And All for Me, to Me, You Sue
Chapter 9: Changes

He was smiling, like the last time I'd seen him, and he was beautiful. Onyx, thin hair danced like fire upon a windy day around his stunning features, but he had no eyes, no nose to identify him by. A lengthy arm extended toward me, inviting me to come closer, within the reach of the faceless creature. The remaining debris of the drifting clouds adjourned, and the sun became whole, eyeing us intently, its heat radiating permeably around us – that man and I. Even with the absence of his eyes, I could feel his invisible stare, smell his sweet, natural scent to which he must not be aware of without a nose. The fluorescence of the afternoon sun shaded him completely, and his body grew swords of crystals that outline his entire figure. It seemed as though the sun has taken a godly human form, its brilliant rays shooting wildly in all directions, beckoning to burn me alive. And I desired that flare – to serve as the fagot for such a mighty flame, beget by the hands of Apollo himself.

My first step was considerate – patient. The crystalline man was as still as a predator's eyes upon its prey, his long-suffering arm, extending to my combustible demise, neither resigned nor quivered with time. His alluring smile was persistent, dimming as I neared but maintaining a friendly essence nevertheless. I took another step, slow but sure.

"Bella," a stranger called from a distance beside me, so frantic yet soft was his voice that I was taken out of my trance like I was never within one. I glanced in the direction of my savior – had my previous enchantment been anything to fear – and lost myself within the eyes of a man with whom I've grown so fond of. He hid beneath the shadows, woven to perfection by the hovering trees, but his deep, neon eyes were a beacon for my safety – my comfort. I took an automatic step toward him, eager to envelope myself within such sanctuary. A smile painted itself upon my face, arched like a moon where his golden eyes shall be the stars that surround it, like an act among purpose.

Suddenly, my body was fixated onto the ground, planted deep within the underbrush. My feet were rooted to the soil, and I threw panicked eyes to the magical creature that blinded the forest with tranquil lucidity. He's abandoned his mesmerizing smile and his lips oscillated slightly with his arms, which now hung enfeebled in the space in front of him – to me. A single ruby marble trailed down his cheeks and fell to the crimson pool that now collected around his feet. And then, slow as waiting, auburn orbs began to take shape on the dent upon his features. I narrowed my eyes in captivated inspection. A trigger inside of me was released, and I felt a strangled recognition that thirsted within me. My breathing scattered and I buckled my eyes shut from the sight.

My eyes gasped open as I sat up on my bed, startled. I recognized the dream to be the same as the one I had a night or two ago, but with a tangible twist – Callum was there. He invaded my trance by which the sun god held me prison – where I'd been willing to burn. I sighed and peered at the round clock above my doorframe. 5:03 am. Taking a deeper breath, I laid back down on my bed and closed my eyes in an attempt to sleep. Eventually, I peeked an eye open at the clock once more. 5:11 am. With another helpless sigh, I gathered myself out of my bed and felt my way across the darkened room. I flicked the light open and assembled an outfit that would properly pertain for today's activities.

Since it was Saturday, Callum suggested that we remodel my room today. I agreed and we decided to start bright and early – as brightly as the withered weather of Forks could be – after Charlie leaves for work. That was about two hours from now, and three from when Callum had promised to arrive by.

After a quick, refreshing shower, I twisted a towel through my hair and let it sit on top of my head to dry. I dressed in simple attire – dark green sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt over a white spaghetti strap, topping it off with a stressed purple jacket. Glancing at my nearly empty room, I decided to take a brave peek under my bed to see what had gotten stuffed in there over time.

Within minutes, I've collected a mountain of things that had taken shelter under my ancient bed. Aside from some school papers and an empty box of Kleenex, a navy blue shirt rested on top of the pile, which I remember having hurled aside in refusal to wearing it due to reasons I refuse to explore. The next item I found was a scrapbook – No, I mean, the scrapbook –that my mom had bought me last year for my eighteenth birthday, in which unforgettable, unwanted memories were once placed before someone had altogether abducted them with his very existence. That day, he'd pirated not only his presence from my life, but also the biggest part of me.

I shook my head, wishing that minds worked like the etch-a-sketch I used to love playing with when I was a child, and erase undesired pictures with a mere joggle. Picking up the next item on the pile, I realized that that would be impossible. Before I'd moved to Forks with my dad, my mother had bought me a diary – much to my distaste – reasoning that I should have something with which I could freely express myself by, at least now that she would no longer be there with me. I'd accepted it with an elongated sigh.

I turned the page onto my first entry, written on the day I started unpacking here at Forks and found it sitting atop my clothes inside my luggage.

Dear Diary,

I just totally freaked myself out by writing that. That's creepy.

So I might as well give in to my mother's idea – not like that's anything new. It's day two here at Forks and already, the weather's being whiney at my presence. It's not like I don't feel lousy enough being here. My dad bought me a truck, which, to my surprise, wasn't so bad. The only thing is, where to go with it? I'm not very comfortable with this weather. Not to mention school starts tomorrow. I'm thinking this diary will only be met with complaints, so I really don't see the point.

Somehow – really, really deep inside of me – I do feel kind of anxious, though. Looking back at my life in Arizona, I figured there shouldn't be any other way but up for me. If not, that's just sad.

Bella.

I knelt down and flipped onto the next page, curious as to what more I've written two years ago. I just barely remembered it existed – much less, what I wrote on it.

I've decided to spare myself away from the whole Dear Diary – there I go again – thing. It's not worth the panic.

So today was my first day at Forks High School. It wasn't half bad, to be honest. I'm seeing potential friendships all around, no matter how subtle that would end up with someone like me. I'm not entirely enclosed – I do appreciate that much from life. Something that did bother me, though, was a boy. Mom would be thrilled about the idea of a boy in any part of my life, even if that was the bothered part of it. Jessica, a new friend (?) of mine, addressed him as Edward Cullen, and I just happened to be sat next to him in Biology. He was gorgeous – no going around that – but it's as though he's already developed a heinous malignity toward me. He trembled at the sight of me and threw abominable eyes at me every so often – all within an hour of class! I've never felt so insulted and the worst part of it is, I don't understand why I'm even so affected by it – by him.

I sighed. Had I only known… Even though a revolting twist began fumbling in my stomach, curiosity bested me, and I turned the page once more.

I can't believe it! He didn't even come to school today. How could he hate me that much – assuming that that was the case?

More churning in my stomach, like milk in a blender, as I turned another page.

No Edward.

And another…

What—Do I have lice or something? Geez.

And another…

Where is he…?

And finally…

He came back, and along with a rehabilitated attitude – No, not even that; he was being perfectly normal, as though he never made me feel like dirt among rich soil. Beyond normal, in fact, because he was being so impeccably polite. He's either abnormal or deranged or…

Anyway, he's nice.

When I saw that the first word on the next page began with a certain, rekindling name, I finally found the courage to fling the notebook aside – quickly before I could change my mind. Just then, as though on cue, someone knocked on my door.

"Yes, come in," I allowed.

My dad slowly peeked through the door before creaking it open wider to face me. "Bella? I saw that your light was open and—Why are you up so early?"

"Just trouble sleeping, that's all," I answered honestly. "Did I wake you?"

"No, no. I usually wake up around this time so I can have half an hour to prepare for work." He eyed my miniature mountain range. "What are you doing?"

"Umm," I began as I looked over the view of it, "Just thought I'd clear away my mess before Callum arrives so we wouldn't have to worry about it later."

"Oh, that's right," he said in thought, "That's today. That was awfully nice of him to do, by the way." He hesitated before continuing, "Just out of curiosity—"

Here we go.

"—Are the two of you—"

"No, dad, we're not," I answered, unable to help but smile a little with his unease about the subject. Since when was it established that fathers were supposed to be uncomfortable with this kind of stuff? Usually, as teenagers, they were the wild ones. They'd go around wishing every girl would look their way, but I guess opinions change with hair color. What a vile stage – getting old.

"Ah," he replied slowly, and I could see his poor attempt at disguising his relief with indifference. "Well, you two be careful moving all that stuff out of the way. I told you to put it off until tomorrow so that I could help."

"Yes, but Jacob's expecting me bright and early tomorrow morning," I reminded him, "as usual."

"Oh, yeah, well, okay then. I'll just have some breakfast and be on my way," he smiled at me briefly before turning and closing the door behind him.

The smooth sound of tires wheeling into my driveway irritated my ears and I yawned as I realized I must have fallen asleep. I trudged toward my window and, sure enough, Callum was there, leaning handsomely against a black '07 Cadillac truck – a knowledge of proof that Mike and Tyler do, in fact, sat at the same table with me during lunch – with two doors and an extra cab like mine. His arms were folded across his chest, but his features held no impatience as he smiled up at me. I half expected him to recite Romeo's famous line as he climbed up to the balcony to beguile his fair Juliet, but I neither have a balcony, nor am I Juliet – even if Callum would make a more-than-fair Romeo.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!" he yelled, however majestically.

What a way to scratch that Shakespearean fantasy. Now why would I want the most famous, romantic scene in all of history when I could live this Disney classic? I tossed him the first item that's within my reach - a stuffed, brown-spotted puppy that has sat on my desk since the day my mother gave it to me as a child – which he easily caught.

"Or why not a puppy," he commented with a smile, and I chuckled.

"Hold on, I'll get the door."

"Good morning," he greeted me once I've opened the door for him. Seeing him stand by my door, I was suddenly met with an erratic beat of my heart, and I wondered if I would ever get used to that around him. It was as though he knocked directly at my heart and it struggled to make a muscled entrance for the sake of him.

What was he saying again? Oh, yes. "Good morning," I replied as calmly as I could convince my heart to spare me.

Callum was so gorgeous. It wasn't like a celebrity-crush kind of gorgeous – it's more mysterious than that. His features were incredibly foreign, unlike any traditional face I've ever seen. To identify him as "hot" or "sexy" doesn't feel quite right, either, though I know he is both. But something else, like a blind attraction that is kept secret because no one else could possibly fabricate such an angelic look. From the way his eyes danced without moving his head toward the direction of his objective to the way he gesticulated meanings with the formation of his words and not by hands – he was irresistible.

He walked in, politeness written on his posture, and then stopped just a couple of steps inside. He speculated the space well, his hands buried inside the pockets of his deep cerulean pants. The sleeves to his lightly striped polo – which was painfully stunning on him, while he wore the first two buttons loose, revealing the white cloth that draped against his bare chest – were rolled up on his forearms, where he wore a silver watch around one of his wrists. Meanwhile, his eyes were slightly troubled, or so it seemed, for he was angled toward the view of the living room. His eyes explored every corner before turning back to face me. It seems I was wrong because he held no such troubled expression in his eyes – only the warmth that I love. Relief washed over me at this realization.

"Shall we begin?" he asked enthusiastically.

We began by dismantling my old furniture – from my bed to my desk, and then finally getting rid of that historic rocking chair that sat in the corner of my room. Callum was adoringly strong. Even though I was aware that the screws holding my old, wooden bed were already loose from harsh and lasting experience, it would have still taken a lot of effort to completely take them apart from each other, but he did it. He did the same to the remaining furniture so that we wouldn't be hassled with the space in the truck when disposing of it and having to carry it down through the stairs with only the two of us. We talked contently, sharing memories both good and bad – though I did avoid the worst of them – while he worked. Once or twice, I complained and apologized for being so helpless, but he waved me off with a smile and a reassuring, soft kiss on my forehead, which only tempted me to complain more, but of course, I resisted. He was consistently swift and graceful with his work. The weather wasn't cold, even when the sky is dark with clouds and the air is wet, so it made it that much more admirable when I noticed that he hasn't shed a single droplet of sweat. I was somewhat disappointed, for how amazingly gorgeous would he look with a few glistening dots perched on his remarkable features?

"So then she met Phil, who was a coach here or there, I don't know," I heard myself saying, though my mind was occupied with the sole thought of him, "And she – what did she say she did – she knew he was the one."

Callum chuckled as he disassembled a leg off my computer table. "You're a funny storyteller, Bella."

"Why do you say that?" I asked, hardly irritated by his forwardness when he was gazing right at me with those penetrating eyes. "Okay," I admitted after a while, "I guess I see."

He chuckled once more. "I think it's precious."

"It's always either that or endearing with you," I remarked.

"With you," he replied back, and his eyes confessed the truth in his words.

I don't know how long I stared at him with widened eyes – which were what I figured I was doing; it was most likely at a situation like that – before I finally collaborated a few words together, enough to make a sentence – enough for any kind of response so I wouldn't seem so helplessly speechless, no matter if I really am. "How do you do it?"

Oh, like that was a helpful way out. It totally, undeniably avoided the idea of being speechless. Really now, Bella, geez.

"Hm?" he hummed in question, his eyebrows raised at a polite height – just enough so that it doesn't make my question look as dumb as it was to me. "What do you mean?"

I decided I might as well. "How are you able to make me feel so warm…?"

He suddenly ceased working and eyed me for a moment longer, surprise lingering in his iced golden orbs, before smiling at me – so beautiful a smile. "You're not so terrible at that field yourself, Bella. You have such a pleasant way of making me feel so weak, and I could either crumble or live by your touch. I think about you and I miss you when you're not with me, which is exactly where I want you to be." He narrowed his eyes, almost as though in shame of the few last words he'd said, and his eyes grew intense with the mysterious, internal war raging within him once more, "You make me want to be selfish. When I am bold, it is your warmth that's given me the fire to be so. You're so beautiful to me, Bella, inside and out."

My heart paced, impatient by my insecurities, my doubts, and my fears, as it entreated to be set free. "And I want to lose myself in that – in you," I began with a startled realization that my voice was at a whisper, still grasping within itself the feeling of insecurity, doubt, and fear.

"But should you need time," Callum whispered, his voice silky, gentle against my flaws, "Then I shall wait." And then he was embracing me, clothing me with the mysterious warm that radiated from his physically cool body. Where I lost myself.

Right then, I let myself believe that I was accepting this change. Just as I was refurnishing my room, I was also refurnishing my life. With such a physical step into my development, could it be that an emotional step is well on its way to rebuilding my broken existence? And I did – I believed it.

Once we – well, okay, he – was done dismantling my bedroom, we carried them one by one – three by three for him, actually – downstairs and loaded them onto my truck. Callum almost put me on time-out in my own kitchen due to a near heart-attack – at least that's what he so exaggeratedly mentioned it as – I gave him when I stumbled on the stairs when I attempted two leg pieces at once. He barely caught me – and the two leg pieces – on time with impossible speed, considering he was just walking back inside when I (almost) fell.

"You're amazing!" he commented in frustration.

"I was just trying to be helpful," I defended, hurt and humiliated by my own silly attempt to be super.

"Sweetheart—," he began, but cut himself off before he could say something unpleasant, I guessed. But instead, his eyes showed pure guilt and I realized it must have been due to the disappointed expression in my eyes. Finally, he sighed and cast his eyes to the side as he handed me the leg pieces once more. "Fine," he muttered.

But as he walked back down, I could still see his eyes flickering back at me continuously in caution.

An hour and more assembling, connecting, and hammering later, we were finished. I looked over my room from my door where I stood with Callum by my side, still without a single sweat after having done all the work with the furniture. Parallel to the window was my bed, which lay in the middle of the room. I first noticed the NASA-inspired mattress after unloading the packages of furniture from the back of his trunk, which I argued with him about outside in my driveway for having bought it without my permission. He reasoned that it was his money, not mine, and to butt off. Next to the window, across the foot of my new bed, was the triangular, corner desk. Beside the bed was also the Italian nightstand he'd bought me without the slightest consideration toward my bedroom space and on which we placed one of the two English lamps he threw into his budget at the last minute before leaving Benny's Hideaway– not that he seemed to have a budget. The other lamp stood by the corner nearest to the door. Overall, it was all so elegantly beautiful.

"Do you like it?" he asked softly into my ear.

"From the bed all the way down to the last drawer."

He smiled now, as attractively as ever, and affectionately encircled his arms around me from behind as he watched over all the magical changes he's accomplished – with what had once seemed so hopeless.

"So, has 'yet' arrived?" Jacob inquired curiously the next day. I slapped myself inwardly – I should have known this was coming. How had I forgotten to consider this question?

I didn't time how long I took searching my brain for just the right answer without falsifying anything, but it seemed like Jacob did.

"Ah," he merely said in quiet understanding. "That sucks for me."

"Jake, it really hasn't—Well—," I stumbled ridiculously with my words.

"I knew, you know," he was whispering now, almost to himself, "I knew from that first day I met him at Port. The way he looked at you – it's as though it was just a matter of time, and now what do you know—"

"Jake—"

"But that didn't matter," he continued, his eyes more focused now – a clear disguise for things that bothered him. "What mattered was yours. I'd gotten there first that night and met with your friends by the restaurant. I'd been right behind them as you two parked – as he held your hand and you panicked. Of course you would; you were probably worried what other people would think if they'd seen that," he chuckled softly, but clearly pained. "But I guess the correct emotion in your eyes at that time would be… confusion. It's strange, but I wish you'd gained that same emotion in your eyes with me, just so I could know that I've collided with your past enough for you to be unsure of how to feel – because you are feeling something; you're just confused if it's right or wrong… if it's alright for you to feel that way."

The biggest thing was that I understood everything Jacob was trying to say. The picture was simple, made complicated by my own mixed emotions. But the most evident meaning of his message resided within the tone of his voice – Jacob was hurt. He loved me through and through, in spite of many things. He loved me because and beyond. And it was okay that I didn't love him back in the same manner, because he can see it in my eyes – the potential to being happy once again. It was okay, because he'll find a way to be happy through the happiness within my eyes. He'll find a way through my happiness. That is what he was saying.

And that was all I needed to cry. Tears surfaced from my eyes and I allowed my emotions to pilot their current down my cheeks, where they dissolved against my lips. I let them speak for the words I cannot find and all the words that do not exist, that could somehow make things right for him without hurting him. I felt sweltering arms curl around my body and the warmth of Jacob's lips as they brush against my cheek, dragging his bottom lip slightly as he continued upward onto my forehead. He didn't kiss me, but instead, simply touched his lips on my skin, his breath sending hot shivers to crawl down my body. I felt the comfort that he was trying to convey. No amount of time could ever deceive my love for Jake. He was my greatest confidant, my rainbow after every storm, and he's done so much to prove it. Now I felt horrible, for how could you serve to be somebody's rainbow when they've determined to make you their sun? I am literally behind the clouds that centered this raging storm above him - the reason for his sacrifice.

Suddenly, his body tensed against mine and I felt him dig his fingers into me from where he'd been holding me. Through a blurred vision, I glanced at him, startled at his abrupt reaction, but as soon as I've caught a glimpse of his expression, I knew something was wrong. His eyes were shut excruciatingly and he was gasping for air. Then his eyes snapped open, indignation splattered in his eyes. And then it became fear, and then concern, until they were all smudged together in his chestnut, amber eyes. He suddenly pushed me roughly away, into his car from which I was sitting on by the opened door.

"Jacob!" I yelled in exasperation, retrieving my balance as soon as I'd found the courage and the strength to move from where he'd thrown me. "Jacob, what's wrong?" I sounded, panic dominating my voice.

Jacob screamed, and before I knew it, I was running toward him. I threw my arms around him and held him as tightly as I could, against his defying body. I persisted through the pushing and the screeching sound of his yelps as he fought against the force of my body against him.

"Jacob, what's wrong! Jacob!" I yelled desperately, tears streaking down my cheeks uncontrollably.

"Bella!" I heard my name, but I didn't care nor bother to glance away, for I knew it wasn't Jacob's. I only wanted to hear Jacob call me. I wanted him to tell me he's okay.

"Bella, get away from him!"

I wanted him to tell me what's happening, and then say that it's alright.

I felt somebody tug at my waist and I felt my arms loosening its grip around Jacob. "No!" I yelled, "Jacob! Jacob, talk to me!"

"He's in pain, Bella," the voice shouted, "You best keep away!"

"Jacob!" I cried and finally, I turned sharply to face Sam Uley. "What's happening to him?" I demanded.

"He's going to be alright," he explained, more calmly now, "He's just in pain. Come on, let me walk you outside."

"No," I shook my head, "I want to be with Jacob."

"We'll take care of him," he promised and for the first time, I noticed a group of eyes that were on me by the entrance to the garage. I didn't care enough nor had time to identify them all, except for Billy Black, who was the most recognizable in his wheel chair. As soon as I lost grip, Sam Uley perched me on his shoulders and carried me outside. If I was still remembering things correctly, I'd gone to Jacob's house early in the morning, but as soon as we crossed the entrance to his garage, all I saw was black. Pitch, hard black.

So it's 3:51am, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't getting sleepy toward the end at writing this. lol Buuut... Here's Chapter 9! I'm sorry it took two days, but it is a little longer than the others, if that counts as anything at all. I hope you guys enjoyed it! Pontas-Metallika, you're a crazy girl! lol. I just loved the way you ranted and compared their romance with what you did - it was so cute. And the whole remodeling her room due to my moving... hahah! I didn't even think of that, that was so genius! But no, it was just a symbolism toward her acceptance into change, as I mentioned in this chapter. Nevertheless, you continue to amaze me, haha. Thank you for all the reviews I've gotten, everyone! They mean so much to me, honestly. Ex's & Oh's -- handwritten

PS. I just have to let this out: AHHHHHHHH, I'm getting my own room, after sixteen years of existence! Who's up for a sleepover here at California with me?? lol. I'm so excited, I'm almost serious. And with that, I'm hoping to be able to write more because I work best in solitude. I have a nephew who runs around screaming, crying, pooping, and playing all day and it doesn't help that the computer's outside in the living room. But now it'll be in my room - yayness. Soo... That's that. lol Just needed to rant. Love you guys!