A/N: Uh… right. I kind of have no excuse for the past month of my absence. Forgive me? I swear I'll try and get up chapter nine as soon as possible following this one.
Well, here it is, finally. You might notice a slight change in Bella's character.
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Chapter Eight.
Somehow, without much reason and without much awareness of the other, time stands still. For just about three seconds, all you can do is just stare at the pitiful sight before you: The obvious anguish that Natalie seems to be suffering; her cheeks streaked with stains where tears inevitably fell not long ago; the laughable way of how she breathes shallowly and raggedly; the awful, barbaric way in which she composes herself.
The Natalie you see now is not the one you saw before—what was it? Only two days ago?—because now, her face resembles that of a week-old corpse. Her eyes are sunken in and dark shadows take the place of where you knew her beautiful, full eyelashes once were. Her hair seems remarkably frayed and uncared-for—her clothes look like she hadn't washed them in days. But—well, it had only been two days, hadn't it? Where had all the time gone since then?
But, you realize with an uncomfortable jolt, that is what you wanted, isn't it? For time to pass quickly? For the pain not to last as long as absolutely necessary? You could wait a lifetime for it to be over. Now, you could live with that. But for it to seem twice as long as you knew it truly was… You'd sooner go mad than attempt to resist that.
And it's not but three seconds later that you wrench open your car door to climb out, slam it shut again in a kind of smug fury, and walk quickly toward where Natalie stands, hardly caring if you came off as insensitive or inconsiderate.
"Hey," you say quite loudly at Natalie's frantic figure. She nearly jumps a foot in the air at the sound of your voice. Her eyes blink furiously as she faces you with a strange expression that resembles fear mixed with extreme concern. But the concern is not for you, obviously.
"Where's Jake?" she blurts before you can utter another word. Her words are extremely rushed, her voice so shaky you can hardly tell what she's saying. Her eyes widen and she looks half mad. "I know you guys are friends—lovers, maybe. I know you've seen him around and I haven't. Where is he?"
She glances over your shoulder and at your truck, as though she highly suspects you may be hiding him in the back.
You roll your eyes, extremely surprised at how jaunty, clever and confident you feel—although you may not look it (it's not as though you'd yet had time to take a shower today…). You gave a small start at the sound of—his—name, but other than that, you are as sarcastic and expressionless as ever. Somehow the look of Natalie's pitiful state brings you to your senses—if perhaps they were not so sensible—and a sudden burst of power blows through your body. You straighten your back. You glare maliciously. You feel like you could sky dive out of an airplane and not look back, not hesitate or regret in any way. You feel… amazing. As though Natalie's sorrow fed you it all.
"Natalie, what—"
But she hardly takes a breath before she interrupts, rushing again to accuse you. Her eyebrows rise ever higher so that they disappear beneath her gaunt, dirt-colored bangs. "Whatever the fuck you've been doing with him, I'll find out. Probably you've—fed him a—love potion or—something like that—oh, God—" She breaks down at your feet, sobbing like she was nearing the end of her life.
And suddenly, you realize that she reminds you oddly of someone else…
"Ridiculous," you mutter under your breath, but just a bit louder (and quite firmly) you say, "Natalie! Think logically, will you? Since when has there ever been such a thing as a love potion? And for your information," you add bitterly, "I am quite sure that I haven't seen Jacob any more recently than you have."
Natalie only sobs harder.
You're completely and utterly abashed at her behavior; although you don't raise your voice, you know you don't need to. The confidence in which you speak and the immediate way she shuts up lets you know that power looms in your voice that had probably never been there before. It gives new strength, as if that were even possible.
"I want you to be quite calm for just a few moments," you continue in a deadly, powerful voice. Never have you had this power over someone else ever before—there was always the weakness inside you that allowed others to speak over you, to control you and power you. Even the shock that lingers from this immediate change cannot destroy your fearlessness or take down your defenses. It's like you're a new person… well, the same person, but in an entirely different body with a different mind. You've never felt this kind of strength ever before.
"I'm—being—calm," Natalie sputters through her teeth, standing up again although she still looks down. Her breath still hitches, the aftereffect of crying, as you liked to think of it and as you would very well know. "What—the—hell—do you want with me?"
"Well, one or two things," you say instantly, surprised at how fluently the words flow out of your mouth, as though they hadn't come from your brain; as though you were reading a quite clever script and already knew all the facial motions. "Firstly," you say, your tone tainted with sarcasm, "I couldn't help but notice you have just a little bit of dirt on your—well, everywhere, actually." You look down with disapproval and wrinkle your nose, as though Natalie were a very unpleasant thing found on the bottom of your shoe. "I was wondering if you could first explain that to me."
"And why does that matter? And why do you care?" Natalie spits at you, glaring at you full in the face. "And since when were you such a bitch? I was under the impression a few days ago—and the first time I met you—that you were a caring, sensitive, and thoughtful person, Bella." Her voice aches with so much sarcasm that it's all you can do not to flinch.
You compose yourself quite quickly. "I suppose I have somewhat of an alter-ego at the most important of times," you say softly, smiling slightly. "This is one of those times where I can't afford to show weakness—like, well, how you are."
Natalie's body trembles. She threatens to cry again, but doesn't.
"I guess you aren't who I thought you were, then," she whispers brokenly, wiping her dripping nose with the rag of a blouse she wore. You screw up your face in disgust.
"Please," you try again, "please tell me why you're wearing that."
"THAT IS IRRELEVENT!" she yells, causing several birds to fly from the protection of the forest and up into the sky with scared-sounding caws.
From the corner of your eye you see the curtains of Emily's house being slightly pulled aside—Emily, no doubt, would emerge in a matter of seconds, and you don't want her to find you acting this way. Not fifteen minutes ago, you'd been having a very heartfelt and deep conversation with the girl. How would it impress upon her if you were caught in a scene such as this?
"So," you murmur, not willing to let your anger get out of hand, "I guess I'll just get right to the point: Is there something I might be able to help you with, Natalie?"
"Yes," she growls, frantically blinking again and looking all around her, like an angel might appear out of nowhere and help her out of her despair. "I'm missing Jacob. He's not at his house, he won't answer his phone, his dad won't tell me anything, not where he is where he's been or why in the hell he's missing" —she takes a deep breath and starts again— "and I know you know something about him I don't, about why he's gone almost all the time, about why he and his group are so secretive all the time, and you damn well better tell me what you know or else I'll—"
But you never find out what Natalie was about to say: At that moment, the front door of Emily's bursts open and there she stands, looking like she could release tenfold of all the anger Natalie had already let out on you, even with a smile on her face.
"And what, might I ask, is going on here?" she asks in a falsely cheerful voice, her sharp yet kind eyes flickering quickly between Natalie and you. She walks forward until she's almost directly in the middle of yours and Natalie's kind of cat fight that held place not five seconds ago. "If I didn't know better, I would think you two were—like, I don't know, fighting or something." She chuckles, and she's a good actress, but it's obvious she knows what that that was, indeed, exactly what had been happening.
You mumble an apology and make your way back to your truck, all former confidence slowly draining out of you, but Emily calls you back just as fast.
"I don't believe you answered my question, Bella," she says kindly. A remorseful feeling burns the inside of your chest. No way would you ever hold this much authority over anyone as Emily did now over you. Next to the way she speaks now, your kind of false pride and confidence seems rather pathetic.
"I'm sorry," you say again. "I'm not exactly sure what happened. I was angry, she was yelling at me—accusing me—and for what, well I don't know, why don't you ask her that—"
"Emily, do you know where Jacob is?" Natalie says at once instead of answering Emily. Her voice holds so much eagerness, so much desperation, it nearly makes you sick.
You sidle your way off to your truck once again (effectively ignoring Emily's surprised response to Natalie), wondering if you could get in, start it up, and race out of the driveway before they would be able to stop you…
"…so why don't you ask Bella?" Emily is saying, speaking louder as for her voice to reach where you stand, not more than five feet away from your destination. You swear under your breath at Emily's intrusion in your progress, and speak up again in false, curious voice.
"What was that?" you call loudly.
"Well, Natalie here was just wondering where Jacob was," says Emily, as if you don't already know all of this, "so maybe you know?"
"No, I don't," you say at once, as desperate as ever to get home and out of this hell. "I've already told you that," you add, glaring at Natalie. She opens her mouth as if she is about to say something.
"Now, now," Emily speaks up. "It was only a question, Bella, no need for that aggression. You might as well go home now, then—but it was quite nice talking to you, you know—"
But you don't hear the rest of her sentence, if there was a rest. Already, you're in your car, desperately turning the keys in the ignition and not daring to look behind you where Natalie would inevitably still be standing. You don't roll down the window to call a goodbye; you don't look back at the pleasant little enclosure that is Emily's cottage.
And then, before you know it, you're exposed to the small, slightly winding highway once again, the one that would lead you away from where you just left—but where you would end up, you have absolutely no idea. You purposely ignore the turn that you would take on any other day to get back to Charlie's house and continue driving down the slowly sloping road, not noticing the way the greenery on either side of you grows wilder and wilder with every mile driven.
You don't know where you're going, or why—nothing makes sense anymore. All that is perfectly clear is that you need to get away—how far away, you don't know—and you won't let anything stop you, no matter the cost.
Frantic thoughts churn their way into your already crowded mind—thoughts of why, why in the hell Jacob would ever leave his girlfriend in such a state. You see her frightened face everywhere you look, you see the cruelty given to her—her, a human, a poor, innocent and unknowing little human who was scared beyond her wits at the sudden disappearance of her once-loyal boyfriend… the boyfriend that just so happened to be a werewolf. Not that Natalie could ever know that.
So now she knew the pain you knew. She knew how wonderful Jacob seemed, at first—she knew the way he could break hearts like they were toothpicks. She knew the concern for him that constantly flooded your senses, making nothing matter anymore. You and Natalie both knew about him—you had a lot in common.
But Natalie was also weak—incredibly so. That much was obvious during the not-so pleasant conversation you'd shared with each other. Of course, you were weak as well, but you're quite sure you've never looked that bad… right? You'd never had reason to look like you'd just blundered through a rainstorm and left time for a mud bath at the end, all the while not eating… not like how Natalie looked. Even if you had turned into something of a catatonic mess during the time when you mourned Edward's departure—well, you weren't that vulnerable anymore, of course…
It takes a few seconds for you to realize that your truck is slowly slipping to the far left side of the road. You hastily straighten the steering wheel and erase all thoughts from your mind and focus on nothing more than driving. You blink furiously to clear your vision, and wiping your mind of all thought seems to be working quite effectively.
But not for long—the agonizing seconds turn into minutes, then a half hour, then hours, you're sure—but you don't stop there.
The sky eventually grows a dusky color of grayish blue—clouds still cover the most part of it all. Between the gaps in the clouds, there's a piercing color of light blood red—an ominous sign. But you don't stop there. Hours and hours pass before you show any sign of breaking—and you do break, eventually.
But then you can't even take it: The roar of the engine, the way things move much too quickly by you as you drive in your truck—it's too much. And before you think twice about what you're doing, you pull off to the side of the wild, bumpy road, stop the engine of your truck, quickly jump out into the ground that meets your feet as mud and weeds, close the door behind you with an angry slam—and look around.
You don't know where you are. There aren't road signs anymore. You're in complete wilderness, and your truck's fuel tank is less than a centimeter away from the E—so, reasonably speaking, you could drive further and meet some sort of small town. Some kind of civilization, however small. But for all intense and insensible purposes, you continue on the way you'd been driving for nearly eight hours. The car seems to simply disappear behind you, indefinitely forgotten, and you simply begin to walk.
And walk.
And walk.
And walk.
You continue walking, long after the sun completely makes its way below the horizon; long after the sky becomes as dark for you not being able to see your own hand in front of your face. But that's okay, it doesn't really matter—you wouldn't have been able to see your hand if the entire sky was lit up.
The tears pouring down your cheeks are completely unbearable, yet at the same time, you can't get them to stop. But you don't have a specific reason of why you're crying, exactly—no, that doesn't seem to matter at all right now. You cry for the simple purpose of crying, just because the wave of wetness over your cheeks is a strange, almost comfortable familiarity; you cry simply for the sake of crying. You realize numbly that it'd become a habit. And whether it was a good habit or not, you could hardly care. Not now.
You don't count the time. And somehow, simply walking along turns to something extremely more urgent—before you know it, there's a slight tremble in your step; you're not as confident with yourself as before; you're getting dizzy, your head is spinning wildly, your subconscious thoughts make absolutely no sense anymore (not that they did to start out with)… You faintly see the ground coming up to meet your face through the thick tears that have blinded you all the while.
But before you can reach your arms out to catch yourself, there's only the slight, numbing pain of rough gravel meeting your sensitive skin—for a split second, you groan in pain and weariness: You faint, right in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a road, where no one could ever be destined to find you. Not unless they'd been following you all this time.
But you don't worry about that—not now. Everything goes black.
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"Wait—no, wait,I mean it—I just need to check something out—"
A deep, familiar voice breaks through your senses.
"No, we need to leave!" a second voice cuts in. "C'mon, it's nothing, damn it—"
"Wait!" yells the first voice again, a hint of worry and confusion. "I swear I'll follow right after you guys, you can't deny I'll catch up to you in just about two seconds. Go, just go—"
A loud growl explodes somewhere close to your left. God, you think, what a strange dream… just let me see what the hell's going on…
But no matter how hard you try and open your eyes, they just won't budge.
"Don't—under any circumstances—waste time!" the second voice says furiously—it's a strangely familiar voice as well, one you've heard extremely recently, but that doesn't make it pleasant. "You know you're a key part in this, so follow quickly."
Half a second passes before you sense the absence of the second man. Silence befalls upon you and—well, whoever else was with you… and you could take a pretty good guess… but of course you wouldn't dare do such a thing, let your mind wander away hopefully only to be dragged down again…
"Fuck you, Sam," mumbles the stranger to your left several moments after the departure of the second man, sounding incredibly annoyed. "Like I don't know how to work in a pack after half a year…" Footsteps grow closer to where you lay pitifully on the ground.
You're beginning to feel your toes again—and God, you hadn't realized just how freezing cold they were. You wriggle your fingers, feel all around you, and momentarily recognize the cold hard ground of nearly-frozen asphalt. It's an extremely uncomfortable sensation, but perhaps not as uncomfortable as being perfectly numb to all of your surroundings.
A sharp pain suddenly hits the exposed skin of your body—you feel a warm liquid at your right cheek and try to breathe through your mouth rather than your nose. It's no good, though: The blood is so close that you can't help but breathe the smell of it in. For a few seconds, a dizzying sensation controls your head and you threaten to pass out once more.
"Bella," says a sorrowful voice, and your heart skips a beat—you hadn't realized just how close he was. And he wasn't asking a question—he was merely acknowledging that you'd been found. But you still can't open your eyes; not because it's impossible, but because you simply don't want to.
You can feel the heat of him, even though he's not even touching you yet. You can just feel it emanating from him, reaching all the coldness over your body, making it feel like you'd just walked into a heavily heated room.
But what you feel now is nothing compared to what happens when he finally, finally touches you—it's completely innocent, completely dissatisfying—only a gentle prod of a finger on your bare arm, as though he himself were wary of what would happen if he gave himself away to you.
"Yeah." You're finally able to find your voice—it sounds as though you hadn't used it in months. "I'm alive, if that's what you're wondering."
You chuckle weakly. Your throat feels tremendously raw—you suspect it might be from how long you'd cried… how long ago was it? It's hard to tell—the sky looks just as dark as you remember it was before you fainted. You feel it's safe to think you hadn't been lying there for more than a few hours, if not less.
You hear him exhale an enormous breath of relief. He completely envelopes you in his burning hot arms; you feel as though you'll melt away right there in his hold. He's breathing only inches away from your face. Something gives you impression that he's attempting to thaw you.
And you open your eyes to meet a glorious sight.
He's even more beautiful than you remember; his kind, dark-brown eyes are filled with immense concern as he searches your face. He presses his warm lips to your temple, temporarily hiding his face from view, and you close your eyes at this wonderfulness and let your breath mix with his. But only for a few seconds. It would be asking for too much to stay like this forever… it was much too good to be true. You could hardly be certain that he was even a reality—that he wasn't just some wild illusion you'd conjured up in your sleep, and that this could all be a terrifying, too-good dream…
"Well, hey," Jacob says as he stares at your face again, "there you are."
"Yeah, here I am," you reply uncertainly.
His eyes suddenly narrow. "Is it safe to assume that I might never know exactly why you've passed out on a road in the middle of Oregon, with your truck several miles away?" His stern voice gives you the impression you're being scolded.
You pretend to think for a few moments, finally cleverly replying, "Yeah, it's safe to assume that."
You struggle to get to your feet again, fighting to have Jacob's strong arms let go of you and ignoring the expression of annoyance mixed with disbelieving humor on his face. You think for a split second that he won't let you stand up as he tightens his hold on you, but he stands up alongside you, helping you upright, all the while holding tightly on to you like he fears you might collapse again. You can't blame him for being cautious, either: You feel extremely unsteady.
"I gotcha," he whispers huskily in your ear, and you shiver not at the warmth of his breath, but at the intimate tone in his voice. "We'll get you cleaned up when you get home, Bella—of course, not unless you want to go to the hospital—the right side of your face took most of the impact…"
You had to admit, his voice was enough to make any girl swoon. And speaking of which—
"Jake!" you yell quite suddenly, much to his surprise, and wrench your way out of his grasp. You feel mildly shocked at how immediately he releases you, but you can't think about that, no… "I do believe there's someone else who would like a good hug from you, other than myself, thanks."
You glare at him, marveling at how rapidly you've been changing personalities lately—first the pathetic, needy, weak little girl; then the reasonable, angry, over-confident young woman.
And then it hits you, just like a punch in the gut: Natalie (as you saw her back at Emily's) had reminded you of someone. The resemblance to someone you knew was so overwhelming at the moment, and you'd forgotten it temporarily, but as you thought about the way she'd acted once more… You now know that it was you who she so strongly reminded you of. This revelation leaves you slightly breathless and almost unable to continue speaking.
"Well—who?" asks Jacob stupidly. "I mean, I thought you looked like you could do with a good hug—"
"Natalie, you idiot!" you screech, your throat burning wildly in protest. "I guess you're not exactly aware that your precious girlfriend looks like a downright wreck without you right there by her side every two seconds, and I thought you might have enough fucking sense to see that she might turn just a bit depressed if you're not there with her at all times, she looks like she's just lived a second in a year, so get away from me and help her, I don't need you, she does—"
The words all tumble furiously out of your mouth, burning your eyes at how much you mean them. There was someone who needed a warm werewolf at their side right now, and you were not that someone.
Jacob looks at you in sudden horror, his face contorting strangely as though he'd just realized something awful. His mouth moves but no words come out for a few seconds as you breathe heavily at his side, a good two or three feet separating you.
"Nat… Natalie—she needs me?" he whispers, as though it's a terrifying concept.
"The hell she does!" you try and yell, but it comes out only as a loud, hoarse whisper.
"…Nat," Jacob repeats uncertainly, "…alone… doesn't know… where I am… or who…" His eyes glaze over.
You stare at him in disbelief. "What the hell's wrong with you?" you mutter—you can't think of anything else to say in all your fury.
"No!" he shouts quite abruptly, startling you. He buries his face in his hands, shaking his head back and forth miserably. "No, no, no, oh no no no…"
"Would you please tell me what is going on?" You're completely bewildered. What could make Jacob act this way? You didn't think you'd said anything enormously significant or offensive—
Jacob quite unexpectedly takes a strong stance again, yelling madly, "Quickly, get on!"
"Jake, what—?"
And without warning, he runs several yards away from you, so that you can only see his faint silhouette in the darkness of the starless night. And without any explanation, without even bothering to remove his clothes, he explodes into his wolf-form.
"Jake!" you cry, transfixed to the spot with shock. "I—I don't understand…"
He simply runs up to you, his much-too intelligent eyes looking impetuous, even in the near-blackness. He beckons you fiercely with a sharp jerk of his head, leaning on his haunches for you to climb on his back.
You're in a daze—you don't know exactly where he's going with this. Dumbfounded, you struggle up onto the mountain that is his back, holding handfuls of his fur as your reigns, although you could hardly call it as such. You cling on desperately as you feel him moving beneath you. (After all, how many other times had you taken a midnight run on the back of a horse-sized werewolf?)
And just like that, he dashes wildly through the trees, with you holding on tightly, feeling thoroughly confused.
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