CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Fine

He leaned toward her, inhaling raggedly before folding his lips into hers. Her hands were in his hair and then flattened against his overly developed pecs, while his hands caressed her shoulders before moving to her waist to yank her closer. As for me, my hands were cupped over my mouth, hiding an unrepentant scowl and keeping me from overtly gagging in front of Jessica and Angela.

"I thought this movie was supposed to be about a serial killer with Mommy issues. Why are people sucking face every ten minutes?"

"Shhh, Bella. They've only kissed twice. Calm down." Jessica stuffed a handful of popcorn in her mouth and readjusted her position on the couch.

I knew going into this I was in for a challenging evening, but I was doing my damndest to be "normal" again, so I plastered a feigned look of intrigue on my face and forced my gaze back to the television.

It was Friday, over two weeks after my soggy emotional breakdown at school where I'd voluntarily wrapped my arms around Mike Newton in utter despair. I could easily view that afternoon as rock bottom, but instead I interpreted it as a new beginning, a realization that I didn't have to be numb to be functional. I could cry. I could laugh. I could be normal. Maybe not happy, or giddy…but definitely normal.

In order to test my theory, I accepted Angela's invitation to a sleepover at her house. Also, she'd not so subtly mentioned Lauren was out of town, so it would just be Angela, Jessica, and myself, meaning I had no viable excuse to back out. As a bonus, me going out with friends also served to convince Charlie that I wasn't suicidal or some sort of sociopath.

Except the more I hung out with my classmates, the more I became convinced I actually was a sociopath. I had been lonely as hell for months, but being around other people my age wasn't exactly remedying that. It was just so much workcoming up with things to say to them. I much preferred sitting at home, reading Chuck Palahniuk novels so I could compare myself with the morbidly warped characters and feel relatively normal. As for my old pals Jane Austen and the Brontes, their works were gathering dust under my bed; I wanted nothing to do with their delusional tales of true love and soul mates.

On the television, the living incarnations of Barbie and Ken were now running, scantily clad, away from a mortally wounded but surprisingly fast Anthony Perkins wannabe. I couldn't wait for their inevitably grisly deaths; anyone who wasted time making out when being pursued by an ax-wielding maniac deserved to bite it hard.

Five minutes later, Barbie got impaled by a pitchfork. "Yes!" I whispered, rejoicing.

Jessica shot me a look of pure annoyance. "What is wrong with you, Bella? That scene was totally disgusting."

I shrugged. "You picked the movie. I'm just along for the ride."

I sounded like kind of an asshole these days, but I didn't really care about what people thought of me. There was no point worrying about my image, since I couldn't fit in even if I tried. My apathy made times like these especially dangerous.

"I only picked it because you refused the first ten movies I suggested."

"They were all Julia Roberts movies, Jess."

"While You Were Sleeping stars Sandra Bullock," she shot back, indigent.

"Same difference. Besides, both of them have huge mouths, with these oversized, blinding-white teeth. And they're always smiling." I cringed as if smiling was the equivalent of picking at scabs or popping whiteheads.

Jessica merely sighed, not wanting to encourage me further. Her short temper probably had more to do with my refusal to paint my fingernails bubble-gum pink an hour ago or participate in a rousing game of "Who Would You Do" with respect to the boys in the senior class. On top of it all, Angela asked Jess and I to bring snacks. Jessica made funfetti cupcakes from scratch; I grabbed a half-eaten bag of Charlie's beef jerky on my way out the door. Clearly, I was not the optimal slumber party participant.

Angela, forever the pacifist, calmly passed Jessica a half-eaten carton of Häagen-Dazs. "I actually kind of like this movie. Ben wanted to see it a couple of months ago while it was in theaters, and I refused. He's going to gloat when I tell him it wasn't half bad."

"Yeah," I agreed, for lack of anything polite to say.

Jessica was at full attention, though. "How are things going with you and Ben, Ang? Any, uh, new progress in that area?"

She smirked. Angela flushed. I scoffed.

So now we were talking about boys. Lord, strike me dead. Right here, right now.

"We're cool," Angela hedged.

"I hope not too 'cool.'" And then she winked. Actually winked. Jessica could not be real; she was like some walking stereotype, a talking hybrid of Us Weekly and Seventeen magazine.

Before Jessica could spout off about things between Ben and Angela "heating up," I interjected, "Knock it off. Angela doesn't want to talk about it."

Angela snuck me a hint of a grateful smile.

Jessica was onto herself now, the movie long forgotten. "Mike shoved the CD I made him for Valentine's Day through one of the slits in my locker today." Her face was a mixture of hurt and spite. "It fell out when I opened it after lunch. Which, of course, meant he sat there, through the entire lunch hour, across from me at the table, knowing what a douchey thing he'd just done. The whole time he just smiled like he was on top of the freaking world."

"Who returns a gift? He could have just kept it and not listened to it. That sucks. I'm sorry." Angela was so good at sympathy; no one was that nice, deep down, but I couldn't help but think that maybe Angela was the exception to the rule.

I kept quiet and shoved a fistful of kettle corn in my mouth.

Jessica's brow scrunched in consternation. "I mean, he won't talk to me. At. All. He should just sit somewhere else at lunch. But nooooooo…he has to keep that chubby little face of his right in front of me so I can't forget about him."

"It'll get easier. You guys broke up before, right? And you were fine then, just like you'll be fine again. Just give it a little time." Angela nodded in encouragement to enforce the sincerity of her words.

Jessica only nodded and sniffled a little, drawing her knees up to her chest.

Hysterical, unremitting laughter cut through the uncomfortable silence. It took a second, but then I realized it was coming out of my mouth.

Angela and Jessica looked at me, horrified and confused, as if I'd morphed into the ax-murderer from the movie right before their eyes.

Still, I kept laughing. Hard, loud, maniacal. It felt weird and wrong but also…really good.

"Bella?" Angela asked nervously. "Are you alright?"

I ignored her, instead responding to the earlier comment she'd directed at Jessica between fits of hilarity. "Fine?" I gasped. "She'll be fine? It really works like that?"

"Uh, sure?" Angela responded, not sure what to do with me.

"Oh, okay," I huffed out incredulously. By now, tears streamed down the apples of my cheeks, and the corners of my mouth stung a little from turning upward for the first time in months. "That's great," I choked between guffaws, "Really great."

"What the hell, Bella? What's with you?" Jessica's nose scrunched up a bit. She reminded me of a thinner, brunette Miss Piggy.

"Fine." I giggled out the word. "Fine?"

I doubled over to appease my aching belly. Exhaling, my face still frozen in laughter, I said it again. "Fine."

The smile died on my face. Fine.

"Fine" sounded awful.

"Fine" was how people describe themselves after a car wreck. They crawl out of the debris and assure the EMTs"I'm fine" because they're still alive, even if their limbs are broken and their car has transformed into a useless accordion of twisted metal.

Once, in the school nurse's office, I said I was "fine" when I had a cold because I was better off than the kid in the bed next me who had the flu.

"Fine" is the response I give Charlie when I don't want to talk about my day because nothing even remotely interesting happened.

And here Angela was, telling Jessica she could look forward to being "fine."

It was a joke. I had two options: laugh like a hyena on Joker gas or burst into tears. In the end, I did both.

After I'd laughed myself stupid, I started to whimper. And then the tears came.

I'd cried quite a bit since my episode in the girls' bathroom, but never in front of anyone. Yet, here I was, with an audience of a confused but worried Angela and a suddenly sobbing Jessica. Maybe this sort of thing was contagious among hormonal teenage girls; I wouldn't really know as I'd never been much of the social butterfly.

Jessica matched me tear for tear. "I m-miss Mike. I love him. Why doesn't he love me?"

Angela opted to hug Jessica over me, either out of proximity or the fact she somehow knew I didn't want a Thelma and Louise moment of my own.

I felt like I should say something, to "fit in with the girls," so to speak, but I just cried quietly on my end of the couch while Jessica blubbered about losing Mike and how her dream of them going to prom together was now quashed.

My tears weren't for some boy who didn't want me—they were for me and my own fear of living a life that was never any better than "fine." I let them continue for a few more minutes before I realized I felt slightly lighter now that I'd let them out. My shoulders were less tense, and my breaths filled the hollow of my chest, filling the emptiness.

Fine. This is what it felt like. It wasn't terrible, though, which I guess is the literal definition of "fine." I suppose I could deal with this, if I had to.

Angela was watching me. Like Charlie, she was on Bella Hunger Watch, always pushing food at me at lunch and inexplicably bringing chocolate chip cookies to English an hour later to share with "everyone," even though I somehow always ended up with the lion's share. Keeping one arm around Jess's shaking form, she reached the other around to the coffee table and scooted the mostly empty tub of ice cream in my direction. I flashed her a watery half-smile but shook my head "no," instead re-opening the discarded bag of beef jerky. Female bonding wasn't as terrible as I'd imagined, but my quota on clichés had just been reached.

As I worked on digesting the rubbery, room-temperature meat, I noticed Jessica had stopped sobbing and was studying me expectantly. "Did you say something?" I asked, a loud gulp punctuating my question as I swallowed the jerky.

"How are you dealing with this?" She spoke hurriedly, probably because I was forcing her to repeat herself.

"With what?"

"Breaking up with someone. I mean, it blows, of course, but you're still upset…and it's been awhile, right?"

"A couple of months." She'd have to use the Jaws of Life to get anything out of me.

But Jessica was persistent, mostly because she was clueless as to what she was asking. "But how are you?"

"Better." I nodded to myself, as if granting my mouth permission to answer. "It gets better."

"Do you miss him?" I knew she was using me as a map, to guide her own path to Mike recovery. I wanted to tell her not to bother; I was taking the long, not-so-scenic route.

Instead, I said, "Terribly."

She took the melted ice cream from the table and lifted a dripping spoonful to her mouth. "At least you don't have to see him everyday. I swear, the sight of Mike's face makes me want to puke all over him."

I scoffed. "Yeah, lucky me." She was being unintentionally kind, ignoring the rumor mill for once and believing this was still about Jake.

On the television, the slasher film had ended, and the credits rolled by monotonously. Despite the thrashing heavy metal soundtrack that now filled Angela's living room, I felt oddly calm.

Even though I now had Edward and Jake on the brain.

I yawned, pushing both their faces out of the forefront of my mind. "I'm pretty beat, you guys." And I was; in fact, I was exhausted. "I have to work in the morning, so I'm turning in."

Angela nodded in agreement, but Jessica was far from tired. "Work," she repeated. "With Mike. Ugh. Tell him I said 'hi.' Or even better, tell him I said, 'rot in hell.'"

I sprawled out on the floor atop my sleeping bag. As I fluffed my pillow, I responded, "Will do, Jess."

X X X

I dreamt of him at night. I didn't want to, but I didn't exactly have a remote control to switch channels in my subconscious. Mostly, the dreams starred the cold, aloof stranger whom I'd only looked in the eyes once…but sometimes I dreamt of the old Edward, the one with the impeccable sarcastic wit and the off-center smirk. The hangover from those dreams hurt the most; once I woke up, I was mourning him all over again.

More and more, though, the pain only lasted through the morning. Except for English, I rarely saw him in person. Not that I looked. Or avoided looking. I just didn't try. Had he stood right in front of me, I'd see him, but, of course, he never did; we danced around each other. It was probably not even a conscious effort on his part, but I was striving so hard for indifference, even though it wasn't something that could be forced.

Sometimes, though, I felt like he was watching me.

A week after he'd seen me hug Mike in the hallway, I was sitting in English, munching on one of Angela's blasted cookies, when I noticed one of the crumbs had found its way to my sleeve, leaving a small dollop of chocolate in its wake. Not wanting to leave a stain, I lifted my arm to my mouth and sucked on the fabric, as if my saliva could somehow work just as well as Stainstick. The shirt was new, and I was a bit irked I'd managed to ruin it already, so I sucked pretty hard, making a slight whistling sound against the cotton. When I pulled my mouth away, exasperated that my nonsensical remedy hadn't worked, I could feel him. He was in class, just like always, but this time it was more than just his presence that set off warning bells in my head. My ears got hot; long ago, that had been a telltale sign that his eyes were roving over me. I rolled my eyes at my own misguided eagerness and went back to taking notes.

Later, I realized I was pissed off at myself for even thinking he was bothering to look at me. First, he wasn't watching me. Second, even if he was, it didn't mean anything. Finally, even if it did mean something, I didn't want it to. I didn't want him anywhere near me. And it had nothing to do with his vampire status or the fact he'd murdered actual human beings before, though those were certainly considerations; I just didn't want to see that inhumanly pretty face of his and get sucked into his web again.

Lying awake on Angela's living room floor, shrouded in darkness, my face still a little damp from my semi-tyrannical outburst, I told myself I was getting stronger. I was sobbing at weird, inappropriate times, but I felt better about myself. I ate three meals a day. I humored Charlie on Sunday afternoons with questions about the Mariners' chances this season. I was getting to be…fine.

I fell asleep easily within the next half hour, and when I awoke the next morning, that familiar feeling that something was missing was back, telling me Edward had made another unwelcome appearance in my dreams. I took a deep breath and unzipped my sleeping bag. He may pillage his way into my unconscious, but when it came to my waking life, I was pretty confident neither one of us wanted anything to do with the other.

X X X

"You busy tonight?" Mike asked off-handedly. I fixed my eyes onto the ceiling in order to keep them from rolling out of my head.

"Jessica says 'hi," I responded, just as casually. "Or technically, she said something involving you decomposing in hell, but the sentiment was still there."

He groaned and locked up the cash register. Business had been slow for a Saturday, but that didn't stop him from finding extra little chores for us to do around the store so I couldn't skip out early like Mrs. Newton had told me I could at the beginning of my shift.

I whisked the broom across the floor, enjoying the sound of the bristles hitting the tile. "I think she misses you."

I was probably breaking some rule in the Girl Code by voicing Jessica's feelings, but I didn't care; I needed him off my back. Ever since the hugging incident, Mike had been my shadow, guidance counselor, and social planner all rolled into one. I had it coming, but still—this needed to stop. And fast.

"She's crazy. Like hide-in-the-bushes, watch-me-while-I-sleep crazy."

I sighed. "She just likes you a lot."

"She made me a CD for Valentine's Day with that Every Move You Make song on it."

"Hey, a lot of people think the Police are romantic..." I replied, not able to keep the doubt out of my voice.

"'Every move you make, every step you take, I'll be watching you?' That doesn't scare the crap out of you?" Mike asked, both incredulous and disgusted.

I could only shrug. "I guess it depends on who's doing the watching."

Mike blanched and moved to shut out the lights.

I ignored his foul mood and continued, "I mean, Jessica isn't some psycho; she really just wants you to be into her. You shouldn't punish her just because she's not the best at interpreting song lyrics."

"Whatever." He opened the door. "C'mon. This place is depressing me."

I shoved the broom in the utility closet and followed him out the door.

"Want me to walk you to your car? It's getting dark—" Mike stopped suddenly, looking at something over my shoulder with an intense scowl.

"Wha—" Finishing the word became unnecessary when I saw what Mike was fixated on.

Leaning against my truck was a figure I hardly recognized. He was unnaturally tall, with black, buzzed hair and a cocky smirk on his face. His fingers drummed expectantly against the roof of my truck, and his legs stretched out lazily in front of him.

"Jake?"

"The one and only, Bells."

His confidence unnerved me. We hadn't seen each other in months, not since I'd hammered the proverbial nail into the coffin of our brittle relationship, and now he studied me as if he didn't loathe me to the core. Even stranger, a light danced in his eyes that seemed to suggest he expected me to rejoice at his sudden reappearance.

"You alright, Bella?" Mike was standing at my side. Still. And too close.

"Yeah, Mike. It's cool. I'll see you at school Monday."

"Uh, okay." He backed away from us, sizing up Jake's massive frame with a dubious but slightly intimidated expression.

I waited for Mike to disappear completely before I spoke again. "What are you doing here?"

Jacob shrugged and continued to stare at me with an uncomfortable intensity. He reached his hand into his pocket and withdrew something, enclosing it in his fist. His eyes continued to pierce into mine as he lifted his fist in the air and released it, sending a glinting silver chain swinging from his palm. As soon as I spotted a small, green orb dangling from the chain, I knew. My necklace.

Jake cocked an eyebrow. "We need to talk."

I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I shoved them awkwardly into my back pockets. "'kay. What's…up?"

"I'm not doing this in the middle of the street, Bells. Can we go somewhere?"

"Sure."

He moved to climb into my truck, but I shook my head immediately. "You take your car. I'll follow." He was making me nervous, though I couldn't put a finger on exactly why. Aside from the obvious rift between us, he kept staring at my face like he was trying to manipulate some unknown emotion out of me.

"I didn't drive here." He stood up straight. His height had to be mere hairs under seven feet. I'd have to do a running jump just to touch his chin.

"Holy hell, Jake! You're enormous. What happened to you?"

He smirked again. The arrogance twisted his face, his features morphing into an ugly unfamiliarity. "I grew up."

I tried to mask my discomfort, but I knew he saw right through me. I dug my keys out of my jacket pocket and walked toward him. He didn't move aside so I could open the driver's side door.

"Um, I need to—"

He moved finally and opened the door for me.

"Uh, thanks."

"Anytime," he breathed, his face a good foot and a half above mine. Still, he was too close.

I settled into my seat, and by the time I had the key turned in the ignition, Jake had effortlessly hopped in the truck bed and then over to the passenger side. Unapologetically, he jerked the door open and then slammed it behind him as he eased himself into the seat.

"Where are we going?" I asked in what should have been a breezy voice. Instead, the phrase came out uneasy and strangled.

"First Beach. The moon's out tonight." He laughed at his words, but I couldn't understand what he found so amusing.

I drove south on the 101, trying not to gawk at his gargantuan body; Jake was an ominous, Stretch Armstrong version of his former self.

For fourteen miles, we didn't talk. Not once. There was nothing to say, at least on my end. This was his show, and he seemed strangely at ease with the silence.

First Beach was bathed in moonlight, as Jake predicted. As soon as the truck pulled to a halt, he was out and moving to the shoreline. All I could do was follow.

I wrapped my arms around my upper body to keep out the cold. I wore a thermal henley, a lamb's wool sweater, and a down jacket but was still freezing Jake, in a short-sleeved t-shirt, moved to the water and splashed it with his calves, sending droplets of water into the cotton of his frayed sweatpants.

I hunched on an uprooted tree, at the edge of the beach, where sand met crunchy blades of dead grass and frozen earth. I could only wait; I had no idea where to begin conversation.

Eventually, Jake turned, walked toward me, and knelt at my feet. His eyes were the one part of him that were physically the same; they were still the color of textured mud, but the emotion playing behind them had changed.

"You look like hell, Bells."

"You look like an Amazonian, Jake."

"I've missed you."

"You shouldn't."

He merely scoffed and curled his lips into that alien sneer that I was beginning to detest. "Look at me."

"I am looking at you."

He gripped my face. His hands, the temperature of blazing embers, were unwelcome against my flushed cheeks. "No. Really look at me."

We were so close that he had to move his irises back and forth to meet both of my eyes. Left. Right. Left. Right. He kept searching, and the desperate frustration that crept into his face told me he wasn't finding whatever it was he was seeking.

He bit his lip and muttered, "Goddammit." His hands were on his forehead, and he hid his eyes from me. "God. Damn. It."

I wanted to grab his face so I could decipher what he was trying to tell me, but even if I could have looked him in the eye, there were no easy answers playing on his expression. I didn't have to see him to know that whatever was going down was something I couldn't understand. For lack of nothing else to say, I verbalized the obvious. "Jake, I don't get what you want from me. What's going on with you? Are you okay?"

I was crying. Again. God damn it indeed.

"Do you feel…different?"

"Different?" I felt like hell, but that was nothing new. So, no, I didn't feel different. "I feel…the same? Jake, what—you wanted to talk about something?"

He drew his palms into the ground. He found only sand and chucked a fistful into the wind. "I—I don't feel it."

"Feel what? Jacob, what's going on?"

His eyes, wide and searching, wouldn't pry themselves away from my face. "I love you. Still. Of course."

I didn't love him. Still. Of course.

But I couldn't exactly tell him that. I wanted to say that I missed him. That I was lonely. That I wanted him back in my life. But I knew everything I felt was rooted in selfishness and desperation. So, in order to keep Jake safe, I said nothing at all.

Instead, I ran my hands across the harsh stubble budding out of his scalp. The ghost of the lush silkiness that used to meet my touch haunted my fingertips. "You cut your hair."

He closed his eyes, and moisture spilled from his lashes, betraying him. We sat still for what could have been hours but what were probably minutes, silent and confused.

Finally, he opened his mouth. Squeaky, reluctant words poured out. "Are you…do you still hang around with…them?"

Jake kept shielding his face from me. "Them? Them who?"

"The Cullens."

My heart stopped. Literally—it just refused to move for at least five beats. Bile reached my taste buds. My nostrils flared involuntarily. "No."

"Good." He let his face turn up, meeting my gaze with unabashed fury.

It wasn't good. It wasn't fine. It wasn't okay. I missed every second of Edward Cullen's presence. His face. His voice. His hands, the way they "accidentally" brushed against my skin. His soul. Everything I wanted to believe had been real. I missed it all. And my exile from him—it had been anything but "good."

"Don't say that."

"Say what?" Jake's voice, hard and biting, wasn't his own.

The animosity in his face scared me. I tightened my arms around myself. Self-preservation told me not to say it. So I didn't. "Nothing. Nevermind."

"Say. What." Jake's jaw was clenched, and his muscles were so unavoidably prominent now that I couldn't stop staring at the bulges they made from under his russet skin.

"Don't tear them apart, Jake." I didn't know what I was doing. But I couldn't let him push this on the Cullens. On Alice. On the version of Edward Cullen I loved. Fictitious as it was, I wouldn't let Jake's inexplicable hatred mar the beauty of what I'd once felt, as it was the best part of my isolated, turbulent eighteen years. "Don't blame him…for what happened between you and me." I breathed in the heady air. Fog swirled around us like an unwelcome, premature curtain call.

"They are disgusting. They are everything that comes to you in your nightmares. They are everything that ruined you and me. They stole you. From me. They ruined us, Bells." Jake was crying, but his tears didn't make him human. Rather, he was enraged, and I no longer saw my Jacob. My best friend. My first and only boyfriend. Now, he was a stranger, fierce and foreign and furious. And I wanted to run. Really, I did. But I couldn't move. All I could do was watch him. His body shook, and despite his massive size, he succumbed to whatever demons haunted him. "He. Did this. To us. Bells, don't you see?"

I leaned back, away from his insistent face. He kept invading my personal space, and the log I sat upon became more and more emaciated as I looked for support to shrink away from Jake's fury. "No, Jacob. I did this. Me. No one else."

"God," he muttered, "You're exactly the same. Sweet. Naïve. I love you for that." He rested his forehead against mine and cupped my cheeks with his oversized hands. The new proximity told me he even smelled different; woodsy, the scent of earth and nature and a calm I didn't welcome.

"No—Jake, you don't love me. Please stop pretending things are like they used to be." I was only exacerbating the loneliness that plagued me, but I had no choice. I couldn't pretend anymore; I couldn't lie to myself and let Jake try to fill the voids in my life. He could never fill them; he was and always had been a friend, nothing more. I didn't love him. I needed him, but not like he wanted me to need him.

"Baby, if you knew what I know—" He slammed a fist into the sand. "I wanted to tell you sooner, as soon as I found out. I want to tell you now. But I can't. I'm sorry." He watched me closely, willing me to try to read his mind. "And I've wanted to see you, but I couldn't. Everything's such a mess. Great, in a way, but also just a huge mess."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've been trying to get to you for weeks, but I wasn't allowed to leave La Push for awhile. And then Sam said I couldn't go to your house, so I found a loophole and met you at work." He grinned, though his eyes looked troubled.

"Wait—Sam told you that you couldn't come see me?"

Jake shrugged and looked down the shoreline into the darkness. "Things are different now. I was wrong about him before. The thing with Paul. All of it. I didn't get it."

"Well, I still don't get it, so why don't you fill me in?" His crypticness was wearing heavily on my nerves. Jake dragged me to a deserted beach in the freezing cold with the promise of us talking, but he was only spouting out riddles.

"I can't." He wrapped his hands around mine. I wasn't necessarily looking for physical contact, but I was also shivering, so I didn't pull away.

"Why?"

"I just can't. I'm sorry."

"So what exactly did you bring me here for, then? What did you want to tell me?"

He swallowed and continued to search the darkness. "I had to see something."

"See what?" I was practically shouting, the frustration now overwhelming me.

"I'm different now, Bella. I thought…I thought the way you feel about me might change."

I withdrew my hands from his and buried them back into my pockets. I was crying again as the guilt besieged me. Jake was making me break his heart all over again. "Nothing's changed, Jake. I mean, you look a lot…older? But, I can't make myself feel something I don't."

He stood and kicked his massive foot into the frozen ground. It crumpled to his will, sending sand and dirt into the frigid air.

"It's not like I don't care about you…but I don't love you. Like that. I'm still sorry, but—"

"Just save it," he snapped.

"I do miss you."

"I don't want to hear it."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, not looking at each other. I was shivering and craved the warmth of the cab of my truck, but, even though there was nothing left to say, I got the feeling Jake was still holding something back.

Five minutes later, he proved me right. "You have to stay away from him."

Edward. This was still about him. I wanted to return to my bitter hysteria from the night before, but instead I tried to keep my voice even as I said, "No problem there, I assure you."

Jake knew me eerily well, so he immediately recognized the bitterness in my tone. "What did he do to you?" The old Jacob would have been concerned, but this new super-sized version was irate and seething.

"Nothing."

"What did that bl—what did he do to you?" Too many of Jake's teeth were showing. He looked almost feral.

"Nothing! We're not friends anymore. Relax."

"And that bothers you? You should be grateful that bastard isn't in your life."

Jake knew so much about me, but he didn't know what—who—had once been the best and worst part of my life. And he needed to. In order to allow him to move on, I would have to tell him the unedited truth, the exact information I'd tried to keep from him the first time I stomped on his heart.

Before I could say anything, Jake spoke. "I can't tell you…something, Bella. But you have to know that Edward Cullen is not someone you want to be around. You have to promise me that you won't—"

"You've been spending time with Sam." I made my deductions out loud. "You now have a seething hatred for the Cullens. And you want me to stay away from them."

He nodded, boring his enraged eyes into me.

He knew.

Of course he knew. I felt so stupid for not realizing it earlier.

I embraced the weird and just said it. "Does this have anything to do with vampires?"

Jake's jaw unhinged, and all he could do was gawk at me. Finally, his mouth snapped shut, and he closed the space between us. "You knew?"

I nodded, a bit scared by being in the shadow of his hulking frame. He was still Jake, but now he was also someone else. My Jacob had turned into someone cold and hostile who was capable of pure hatred. The change both saddened and terrified me.

"You knew, and you didn't say anything to me?! Did he tell you what he was?"

I wouldn't drag Leah down with me, so I replied, "I just figured it out."

"When?" He grabbed my shoulders and shook me a little. He wasn't hurting me, but to an outsider, it would appear differently.

Lies couldn't save us now, as there was nothing left to save. "The night you and I broke up. Right before, actually."

Jake wasn't expecting that answer. He dropped his hands to his sides, and for a second, it was the end of us all over again. His face was exactly the same as it had been when I'd first torn us apart, hurt and lost and confused. And then all the familiarity was gone, and the new Jake took over. He snorted in air through flared nostrils and practically spat it back out through his mouth. His shoulders trembled a little, but I was more focused on the pulsating slits where his eyes used to be.

I tried to back up, but he wouldn't have it, grabbing my shoulders again and bending down to look me square in the eye. "What happened? Tell me. All of it."

"He told me we couldn't be friends anymore. Because I knew. Because he said he was too dangerous."

"And he was fucking right."

"Don't." I leaned into him, refusing to let him intimidate me. "He's no more dangerous than you and I are."

Right into my face, Jake scoffed. "So he tells you to stay away from him, so you decide to dump me?"

He hadn't yet managed to connect the dots, but it was only a matter of time. So I did it for him. "I didn't love you. I loved him."

Jake didn't move. He didn't breathe or blink or stagger. He just froze.

I only watched him, my face expressionless. I owed him the truth. I felt no different now that it had spilled out, as I'd lived with what I'd done to him for months; the pain was nothing new. I hoped the ugliness of what I'd done to him would help him move on. I prayed he didn't feel like a fool; he'd done nothing wrong. But I knew that my optimism was ignorant and selfish.

He was moving now, trembling with more fervor. His eyes focused on the sand, wide and full of hate and suffering. His neck jerked his head forward and then back, as if he were about to vomit. Something was…wrong. Abnormally so.

"Jake? Are—" The shaking increased, and I watched in horror as his muscles began to tremor as if they were about to rip out of his skin. "Are you having a seizure?"

"G-go! Bella, run!"

"I'm not leaving you here! I can take you to the hosp—" I stopped when I saw his pants begin to rip, revealing the hair on his thighs. The hair. Lots of it. Too, too much, at least for a human.

"Jesus, Jake! What's going on?"

His body lurched into an upside down U-shape, his hands raking through the sand while his feet stretched to the tips of his toes. More hair was sprouting from everywhere. His face, his forearms, his back, which was now visible through his suddenly shredded t-shirt. The fabric hung limp against his engorged body, now completely coated with a thick russet mane of hair.

He tried to speak to me, but it came out as a guttural, beastly growl rather than as coherent words.

Of their own volition, my feet backed up, lifting themselves over the log I'd sat on moments before.

But I wasn't fast enough. The thing that used to be Jake lunged forward, its teeth bared and ferociously dripping with saliva.

I started to sprint. It was stupid and pointless, but my logic had succumbed to my biological flight response.

Right before I fell to the cold, hard sand, I felt sharp points pierce the skin of my back. I screamed, or at least I think I did. The sharpness tore at my flesh as I face-planted into the ground. The pressure was worse now that I was flat on my stomach; the thing was standing on top of me, digging out pieces of skin with its claws.

"Please, stop!" I whimpered. "Jake, if you're in there, please stop!"

He--or it--didn't.

I knew if I tried to push myself up, the thing would crush me. I chose to save my easily breakable bones over my flesh and clung to the chilly sand beneath me as the claws burrowed in deeper. I felt wetness seep slowly down my sides. I gagged when I smelt the air and realized I was bleeding.

After a few seconds, easily the longest of my life, I heard a growl. It came from further up the beach rather than from the monster above me.

The growl grew closer. I nearly had a heart attack as I saw a second beast galloping down the shore, headed directly for me. If I'd had more time to process my thoughts, I would have wondered what my obituary would list as my cause of death.

The new creature was easily the size of a Clydesdale, with black hair and, just like the thing ripping me apart, an equally terrifying set of teeth. It was like a wolf, but larger, ghastlier.

It lunged at the thing on my back, sending both of them off of me and onto the sand. I nervously tried to move, sure that I was paralyzed, but found I could crawl with relative ease; miraculously, nothing seemed to be broken, other than the once-smooth flesh running the length of my back.

I crawled toward the brush lining the beach. Hiding was futile, but I had no other options. I bit down on my tongue as I tried to stand. Somehow I managed to rise to my feet, feeling as if my skin would peel off in pieces if I stood completely erect. My truck was parked up the hill. I'd never make it, but I had to try. I heard the two horse-monster-wolves snarling behind me, preoccupied with each other.

The hill was steep. I panted and winced as I climbed, stumbling over and over. I wasn't even halfway up when a hulking human form cut off my path.

I screamed. Or screeched. I couldn't be certain; my pulse hammered in my eardrums, blocking the sound of my own voice.

"I'm here to help you. Calm down," a deep baritone called out to me.

I squinted through the night. A man moved toward me. "Run!" I choked out. "There are…animals down there. They're dangerous."

"You're going to be fine," the shadow told me. "We need to get you inside."

At once, the man was at my side. He was huge, like Jake. "I'm Paul. You're Jake's girl, right?"

I groaned, wanting to examine the carnage on my back, but knowing if I touched it, I'd likely pass out.

The man cleared his throat and squinted until he could recall my name. "Bella? Jake's Bella?"

The blood pouring out of my body was making me queasy and my skin stung as if it were simultaneously on fire and being stabbed by a thousand daggers. Yet, the stranger's words hurt more. "No," I breathed, ready to pass out in defeat. "Just Bella."

He stood right next to me now. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I groaned. "I'm fine."