me and Jasper with a contemplative look that's making the backs of my knees sweaty. I'm just concentrating on one forkful at a time finding my mouth and trying to pretend Jasper's skin isn't three foot to my right, easily within reach, making my fingertips throb with desire. But I won't touch him. I won't.
"Your mama and I have an announcement." Dad is using his serious tone and years of conditioning has my eyes finding his, then mama's, trying to figure out if I'm in trouble or not. After a minute I remember I'm not ten anymore and I start to worry, my shoulders tensing.
"It's nothing bad," dad quickly amends, seeing my reaction, "well, I don't think it's bad."
I'm still waiting, fork abandoned midair, for the news. My entire body seizes when Jasper's hand makes contact with my wrist, gently guiding arm, and fork, back to the table. His fingertips linger on me a moment and both my parents are staring at the spot where our skin is overlapping and I'm staring at nothing, jaw clenched so tight, until he withdraws.
"Relax E," he chuckles but I can hear the hint of what he's actually saying, taste the flavour of something in his tone...pleading? Dad clears his throat again and my eyes find his face.
"I signed up for this early in the year, back when your mama and I thought both you boys would be in college by now, and I considered pulling out but your mama and I discussed it at length and we both agreed that you're grown men now and you don't need us around to supervise you twenty-four-seven." I'm wondering if he's ever going to elaborate on what 'this' is when he continues. "I received my first assignment with the Doctors Without Borders project. Your mama and I fly out January third."
It's dead silent in the room and I can feel mama's concern reaching out to me. Truth? The thought of being alone in Forks is too scary to dwell on right now so I push it down and concentrate on my incredible dad, who is going to fulfil a lifelong dream.
"Dad, that's amazing!" I smile the first genuine smile to grace my lips in months and it feels odd on my face but the effect on my parents makes it totally worth it. Mama starts to breathe again and dad grins back at me before launching into an excited monologue on the exactly what the assignment entails and I nod along, smiling and asking questions.
Jasper catches me in the kitchen just before dessert. I turn around and he's just there, filling all the space in my life, and I have to bend forward, hands on my knees for a minute to get myself back on lockdown. I've craved his eyes on my skin so fucking long.
"How are you really feeling E?"
Again with the subtext. I'm not playing this game, I'm tired of getting burned, so I just shrug and move around him to rejoin my parents at the table. Jasper doesn't move to stop me but his expression is...sad.
0o0o0o0o
"Are you going along Jasper?" Mama smiles over at him but I can tell she's meddling. He can too.
"I'm sure he's busy mama," I start but Jasper stands and stretches, cutting off my words with a flash of tanned stomach and a bright smile.
"Yeah, I think I will." He full-on grins at me but there's something harsh behind it that makes me sweat. "They are old school buddies after all."
Mama smiles like she's done me a favour and disappears into the living room, calling over her shoulder that we should make sure and behave and I'm left standing in the hallway avoiding looking at Jasper, who is staring at me.
"Well let's go," I mumble, opening the door and stumbling into the night, acutely aware of his footsteps following me. Footsteps I know so well. I'm starting to panic when I feel his fingertips light on my shoulder blade and instantly relax.
That's the thing about this. Right through this whole fucked up mess, through everything he's done and said he's still my best friend. Until the end. He can still read me like a book, can still tell when I'm on the edge and can still bring me back with a simple touch. I hate it but fuck I love him for it.
His hand leaves me and we get into the car. The dim interior feels like it's suffocating with tension and unsaid words. I force every inch of concentration I have onto the road but he's staring at me, openly and unashamed, and I can feel the wetness pooling at the base of my spine from the stress of denying him.
He clears his throat and my eyes automatically find him and shit we're caught in a silent conversation that I don't want to have. His eyes, dark on mine, Why are you ignoring me? My eyes roll, a flash of hurt that I can't suppress, Why the hell do you think? His expression is stoic but he leans forward, Don't do this. I take a deep breath, my lungs constricted, I didn't; you did. I stare out the windscreen but his eyes won't leave me, waiting, and I send him a sidelong glance, jaw flexing, Why are you coming anyway? He rolls his shoulder in a half shrug, They're old friends. I huff angrily, You're a fucking liar. He stares again, eyes heavy on me, You're why; you're always why. I hiss, a sharp, harsh sound in the silent car, and turn my body away from him, angry that I'm left tender again and wanting, always fucking wanting. He drops his eyes from me after a moment, shoulders slumping down, staring out of the window and into the dark. I'm shaking. I hate this.
Emmett answers the door, grinning widely at me like always. The weirdest thing about leaving school is my unexpected friendship with Emmett. Bella made him promise to keep an eye on me and turns out he's a pretty cool guy. Sometimes I hang out with him and his mechanic buddies at the bar by his work but mostly he comes to mine and we order dinner and watch films. He's real easy to be around.
"Eddie!" He yells, picking me up in a bear hug. I cringe at the unwanted nickname and again at the bone-crushing pressure of his arms on my ribcage. I sense the tension from behind me at the same time Emmett does. He puts me down, craning over my shoulder to see who's out there and his eyebrows nearly shoot straight off his forehead.
"Jas man, how're you doing?" He steps forward, clasping Jasper's shoulder, shooting me a questioning glance which I ignore in the same way I'm ignoring Jasper's very fucking clear displeasure. "Didn't know you were back."
"Just for the holiday," Jasper replies coolley, staring past Emmett's head. I mumble something nonsensical and push into the house, feeling shitty for not bailing Emmett out but too exhausted to actually do anything about it.
Jessica is hugging me and Eric is all smiles and fist-bumps. Jessica's an odd one – a total fake bitch at school but the minute she got out from under Mike and started dating Eric, sweetest girl you'll ever meet. She's asking me what I'm doing with my year out and Eric's talking to me about some sport that I have no interest in and Emmett's joining in but he's watching me carefully and Jasper...Jasper is staring.
The rest of the night I feel like I'm underwater. Jasper is polite when asked a question but makes no effort to integrate himself into the conversation. He's constantly to my right, matching me move for move so that he's always in my line of vision, drinking beer from a bottle and watching me. He's making me jittery. I'm unable to keep up with the simplest conversation, stumbling over my words, burning up under his relentless eyes.
When I manage to zone in again, Jessica is talking about perfume and aftershave and shoving her wrist under my nose, insisting that I take a sniff.
"Isn't it lovely?" She smiles at me whilst making eyes at Eric, "It's the reason Eric noticed me that first time, isn't it?" She turns to him and he nods. Jasper snorts into his beer and we ignore him.
"It's a great smell," Eric is enthusiastic and Emmett starts talking about some perfume Rosalie wears that drives him wild but Jasper's voice cuts across them all.
"Perfume doesn't attract someone to you." His voice is flat. "Your body odour does."
Jessica wrinkles her nose. "That's not very romantic is it?" she giggles.
"You're attracted to someone by their smell," Jasper repeats firmly, talking to the room but his eyes are fixed on mine, "Not that shit you buy in bottles and cans but their personal scent. And when it hits your nose? It's like it explodes in your brain and makes you vibrate with recognition right down to your DNA. You identify them as your match in every way that matters, not stupid 'oh we read the same books' but in an 'oh, our very make-up has been created a perfect compliment. Chemistry might not be sexy but that's pretty fucking romantic," Jasper shrugs, eyes sliding away from my face finally, "if you want to look at it that way."
Jessica's staring at Jasper and Eric's staring at Jessica and Emmett's staring at me and I can't take it anymore so get up and walk to the front door. Emmett's front drive is dark and smells like wild mint. The cold air is helping me as I fight to get my damn body back under my control and it's almost working. Right up until it isn't because he's standing right behind me. His hands are on my shoulders and I close my eyes because there isn't anything in the world that will adequately describe the sweet ache that's working its way up my body at his proximity. I want to lean back into him, I want it more than I want air, but that still-bloody part of my heart won't let me. Because it's smart and it remembers the last time I allowed myself to give in to him. Because it wants to protect the tattered strips it still has left. Because it still aches for the absence of him every single damn day.
"E?" His voice is a salve against my neck and I half-sob at his fingers in my hair like they belong there. They so fucking do. He's turning me and I'm resisting but, honestly, not very hard because I want him so bad. Since the second I saw him in the kitchen with mama a few days ago, I've wanted him. That hasn't changed. His breath is on my lips and now his lips are on my lips.
When I was very young mama once told me that people who really loved each other exchange their souls when they kissed. That is exactly what this is. His tongue is in my mouth and his taste but it's more than that. I can feel the thing that is essentially him caressing the soft inner part of me as it slip-slides into the perfect space my soul has made for it. I can feel a part of what is me breaking off, slide-slipping on my breath, to be sucked down by his. I'm pulling away, trying to stop it from happening but it's too late.
Jasper is staring at me, wide-eye'd, three fingertips pressed against his bottom lip. He feels it too and that scares me more than anything else because if he didn't lie all those months ago, if he loved me but left anyway, what does that say about me? About him?
He must see something in my face and half-steps forward but I'm staggering backward, fearful and desperate for an escape. I don't want this. I can't. I'm in the car and gone before anyone can stop me.
0o0o0o0o
Today I can't even be in the same room as Jasper - not after last night. I have no idea how he got home, I'm assuming Emmett, but I've been hiding in the guest room, ignoring my phone and all signs of life from the house all day. It's early evening now and I've waited until I know they'll be eating dinner to make my ninja move to the front door. I'm in the car and on the road.
I decide to head to the bar in Port Angeles because I need to be around people who aren't Jasper. It doesn't take long before I'm sitting on a stool in front of the Heineken pump – my favourite spot because the mirror gives you advance warning of who is coming up behind you. Victoria clued me onto this spot my first night here.
I stumbled in, fresh-faced and stupid, and was immediately accosted by about four guys. Now I know I'm an alright looking boy but the level of attention I was getting just completely threw me.
"You're new." Victoria had smiled at me kindly, put a bottle of water down in front of me and glared at the two guys beside me who were giving me their best fuck-me eyes. "Back off now boys and let him be."
To my immense surprise they'd done as told. Turns out Victoria owned the bar and, in her words, knew "every twink, bear, macho, queen and everything in between to grace my door" and I was apparently 'fresh meat'.
"Honey," she'd grinned at me, "Any newbie in here will get a fair bit of attention, the gay roster isn't exactly high in Port Angeles, but you," and she'd looked me up and down, "well you're fresh and so fuckable, they'll be on you like white on rice."
I must've looked completely out of my depth, which I was, because she touched my hand gently and waved over the guy on the door. He sauntered to us, all hot and dangerous, and leaned on the bar, eyeing me with interest.
"This is my husband James." Victoria had turned to him and the love in her face had made my chest tighten. "And this is..."
"Edward," I supplied automatically, reaching out a hand. James looked at me, amusement curling his mouth, before grasping my hand and shaking it firmly.
"New, polite and pretty," he commented to Victoria, eyes still on me, and I blushed like a little girl. Victoria had laughed and slapped his arm playfully.
"Be nice." She smiled at me again. "He's clearly just out and I don't want to see him devoured by the sharks before he has a chance. Keep an eye on him."
James had nodded his assent, patted me on the shoulder, and retreated to his post by the door but after that night they both looked out for me. I really owed them because, without it, I'm not sure what would've happened.
As it was, I found I didn't mind getting handjobs from some of the pretty twinks but I didn't go further than that.
At least, not until I met Sam.
Shit, the first night Sam walked in to the bar I swear I nearly swallowed my tongue. I'd seen a bit of everything in there, Victoria helpfully pointing out who was what, but I hadn't ever seen anything like him.
For a start he was huge. He towered over me and at 6'2" that isn't an easy feat. He was clearly Native, a wall of solid muscle wrapped in skin the colour of mocha and sin. He was the first person to completely ignore me since I'd started coming to the bar and I'd be lying if I said it didn't immediately catch my attention.
He sat down next to me for two hours without a single look or word. Victoria was eyeing me speculatively but I had no idea what that meant. When he got up to leave I waited until he walked out the door and followed. He was half way up the street when I got outside and I stopped, unsure of what I was doing.
"Are you coming?" His voice was rich and clear as he tilted his head to glance at me over his shoulder. He didn't need to ask me twice.
Sam was sure of everything and I was floundering. He gave me what I needed and nothing felt better than the sting of his discipline on my skin; he was the punishment I was too weak to provide for myself.
"You alright there honey?" Victoria is looking at me, wearing concern in her eyes. I try to smile and nod but I know there's no way I'm pulling that shit off tonight.
"I'm good Tor," I sigh, "Just a rough couple of days."
She puts a beer in front of me and I shake my head, pulling out my keys to indicate I'm driving. She plucks them out of my hand and sets them under the bar.
"If ever I've seen someone in need of a drink, it's you," she explains, "I'll get James to drop it off outside Forks library after we close up here. And you, if you don't get lucky." I try to protest, knowing they live down the street from this bar and that Victoria will have to follow him and bring him back but she waves away my concern.
"Gives me an excuse to take the bike for a spin." She wiggles her eyebrows as James leans on the bar next to me. He grins and gives her a quick kiss.
"Red hair and black leather, my favourite colour scheme," he faux-whispers to me with a wink. I blush because I know he's straight but James is a total flirt and so very hot. I nod and give in, drinking my beer. Truth? It tastes great.
An hour later Sam walks in and sits next to me and fuck if he isn't exactly what I didn't realise I was waiting for. Sam gives me what I need to stay in control of what my life has become and tonight I really need that.
We sit, side by side, drinking in silence for about an hour before Sam stands up and, with a nod to Victoria, heads for the door. I remain at the bar a few minutes and then discreetly follow in his wake.
As soon as I hit fresh air, I know he's here. I fight it hard but my head whips up unbidden and my eyes automatically find Jasper, leaning so casually against a shop front across the street, like he's my fucking magnetic north.
Which he is.
Although it's impossible given the distance and the lack of light, I swear I can see his eyes as clear as if he were standing right in front of me. I have to break this cycle. I can't allow him to have this power over me. It's not normal.
For the first time in my life I turn from him, hurrying my steps until I'm close enough to Sam to reach out and catch his fingers with mine. He jumps and turns to stare at me, I've broken our protocol, but I avoid his assessing gaze and move closer to his side, entwining our hands. To my intense gratitude he complies with my gross breach of our etiquette and allows me to tuck myself into him. I can feel Jasper's weight on my back and it makes me feel small and stupid and raw and afraid. And lonely. So fucking lonely. I squeeze closer to Sam and feel an absurd swell of gratefulness when he slings his forearm around my shoulders.
Once we turn onto the next street I no longer feel so in need of reassurance but I can't quite extract myself from Sam without coming across like a dick, or having to answer questions I don't want to answer, so I remain pinned under the heavy weight of his arm. It's awkward. For both of us. His usually relaxed body is a tense expanse of muscle against my side and I have to work hard on not freaking out right now.
I'm so relieved when he lets go of me to open the door to his apartment building that I spontaneously turn into him and press my lips against his. His mouth is rough and soft as always but his dark eyes remain open, staring down at me impassively. Apparently I'm hell bent on pissing on every single rule we've established together these past few months. I pull back and go for a smile. I can tell I haven't pulled it off when he frowns in response.
The walk to his front door is...edgy. I've managed to fuck up everything and it's all fucking Jasper's fault. Fucking Jasper and his perfect face and his perfect mouth and his perfect soul and his perfect fucking distance and my entire body is twisting in panic and I can't breathe. I need...something. I just fucking need.
I shove Sam through his front door, earning a confused grunt, and throw myself on him. Fuck etiquette. This isn't how we do things but Sam doesn't fight me, just lets me tear his clothes and claw his skin and bite his muscle and pull his hair and fucking want want want all fucking over him.
I can't get close enough, I physically can't, and my frustration is making me rougher than I've ever been with anyone before. I can hear the whine lacing my groans and it has an on-the-edge quality that scares the hell out of me.
Sam surprises me by manoeuvring me through a door and into his bedroom. I stop, momentarily shocked into stillness, and his stance takes on a defensive quality. We've never done...this in his bedroom before. Couch, shower, kitchen table, window-sill sure, but never have we been here, in Sam's intimate space. I look around the dimly lit room for a second before my panic makes itself abundantly clear once again and I'm on him, shoving him back onto the bed, climbing on him, fucking determined to own something other than this constant ache in my chest for someone who isn't. fucking. there.
Sam is naked and I'm naked and oh fuck it feels good to have hot skin pressed against mine. I close my eyes and press down onto him, kissing and clinging and so ready to feel something with someone who actually wants to be doing this with me. His groans are deep in my ear, his cock hard against mine, my tongue on his throat, and his arm disappears over the side of the bed and comes back clutching lube and condoms. Which he hands to me.
For the second time I'm totally blind-sided because this isn't how it goes. Sam fucks me. That's how it is. Except tonight it isn't. Because tonight I have to own him and he knows it. I snatch them out of his hands, growling in his ear, earning myself a whimper, and lube up my fingers. He's so fucking tight as I sink my finger into him, stretching and prodding, making him writhe and gasp when I hit that sweet spot of his.
"Flip the fuck over."
The dark quality of my voice surprises me but I'm too far gone to dwell on it right now. Sam does exactly as asked and I take a moment to admire the muscular line of his back as he arches beneath me. I steady myself on the smooth dip just above his ass, my fingers tattooing a gentle rhythm on the skin there, as I line up and start the slow slide inside.
Sam growls and drops his shoulders, hands fisting the duvet, muscles rippling. He doesn't bottom. I know this. Somehow I know this is significant but my brain checked out outside the pub and I'm running on primal so there are no connections to be made here except how unbelievably tight Sam feels around me. I have to stop halfway in, panting, to let the sensation of his hot flesh wash over me. It's just everything right now. Everything.
Sam's impatient grunt brings me back and I continue the slow slick slide until my thighs are pressed into his, my torso flush against his back, my mouth on his neck. I can tell by the flexing tendons under my lips that he's uncomfortable so I reach under him and stroke his erection, eliciting an approving moan. Once I know he's relaxed, I start moving against him.
Pull out, press in.
Pull out, press in.
Forget everything, except this.
Forget everything, except this.
And it's so utterly perfect. His skin and my skin, his moans and my moans, his thrusts and my thrusts. Everything is perfect and in tandem and exactly how I need it to be. I slow my hips, wanting this exquisite moment to last. I want to live here forever, with nothing on my mind except my pleasure and Sam's pleasure and how fucking beautiful this is when you just let it be.
I come so hard I collapse, driving Sam down onto the mattress, thrusting into him vigorously until I finally stop spasming and can breathe again. It's only the slow registering of wetness on the hand trapped between Sam's cock and the bed that lets me know he reached his high too. I want to feel like a selfish prick but I'm empty. Of everything.
I roll off him, panting and absurdly close to tears. My ache is back but now it's a chasm in my chest, a gaping hole where everything I want isn't and no amount of having it with someone else will bridge that. I sit up, automatically reaching for my boxers, wanting to escape this fuck up of an evening.
"Going somewhere?"
Sam's voice is cool, as are his eyes which are fixed on my face. I look back at him, wide-eye'd and dumb. He laughs harshly and yanks me back onto the bed, squeezing my wrists, thighs pressing mine together. His face is inches from me and I know this expression. This is the Sam I know, the Sam I usually need. I struggle against him a little, the atmosphere between us somehow different than the other times we've played this game.
"Sam..." I start to protest but his mouth is on mine, his tongue pushing inside, twisting in time with his hands on me. He shoves my arms up and I hear the snap before I register the metal. He's using cuffs on me. I pull back, testing, but they don't give an inch. We've always used scarves for this part and when my eyes find his I'm startled at what I see in his expression. Anger, want, cruelty, hurt.
"Sam." I struggle harder but his lips find mine again and he swallows every protest as it leaves my tongue, twisting my hair, shoving me into the mattress. His hand on my cock is tight, painful, punishing. Within minutes I'm almost in tears because it hurts, because it feels good, because it feels like what I deserve.
For the next hour I take all the castigation Sam heaps on me. He uses his hands, his teeth, the toys we've experimented with and the toys that scare me. My skin aches in stripes and lines and my muscles burn and my wrists are raw. My body bends under his discipline.
"Fucking beg me Edward," he growls in my ear, yanking my hair in his fist, "I want you to fucking beg me."
"Please." My voice is broken, wanton, not mine but mine. "Sam, please."
He nods and his fingers are in me, twisting and stretching and not gentle at all. I gasp at the intrusion, at the burn, at the rightness of it in all the wrongness. I try to turn but Sam's hand on my shoulder stops me. I struggle against his hold but he's firm, his face determined. He uses his knees to spread mine and I panic because he does me on my knees, not facing him, not where I can see his eyes, not like this.
"You're gonna look at me Edward," he snarls, forcing me flat with his body and he lines up with my entrance, "you fucking owe me this," his voice breaking.
And he's inside me, on top of me, against me, all over me. It's not something I'm mentally prepared for and this evening has turned into one giant headfuck.
"Wrap your legs around me Edward." Sam's voice is commanding and I do exactly as he says instinctively. As soon as I do, Sam's hands are on my shoulders, his face level with mine, his breath on my lips. His eyes are boring into mine and my brain is screaming at me to look away but I can't break his stare. I yank against my restraints and his hands leave my shoulders to encircle my wrists, hold them still, arms pressed the length of mine.
"I'm fucking you Edward," he grunts in time to his thrusts and I arch beneath him, "not anyone else. Me."
His pace is harsh, his force brutal, and he keeps full skin contact as he pushes himself into my body. His eyes are so dark and his expression is so raw. His fingers find my shoulders and dig into my flesh as his forehead presses against mine and he drives into me over and over and over.
A string of "fuck...fuck...fuck..." lets me know he's close, his arm around my back, angling my hips up so he hits my sweet spot, making me mewl and race towards my own release. Hand on my hip, bruisingly tight, his mouth brushing mine, whispering my own name against my lips every time he plunges inside.
"Look at me Edward...fucking ... look at me."
I'm staring into his eyes as he comes inside me and it's so fucking intimate it makes me want to check out but I can't because my body is electric and it takes one more brush of his stomach along the length of my cock before I'm howling and coming and arching and aching and twisting for him. It's so fucking intense I have a fleeting moment of worry that I might never recover from it. But I do. Of course I do.
I can't meet Sam's eyes as he releases me but I can feel his eyes on me. He shadows me, naked and expressionless, as I make my way off the bed and around the apartment to collect my discarded clothing, wincing as I pull each item on. My body hurts and I already know I'm covered in bruises. Finally I'm dressed and at his front door, feeling awkward and stupid. I still can't look at him.
As I turn the handle, he grabs me and presses our mouths together, his tongue tangling with mine, the kiss full of need and hurt and want and ache and things I can't give him. Once again I've managed to miss the fucking obvious and done damage where I had no right to. Sam pulls back, yanks the door open and shoves me out.
"I already know this is it Edward," he snaps but his eyes betray him and I feel like shit, "so don't bother." And he slams the door in my face.
It's 4am but I already know I'm walking home and that there isn't a walk in the world that will help with the amount of self-loathing I'm carrying with me.
By the time I get home it's gone 6am. I try to be as quiet as I can be but the walk home has only intensified my aching body and now I'm wincing with every step. I close the door behind me and let my body lean back into it, just for a moment.
"Where have you been?"
Jasper's voice makes my entire body jerk forward and I hiss as muscles protest the sudden movement and skin screams as it rubs against clothing. His hands are on me in an instant and he has my shirt lifted before I can swat him away. I try to twist out of his grip but his hand tightens on my shoulder and my traitorous body stills instantly. I tense as his free hand ghosts the tender flesh covering my ribcage, his eyes trained on the marks Sam left there.
"Edward." His voice is calm and that scares me the most. "Why are there bruises on you?"
I'm struck mute by the malevolence swirling in his features. I don't have the words to talk him down from this. This is beyond anger. I'm afraid to tell him Sam put them there, afraid for Sam, but most of all I'm afraid to tell him that I wanted it. That I've allowed this many times before. So I stay cowardly quiet, turning in on myself.
Jasper's hands are on my shirt buttons and I try to push him away as he opens them but he gives me this look that freezes my insides and I'm immediately motionless, some self-preservation instinct kicking in. When he's satisfied I'm not going to move, he continues. His low growl as he pushes the shirt from my shoulders makes me cringe because I know what he's seeing.
Sam's teethmarks on my shoulder.
The memory of seeing the teethmarks that mar his skin for the first time makes me cringe. His eyes are hard and his breathing is laboured. I know he's fighting whatever demon is rearing up inside of him and I know he's doing it so as not to scare me. Once again I'm struck with the urge to cry but I fight it, keeping my face angled carefully away from his. After an impossibly long time, he speaks.
"Edward." His jaw is clenched so tight I'm afraid he might break his teeth. "Who did this to you?"
I shake my head, refusing to speak. He thinks I'm afraid and I am. Of what Jasper will do if I tell him about Sam. Of how Jasper will look at me if I tell him Sam does this to me because I think I deserve it, because I think I need it. So I don't say anything at all. It's less frightening.
"Edward," Jasper's voice cracks and I'm in his arms. Fuck, his arms. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, trying to pretend that this isn't exactly what I've been trying to replace with these bruises on my skin. He pulls me closer, his arm tight around my back, his hand hot against my neck. He's breathing into my hair, hard and uneven, clutching me to him and it's so nearly everything I need that I can barely contain the swell of emotions that threaten to burst me wide open for him.
"Edward, I swear to God, I will kill the motherfucker who put his hands on you, I swear." Jasper's words manage to ground me and I'm wriggling out of his arms. He staggers back and I feel bereft. His face is uncomprehending and so fucking beautiful.
"I don't need you to fight my battles for me Jasper," I spit, "Especially when there aren't any to fight."
I say nothing else, turning from him for the second time tonight, and head to the guest room. It's slow going and I feel his eyes on me the entire time and I feel raw in a completely new way but I refuse to acknowledge it because I've done enough damage for one night and I just can't handle any more.
As soon as I lock the bedroom door I fall to pieces. I sob for the stupid, reckless way I've treated Sam, like everything was a big fucking game. I sob for my attempt to excise my own sick sense of self-loathing, the evidence of which is painted in welts and discolorations all over my body. I sob for Jasper's pain at being unable to protect me but mostly I sob because he doesn't realise that the only protection I need is protection from him and that's something he can't give me.
I spend the next day in bed, claiming I drunkenly fell down the stairs at the pub when mama comes to find out why I'm hiding in bed over the Christmas holidays. She's horrified by my injuries, calling dad in to examine me. Eventually I manage to convince them that all I need is sleep and then, when they're gone, I convince myself, managing to spend most of the next 24 hours blissfully unconscious.
0o0o0o0o
It's late afternoon the following day before I manage to drag my stiff body to the shower, allowing the hot stream of water to ease the tension there. My parents are in the kitchen when I make it downstairs, mama looking worriedly at me. I give her as big a smile as I dare.
"Jasper's still asleep," she supplies as if I'd asked the question, "He didn't get in until early this morning."
I remain silent on the subject. Mama knows there's something going on between me and Jasper but she also knows I won't talk about it if I don't want to and I have absolutely no intention of talking about it. Ever.
I spend an hour or two with them, watching tv some and eating cookies mama made this morning. As time wears on however I'm getting antsy and I know it's because I'm anticipating Jasper's imminent presence. I know I can't face him right now so, through the bemused protests of my parents, I throw on a pair of shoes and a jacket and high-tail it out the door.
I drive around aimlessly for a couple of hours, the music up as high as it goes, trying to forget my fucked up life and my fucked up heart. I'm in Port Angeles before I register it and I figure a coffee at the pub will kill some more time before I have to bite the bullet and head back to Forks.
Victoria waves me over to the bar the second I step through the door so I head towards her, confused by her serious, sympathetic expression. I slide into a stool and smile over the bar at her but all she does is reach out and place her hand on my arm.
"What's up Tor?" I'm puzzled at the apology in her eyes and the twist of concern in her features. Something starts twisting my stomach in response and suddenly I know what's coming before she says it.
"It's Sam." Her voice is sweet and gentle and I curse my own fucking naivety that I ever really believed that everyone in here didn't know Sam and I were fucking. I look up at her and try to keep my face as stoic as possible but the dread is making my skin feel too small for my bones.
"He was beat up pretty bad last night, after he left here." Her hand is now stroking my arm lightly, comfortingly. "The police are treating it as gay bashing. He's up at the hospital. I just thought you'd want to know." I nod and stumble away, out into the early evening, ignoring her calling after me. I stand by my car, hand on the door. I should go to the hospital, I should go to Sam, but how can I? How can I tell him that he's in a hospital bed because I was too much of a fucking coward to tell the truth about what we did together? I can feel the weight of the truth I didn't speak strangling me where I stand. How can I tell him that I was afraid of Jasper's judgement so, despite knowing what would happen, I kept quiet? I can't tell him that. So, instead of going to the hospital like I should, I drive home to Forks, practically blinded by my own contempt.
My parents aren't in the living room when I get home but Jasper is. He's reclining on the sofa, in sweatpants he used to wear to gym and a t-shirt that used to be mine, watching some mindless sitcom. Wordlessly I step until I'm right in front of him. He straightens up, placing his feet on the floor and now I'm standing between his legs, looking down at him. His face is carefully blank.
I want to ask him but I know better so I just reach down and grab his hands, pulling them up before he can react. His knuckles are destroyed, bruised and cracked and swollen, thin lines of blood still seeping from the split skin. I fall to my knees, still gripping his hands in mine, shaking so fucking bad.
"E..." he whispers but I shake my head because I can't. I can't hear the justification he's going to pour into me and I can't hear that nickname in his too-sweet tone, not after what I've done, so I just shake my head until he shuts up. And I kneel there, clutching his bloodied hands in mine. He leans forward until his cheek is pressed against the top of my head and we stay that way for a while.
Until I remember that Sam was innocent in all of this fuckery, a blameless character sucked into the vortex that always seems to swirl between the two of us, and that thought allows me to push him away.
I don't sleep that night.
0o0o0o0o
It's New Year's Eve and Emmett is standing in my kitchen. So is Jasper. It's awkward because I've been avoiding him for the past two days but Emmett came looking for us both so this is inevitable.
"So New Year's party on the Rez tonight." Emmett bounces excitedly on the balls of his feet. "You guys in?"
"Sure," I shrug my assent because, let's face it, if I'm going to continue with this pity party I'm throwing myself then I may as well do it at an actual party. Unfortunately my pity party only gets worse with Jasper's next words.
"Can't. I promised I'd spend New Year's with Alice so I'm leaving in the next hour or so."
I catch Emmett's lightening fast eye flick to my face but I've already turned away, already out of the kitchen, already halfway up the staircase.
"I'll pick you up at 7!" he calls after me but I don't respond. He'll turn up anyway.
I will not break. I will not break. I will not break.
I'm so fucking tired of hurting and I'm so fucking tired of being at the whim of this boy who won't fucking love me like I want him to, like I so desperately need him to, that when he's standing in the doorway of the guestroom, toeing the ground and telling me he's just about ready to leave, I just get up and close the door in his face. Because I'm so fucking angry it's all I can do.
I won't cry.
I won't beg.
I'm done.
0o0o0o0o
When Emmett turns up to fetch me I'm already half way to being rocked because I've been drinking scotch with my dad and that shit tastes like dirt but hell, it gets you right down to your toes.
"You alright man?"
His voice is soft, kind, and I simply hum in whatever, not really looking at him, getting in his truck and turning the music up. He side-eye's me but says nothing.
The party is already buzzing by the time we get there and I spot Jessica and Eric with the Clearwater kid so I make my way over to them and drop into their little circle. They pull me into the conversation without blinking and soon I'm laughing and chatting like everything is fucking a-okay, Clearwater giving me the 'you're my hero' looks, because it turns out I can fake it like a motherfucker when I need to.
We drink and we chat and I mingle some, talking to Rosalie and hanging with Bella, who seems to be getting it from one of the Native boys, and suddenly it's really late and everyone's doing the countdown and I can't take one more fucking second of the lie so I slip away and head to the water where it's darker, where people can't see, where I can't bring anybody down.
I sit down hard in the wet sand, tears stinging my eyes, a Jasper-sized hole in my heart, and I stare out at the water, watching the waves roll steadily and wishing that life was that easy; wishing that when people rolled away from you there was some assurance that they would eventually roll back.
I hear the cheer from the bonfires and know the bell has struck and I'm staring at the waves harder, trying to pretend that it doesn't fucking matter, when the buzzing against my thigh makes itself known. My hand goes to my pocket automatically and I answer the phone that only one person will ever be ringing.
"Happy New Year E."
His voice is thick, full of something that it injures me too much to recognise so I end the call, pull my arm back and watch the phone arc through the air to be swallowed by the mocking surf.
"Shouldn't you be with Rosalie?"
Emmett's not in my eye line but I can tell he's shrugging his shoulders. He drops down beside me and bumps my arm gently.
"She gets it."
We sit and watch the waves for a bit, Emmett calm and solid, me struggling to keep the turmoil in me from swallowing me whole.
"So...New Year's resolutions?"
I give a harsh laugh and Emmett turns his head to me, an eyebrow quirked. I only have one resolution but to voice it makes it real. Am I ready for that? My heart says no but I can't go on like this. I have to be ready.
"Letting go," I reply cryptically but he nods, understanding. People don't give Emmett credit. He's an observer.
"You okay with that?" His tone is neutral but I know what he's asking.
"I have to be," I sigh.
Fuck this sucks.
I turn to him, tucking my leg clumsily under me. I need to talk this out, need to get it out of my head, and Emmett is easily the best person to talk to. He listens without judgement and he never interrupts.
"I can't go on like this," I start, waving my arms at myself, "Like half a fucking person because he won't love me. Or can't love me. Or doesn't love me. Whatever."
I'm aware of the bitterness in my voice and this is what I need to leech from my bones. In a healthy way this time. In a way that won't get people hurt.
"I just... it's just...he's..." I trail off, scrubbing my eyes and Emmett's arm is around my shoulder, his side pressed against me and tears are running over my skin because all I seem to do is cry over this boy and it has to be enough now. It has to be.
So I whisper my darkest secret into the black night, sending it out into the ether, because if I'm going to do what I'm going to do then I need to let it all go.
"I have to assume Fate has allowed us to meet in this life to make it easier for me the next time around, so that I know what I'm looking for. I have to assume she's doing me a favour because otherwise she's nothing but a bitch teasing me with everything I want but can't have."
0o0o0o0o
Three days and one hell of a hangover later, I'm in my parent's car driving them to the airport. Mama is chatty on the journey but I know she's just trying to cover for her reluctance to leave me in Forks alone. I smile and nod at appropriate times and I try hard not to give her any further reason to worry. Dad is sitting in the back, clearly uncomfortable that his son is driving him anywhere but, other than that, he seems pretty content.
Last night he called me into his office and gave me the details of my new, very full, bank account that I wasn't expecting and the number of a guy he knows to call about some piano work. I promised to call his acquaintance and not to spend all my money on "beer and hookers", only cringing a little bit at my dad saying hookers in my presence. He's equipped me with everything I need to survive and now his mind is on bigger things.
After a tearful farewell at the airport from mama and some stern advice from dad, I wave them aboard the plane and escape to the short-term car-park. I drive home slowly, knowing that when I get back to Forks I'll be really alone. No parents. No Jasper. His name sends a spiral of pain through me and I flick my eyes to the side, something bright catching my attention. I'm parked, out of the car and pushing open the door without really thinking about it.
"Help you?" The heavily tattooed woman behind the counter looks at me speculatively. I hesitate a second before pulling out my wallet and extracting the piece of paper I've been carrying around with me since that night. Her face loses its disinterest when she sees I'm not interested in the flash art that adorns the walls. By the time I've explained what I want and we've gone through options, she's gotten real enthusiastic and I've been here for an hour. She calls out the tattoo artist and the three of us spend another fifteen minutes sketching and talking fonts.
Before I know it the papers are signed and I'm in the chair, shirt off, tattooed woman standing to the left of me because, "we've never done one of these before, I wanna see how it looks", tattoo artist checking the area under my collarbone for hair.
"S'clean," he nods in approval and we take another few minutes applying the stencil to the exact location I want. Once it's perfect, he gets to work.
It doesn't hurt like I was expecting, more of a stinging scratch, but nothing unbearable. He asks me the meaning behind my ink but I can't imagine describing the memory of tracing paper on my skin and my shaking hand as I followed the lines so carefully so I just shrug and smile apologetically and he nods understandingly.
Forty-five minutes later, I've got a thin bandage on my shoulder, tattoo goo in my pocket and an aftercare sheet clutched in my hand. I'm still dazed as I make it to the car and get in. I want to look but the sheet is very clear on leaving the bandage in place so I do exactly as instructed.
I resist all damn day, although the urge to look is almost overwhelming. Finally it's dark enough outside for me to justify going to bed so I head for the bathroom and peel off the bandage, leaning close to the mirror. The needle damage has made the skin raise like a scar and I resist the temptation to run my unwashed fingers across it.
Once I'm clean, I use a warm washcloth to gently cleanse the dried blood and leftover ink from the area and apply a thin layer of the gunk the tattooed woman assured me would help with healing. I shiver as the pad of my finger traces the raised outline of the word I've permanently etched on my skin.
I step back a foot from the mirror and the white ink blends almost perfectly with my pale hue; a mark only I know to look for. My permanent reminder. My quiet declaration.
I step to the mirror and really look at the mark and the sight of Jasper's name, in his hand, forever etched on my body makes me wildly sad but I need this.
I know it's time, I do, but I needed something to remind me that all of this was real, that it did take place and that I didn't dream the most perfect thing to ever happen to me. I trace the mark once again, my breath shaky, then turn, determined to carry on with my new beginning.
I pause outside my bedroom door, the bedroom I haven't stepped foot in since that night, and push it open with my toe. Careful. Cautious. Everything is exactly as I left it and I'm both relieved and distressed by this. My finger automatically travels to my collarbone.
Still there. Still real.
I step slowly into the room and my world doesn't end. My chucks are still under the desk where I kicked them off. The drawer that Jasper tipped out is still on the floor, my underwear is still strewn across the carpet. My bed is still rumpled from where I carelessly threw the quilt back the morning after.
I close the door, not bothering to turn on the light, and sit down on the edge of my bed. Thankfully it doesn't smell of anything but me anymore and for this one small thing I am grateful. I close my eyes a second and just let my brain whir like it wants to.
I'm thinking about what I told Emmett on the beach and it shreds my already destroyed heart but I know it's the right thing. It's time for me to let Jasper go. He was never mine, not in this lifetime, so I'll set myself free of him and hope that our time comes in the next incarnation.
I lay down on my bed and something hard digs into my arm. My fingers touch silk and suddenly my heart is pounding and my palms are sweaty. I turn on the lamp and reach for what's on my pillow and I think Fate, the bitch, must have a real twisted sense of humour because I open the familiar scarf to reveal Jasper's dad's watch.
Damn it all to hell.
