PATTERNS AND SIGNS

I own nothing. Except Mikayla, the plot, and the title.

And I'd like to say thank you to the superful B-b-b-becca, who was the lucky first person to read this story and got to tell me what sucked. She peppers me and begs me for detail, detail, DETAIL, but without her, my writing would be... um... detail..less? Right, well here's chapter FIVE!!!

I got my life figured into a pattern over the next few weeks. I went to school. I talked to Mikayla a lot. I went home, did my homework. Math was the best distraction, my favorite. Then I would go cliff diving, mostly on my own; I was sick of Sam's chastising me with his eyes and shaking his head in my direction. I would return home later than Billy ever used to allow and spend my nights lying in bed, trying to keep my thoughts from looking for Mikayla.

Sometime later that week, I walked into math, my happy face on, hoping for homework and eager to see Mikayla's smile. There was a certain hope in the way her smile melted away my stress and, for its duration, mended my broken heart. Impatient for this to occur, I watched the door for Mikayla as usual, and when she entered, I greeted her with a broad, bright smile that she did not return. She sat down in her seat across from me and dropped her bag beside her chair, putting her head in her hands simultaneously. She sighed but said nothing. My happy face melted, and I looked at her, almost in shock. But I had to look away. I kept glancing up at Mikayla, sitting alone in her misery and being ignored, as the others filed into the room, but I couldn't lock my eyes on her for more than a second.

I could recognize how she felt by her posture; her head in her hands, her body still but for the slow rising and falling of her chest, the nearly sleeplike breathing and weighed down heartbeat of one whose heart was truly broken. With my heightened senses, I could faintly hear the sluggish pounding 'tha-whop' of her actual heartbeat.

I looked at her and felt as if I were looking into a mirror and seeing the fragile image of an older Jacob, Empty-Jacob.

Fragile was never a word I would have used in order to depict Mikayla. In fact, I wouldn't previously have dreamt of putting it in the same sentence as her name. But as I looked at her now, I knew that fragile was the only word that could possibly describe her accurately. I also knew if I told her that I thought so, she'd flip. I had known her long enough to know that she was the kind of girl that wanted to be strong.

I glanced up at her. Her position had not changed. Sadly, I noticed that not only did her actions resemble mine; they were reminiscent of Bella's, when Edward had left her. Mikayla was in love, and whatever total idiot he happened to be did not reciprocate the feeling.

I felt my heart break in multiple places, some of the pain for Mikayla because of the asshole who had hurt her, and the rest for the pathetic, unloved empty shell of a man that was once Jacob Black.

She wouldn't love me, and I shouldn't love her.

This should have been my time to feel strong, secure and happy with Mikayla. But she was unhappy, and there was no way for me to be happy when she wasn't. I had to fix her. She needed to be saved, and after all, she had saved me. Now, I needed to protect her, to rescue her. I needed... her.

A/N: Yay for details and the people who make me write them (you know who you are. Beccaaaaaaa)... and I don't think I've mentioned this much... but reviews are very nice things to recieve