Hold onto me (I'm a little Unsteady)
Summary: Bella dies and Jacob runs away, but unknown to him there's someone following him.
(Warning: Jacob is really bad off in this chapter.)
Chapter One: I'm running away...I'm leaving this place
"You can run away from yourself so often, and so much, just because the broken pieces of you cut your feet too deeply if you stay around for too long."
― C. JoyBell C.
Bella's dead.
Jacob picks a random direction and starts walking. He could probably move faster if he phased, but he doesn't want to.
Werewolves? Vampires? None of that stuff mattered anymore and the last time he'd turned into a werewolf to run away, the others had just kept track of his movements through his head. And even though it would just be Leah and Seth in his head this time, Jacob doesn't want to be followed.
Bella's dead.
Jacob's walks away.
The world turns gray.
Jacob wears a stolen hoodie and a baseball cap. His feet are bare as they slap against the pavement and Jacob wonders how longs he's been walking.
Hours? Days? Weeks? Time seems like an endless look of rising moons and setting suns.
Jacob knows he's not in Forks anymore. But he's still not as far away as he would like to be. But he's tired…so tired.
He stops walking and sits next to a dumpster in an alley. The smell is awful, but it will throw the pack off his scent, while he sleeps.
He wakes from a nightmare a few hours later, scrambling against the wall of the alley until he's on his feet. Food comes from the dumpster behind a McDonalds. It's horrible, soggy, and moldy, but it's better than nothing.
He walks and keeps walking until his legs burn and the city is far, far, away.
If he comes across a restaurant, he'll go through the trash for food, not worried about getting sick. He'd survived in the woods from eating raw meat in the woods before. Eating garbage is a step up from that.
At least he doesn't have to kill anything.
...
He does odd jobs for money; raking leaves in the fall, shoveling snow/chopping firewood in the winter. He sleeps in alleys, in fields, in cemeteries, sometimes he just lets himself fall where he stands.
He waters gardens and catches vermin in the spring. He mows lawns and cleans pools in the summer. He goes from one yard to the next. He's dirty and probably smells like garage and death. Sometimes people close the door in his face, sometimes they don't.
No one ever asks his name and he doesn't offer one.
He survives like that, refusing to look back, refusing to think about what he lost. He keeps his cash in a bag he found in a dumpster, not worried about being robbed. He's scarier than any mugger who could come his way.
He's not even sure if taking a bullet to the head would kill him.
One day that might be a theory worth testing.
But not today.
Today he leaves this town and moves on to the next one.
...
He throws his clothes in a washing machine and washes his body with the sink in the bathroom. He looks in the mirror and can barely recognize himself. His hair is long again and he has stubble on his face. His face has hardened and his eyes look haunted.
He looks away and walks naked through the laundry mat, ignoring the stares from the other customers, as he takes his clothes out of the machine and puts them on while their still wet.
His skin is basically a heater anyway, so he's sure they will dry.
He wonders how long will it take before his body turns back normal. He hasn't phased since he left Forks, but his skin is still hot, he's still strong, and he can still feel the monster underneath his skin waiting to burst free.
A cop finds him asleep on a bench in a park. He looks like he's about to arrest him and Jacob doesn't even try to run.
He's so tired of running and what's the difference between sleeping in Jail and sleeping in the park.
"What's your name?" the cop asks, and Jacob just stares at him, "What's your name?"
"Jacob," he finally says, and the cop looks at him suspiciously.
"How old are you?" he asks, taking a good look at him, then he sucks in a horrified breath, "Jesus, you can't be older than 19,"
Jacob wonders what he's seeing because physically Jacob knows he looks 25, even though he's not even 18 yet.
The cop doesn't arrest him. Instead, he takes Jacob to a dinner and buys him a meal. Jacob eats like he's starving because he's always starving.
"You run away from home kid?" the cop asks, and Jacob shrugs, "Why?"
Jacob refuses to answer, shoveling the food into his mouth, until his plate is empty.
"There's a shelter nearby." The cop offers, causing Jacob to shake his head.
He doesn't like sleeping around people. His nightmares are terrible, and if he accidently phases, he doesn't want to hurt anyone.
"No," Jacob says, "But thanks for the meal,"
"Whatever you're running from—" the cop starts, but Jacob shakes his head.
"I can't go back," Jacob said, his voice pained, and he could feel the memories beating against his skull.
Bella laying on the table, her stomach ripped open, blood covering the bed, covering his hands. His lips pressed against hers, trying to breathe life back into her and failing. Her beautiful brown eyes, empty and hollow.
The world spins and doesn't stop spinning when he hits the floor with a painful thud. He can feel his heart thumping too fast, and it feels his memories are smothering him and he can't breathe properly. He thinks he's hyperventilating, and when the cop puts his hand on his shoulder, Jacob vomits on the cop's shoes.
The memory of pushing desperately against Bella's chest, her ribs cracking beneath his hands as he underestimates his strength, blood soaking his hands, a baby crying in the background.
He feels as though someone is cutting his heart out of his chest, with a salty, rusty, heated knife. Every single piece of his body seems to be in pain as Jacob falls forward and vomits again—This time on the floor.
He hears people talking, the cop asking if he's okay, the waitress complaining. He manages a quick apology as he runs out of the diner, shivering.
He doesn't stop running for two days.
...
He buys a bottle of ginger ale from a gas station and washes the taste of stale vomit from his mouth. His clothes are ruined, and he buys new ones from the thrift store, throwing his old ones in a dumpster.
He goes back to his routine, doing odd jobs for money. It's going to snow soon, Jacob can sense it. He knows that people are going to be looking for someone to shovel their snow soon.
Sleeping outside in the cold doesn't bother him. He could stand naked in a blizzard and be fine, so that puts him ahead of the other workers.
A mother and her daughter walk past him, both bundled in fall jackets. The girl looks at him curiously, her green eyes meeting his, as she pauses.
"Come on, Bella," her mother calls, and Jacob flinches.
Instead of looking for work, he hides away in the back of a train, he pushes the pain in his heart down until it's just an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, then he curls into a ball and sleeps.
Sometimes, his dreams are flooded with a shy smile on pink lips, sad, chocolate brown eyes that look to him for comforts, the sweet smell of vanilla and strawberries, the barest whisper of a voice, a gentle grip on a tool as their fingers brush...just pieces, just memories because it's all that's left, until he wakes with tears streaming down his face.
Other times, his dreams are painted red, and he relieves his last moment with her on loop until he wakes up screaming.
He's not sure which is worst.
...
He sees a couple kissing and he thinks of pinks lips pressed against his on top of a snowy mountain.
He looks away, nails digging into his palms.
There was a time that he thought - he thought – he thought –
He was wrong.
Some days Jacob wants to die.
The only thing that keeps him going, is the desire to get away as far as possible.
But he knows he can't run forever.
...
A new place, a new city, a new town.
He keeps moving. People on the street move out of his way, looking at him like he's dangerous. His stubble has turned into a beard, his hair is past his shoulders. He's grown taller than he was when he left.
He's completely unrecognizable.
He washes in the bathroom of a gas station, buys enough snacks to fill his bag, and hops on a bus. No one sits next to him, and Jacob can feel people trying their hardest not to look at him.
He gets off at the last stop and then walks to the edge of town. He shovels snow, chops firewood, and puts down salt on ice.
An old woman, Ms. Wilson, offers him stew and a hot beverage when he's finished. She invites him into her house and chatters about her kids, her grandkids, who never visit her anymore. She touches his beard and tells him that he needs to shave. Jacob shrugs.
"I need a handyman," she says, when he's getting ready to leave, "I'm old and I can't really keep up with the house anymore."
Jacob doesn't say anything.
"I don't have a lot of money, but I can offer you a place to stay and three meals a day," she pushes, and Jacob looks at her.
She's just a lonely old woman, and Jacob wouldn't want anyone to take advantage of her, but…
"I won't stay in the house," Jacob blurts, and the woman frowns.
"May I ask why?" she asks, and Jacob tries to think of an answer that doesn't make him seem crazy, dangerous, or like he was on drugs.
"I have panic attacks at night," he says, "And they can get really loud and violent so…it's not good for me to be around people,"
Ms. Wilson tries to figure out a way for him to stay, but Jacob is firm in his decision. Jacob doesn't sleep in her home, he's not willing to take that risk, but he does show up every morning for breakfast, fixing anything that needs fixing until she makes him break for lunch, then he listens to her stories of 'The Old Days' before going back to work, until dinner, which he eats alone in the garage.
He knows he can't stay for long.
Still, it's nice to have a place to come home to.
...
He barely makes it a month before he's running again. The sickening smell of sugar and bleach burning his nose and making him tremble.
Muscle memory is a powerful thing. And the wolf inside him yearns for the kill. But the hunt is over.
He's done with fighting.
He's done helping.
Jacob fumbles with his bag and writes a quick note for Ms. Wilson. A single word.
Sorry
And really, what else is there to say?
The smell is getting stronger, and Jacob shoves the note through her mail shoot and starts to run.
...
In a town, a few states over, he finally stops running.
He has no idea where to go from here.
He runs and grieves and sleeps.
Back to his usual routine.
...
Once, there was Bella and Jacob.
For a time, times, half a time there was Bella/Jacob or Bells&Jake.
Then it was back to Jacob/Bella/Edward.
Finally, it was Bella/Edward and Jacob was put off to the side.
He thought that was as worse as it could get.
Now there's nothing.
There's no Bella.
And without her, it feels like there's no Jacob.
...
"The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not 'get over' the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to."
― Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
Author's Note: This is my first story. Please review and let me know what you think.