Sticks and Stones: A Twilight Drabble
Disclaimer: If I owned Twilight, there would be no happy endings.
Jacob Black knows that 'imprint' is just a word: nothing more, nothing less.
Like déjà vu or the tantalizing edges of a dream he just can't remember, imprint seems to lay waiting on the tip of his tongue when he's around her. She doesn't notice, of course—like the blindly-in-love, bubbly young woman she is, she seems to firmly ignore anything that doesn't go along with her illusion of perfection. Not that Jacob blames her, he thinks wryly. If ignorance is bliss, he would trade his soul for a slice of it. But there's agony in watching the way her lips move when she's forming a refusal, and knowing it's the only thing that keeps 'imprint' out of his reach.
Jacob figured out long ago that there's more choice to imprinting than the rest of the pack thinks there is. Bella is perfect for him, would be his if she would just say yes. Of course, the pack calls it denial, wishful thinking, and in Paul's case, simple idiocy—but Jacob knows better, because remember, ignorance is bliss and there isn't an ounce of either in him. So because he's not a masochist, seeing the way her tongue flips the 'n' while her lips widen into the 'o' adds a burning feeling to the elusive tingling of 'imprint'—like eyes boring into his back, though he can't see them when he turns.
Sticks and stones can't break his bones, but her words can really kill him.