"Jacob Black, do you ever stop to chew? Or do you just swallow things whole?", I teased, watching him flush red.
"I chew occasionally", Jacob admitted, burping and rubbing his stomach.
We were sitting in Charlie's tiny kitchen. A weak, rare ray of sunshine had broken through the clouds and was lighting up the kitchen, illuminating the bright yellow cupboards and dark, paneled walls.
"Did you have a good day?", he asked, inching closer to me.
He had taken me out on a hike, taking advantage of the warm weather by proposing a picnic. We had sat in the glorious sun, drinking in the fresh air and eating the ham sandwiches (crusts cut off) that Emily had made us earlier in the day.
"Bells? What's wrong?"
He'd seen the shadow of tears cross across my face. The tears that threatened to come to the surface whenever I thought about.. . .him.
The hole in my chest stung around the edges.
Jacob wrapped huge, warm arms around me, holding the hole together, keeping me whole.
"Thank you", I murmured, feeling safe and warm in his embrace.
"Any time", he said huskily. Oh no, I thought. I know that look. The lovesick, adoring look. I loved Jake, really. But could we ever be more than friends? Would I ever get over. . the other one?
Jacob cleared his throat and let go of me.
"Look, Bella…"
Oh god.
"I know… that you were hurt. I know that you still are hurt, but please, let me at least try to fix you?" He said in a rush, looking earnestly into my eyes.
I put my elbows on the old oak table and put my face in my hands.
"I'm, uh…going to go", he said, gesturing towards the door with his hands.
"I'll call you", I smiled. He smiled back, and left.
Once he was gone, I was crippled with loneliness. The dull 'tick, tock' of the clock over the mantle, the rustling of the trees around the house. A storm was coming, I could tell. I dragged myself to the minuscule lounge room, and flopped down on the couch. Something dug into my side: a book? The long lost remote?
The sharp corner of a photo album.
The photo album that I'd been mulling over the previous nights, thinking that if I held something that once had photos of him, I'd feel better.
I glared at the ivory, embossed cover, seized by a sudden fit of rage. I threw the book clear across the room, almost breaking a horrible vase and a photo frame of me on Santa's lap, age six. It fell open on a bunch of crazy, hasty shots of Mike, Angela, and some of my other friends. Or at least, the people who used to be my friends.
The people who were my friends before..Edward left and I went into my zombie phase.
'Who the hell did he think he was?' I thought, 'he said he'd never leave, he said he loved me, he said he cared..' the hole in my chest ripped apart further… 'I had a life before him, I cared, I felt, I loved him…'
Huge sobs wracked my chest, heart wrenching cries ripping apart my wound. I curled up on the couch, crying into the old threadbare pillows.