The Man With Few Words

"There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm." –Willa Sibert Cather


Chapter Nine

It would be a mistake to think that Jacob Black is capable of romance. Because he isn't.

When he was sixteen, on the verge of seventeen, and had just had his heart broken for him and shoved back into his chest, Quil suggested that the Pack should take a road trip. Jacob isn't really sure how that was supposed to help, but Quil was so frickin' adamant and insistent on it that all they could do is snatch some clothes and indulge him in his sudden enthusiasm.

And so Jacob, along with his Pack, all piled and jammed themselves into Emily's van and took off into the wilderness. Quil wouldn't let any of the girls come because it was the time for 'manly healing' and girls weren't allowed—not even Leah, and since Leah's irritated that she's been excluded, she made Seth stay home with her as well.

They went everywhere. Dayton, Washington. Fort Benton, Montana. Silverton, Oregon.

The majority of the trip consisted of everyone just being themselves. Jacob brooded; Quil jabbered senselessly; Embry ran wild. Jared needed to call home every two minutes because 'Kim might've tripped over a rug or choked on her strawberry milkshake since his last phone call two minutes ago'; Paul phased once while inside the car; Sam tried to keep everyone in control but the stress was making him shed, so he stopped.

Jacob brooded some more.

They were in Medora, North Dakota when the bonding started. They've been on the road for about a month now and everybody's exhausted and angry all the time. The phasing happened a lot more frequently than usual. Paul had already exploded out of his skin once in a bar somewhere back in Idaho. He made a girl faint, but Jared assured that she's probably too drunk to remember in the morning, and so they just left her there.

Jacob had felt kind of bad. He means, here's this normal girl, who didn't know anything and is so innocent and trusting, and here they are, lying and misleading her like that. She could've loved Paul. What did she ever do wrong? Was it wrong of her to be in love with him? She couldn't help herself and it just wasn't fair for them to just leave her in the dust like that and—and, who was he talking about again?

It was a lovely little accommodation. One that the six of them had to all wedge into a single room because there weren't any space left and there isn't a motel for another 50 miles. Jacob vividly remembers how goddamn crowded it had been. They are already huge as it is. Inside that little room, Sam can't even stand up straight without knocking into the ceiling. And when Quil settled into one of the wicker chairs, he couldn't get out, and since everybody was so mad at Quil for dragging them into this stupid trip, they just left him in the chair anyways.

The motel has only single rooms. It's the sort of establishment that rents by the hour and caters to philanderers who want to squeeze in a quick screw before going home to their spouses. As if in testament to that, about ten minutes after Jacob and the Pack turned off the lights, a couple staggers in next door and starts going at it raucously, the headboard banging up against the wall. Jacob's half-afraid they're going to pound their way right through, but he tries desperately to pretend he can't hear them. They have to stop soon enough—he's sure of it—but on and on they go, the only change a steady rise in vocals.

Jacob had to wonder rather the receptionist lied to them about the vacancy situation or if his neighbors had booked their room in advance.

He had just decided that the situation could not possibly be anymore awkward, when Sam muses from the darkness:

"You know, I was just thinking about Emily."

The entire room groaned. Jared, who's laying perpendicular to him, slapped his arm over and accidentally whacked him in the face. Jacob cursed, which made Sam go quiet, because he thinks that Sam thought that he was being insensitive, bringing up Emily like that when Jacob had a broken heart. Jacob let him think that, because once Sam starts going on about Emily, he just about turns into some character from The Notebook.

Sam had the only bed in the room. Jacob's not sure how that is. Maybe it was because he was the alpha. Maybe Sam was the first to claim it and the rest of them just didn't care. However it worked, Sam ends up with the bed. Quil's sprawled sideways in his little chair. Paul dominated the cramped, floral couch. Embry, Jared, and Jacob are all flopped haphazardly on the floor.

"It's funny. I was just thinking about Kim." Came Jared' proclamation. The room groaned again.

At which point, Jacob rolls over and crushes his nose into the pillow. It smelled funky and it was probably unbelievably grimy but he didn't care. Death by suffocation has never seemed so attractive.

Quil asks from his corner in a measly voice, "Is everybody awake?" Different baritones all stretched out in a long, never-ending complain. Quil blinks into the darkness, calling out blindly, "Jacob?"

"Yes," He answers reluctantly. That's not exactly a lullaby they're playing over in the other room.

Nobody spoke for a long time after that. It's kind of ironic seeing how Quil's question was to get a conversation started. But nobody knew how to continue after that. They didn't know how to 'bond'. They most certainly didn't want to either.

So they listened to the whir and hum of the air conditioner that blew out warm air instead of cold and the moans and smashes from the couple next door. In one instance, they clashed so violently with the wall, that dusts from the ceiling fell and sprinkled onto Jacob's face. The bedside table shook as Paul convulsed on the couch besides it, snarls tearing out of his chest and ripples flying under his skin.

Embry spoke. "I dated this girl, you know." The room remained quiet this time, because this was something different. It was different because it's a well-known fact that Embry doesn't date. He flirted and smiled, but he doesn't date. "Well, not really a girl, I guess. Do you guys remember Scarlet?" All around the room are blank stares.

Quil says, "Scarlet who?"

Even in the pitch-black stillness, he can still detect Embry's discomfort. Like a twinge that pulled at his own chest. "Scarlet." He repeats, then sighs, frustrated, "Ms. Kaysen?"

Silence.

Then it all erupted like a volcano. The raspy husks all overlapping each other as they shouted and demanded and protested. Quil jabbered senselessly. Jared is yelling about why he hadn't told them this before. Paul almost phased in shock. Sam tried to keep everybody in control but when he stood up, he banged his head on the roof.

Jacob brooded.

"Ms. Kaysen?" Paul bellowed. "The art teacher?!"

The question—phrased more like a statement, hangs suspended in the air between all of them. What ensues can't really be called silence, not with the dynamic duo next door at least. It's more of a pressure, an increased density to the air.

And he had thought that Embry was just going to let it go and head on to sleep, because it's what he would've done, but then he hears Embry swallow. "Uh-huh." There's a touch of fondness in his voice Jacob's never heard before. The way he imagine he sounds whenever he used to talk about Bella. "She teaches in the community center. I was there for English tutorials when I ran into her." He hears Embry shrugs, "I don't know. It was the summer, and she had her hair down, and I thought she looked really pretty. So I asked her out for a cup of coffee."

Jacob liked the way it sounded. Jacob liked how it was uncomplicated and direct. Embry didn't spit out some sappy pick-up line. It was straightforward and Jacob can just tell, from his sentence, why he took an interest in her. Jacob liked how there was no vampire boyfriend and no werewolf best friend in the equation.

"Then what happened?" The inquiry came so naturally that it took him a few moments to figure out that he had been the one to murmur it. If the Pack was surprised by his sudden good humor, he didn't notice.

Even though he couldn't have been more than 5 feet away, Embry sounded very far-away. Lost inside his mind. Lost inside the memories of his summer fling. "Then we started seeing each other. It was really nice and I really liked her. She wasn't anything special. As plain as paper...but she was as pretty as any picture to me."

From the couch, Paul props himself up onto his elbows. "What did she say? Before she took off?" There's an uneasy lull, "And I'm assuming that she did."

Jared told Paul that he was being a prick. Quil is shushing everybody because he wants to hear the story. Sam is telling people to stop cursing or else he's going to put an end to it himself. Jacob just laid there and brooded; because he knew what it felt like. To give everything you have to someone but just not be enough.

"She said I made her feel old."

It was a blank statement. Flowing out of Embry's mouth so smoothly that it sounded like he's practiced it in front of the mirror. It sounded like he's repeated it to himself countless times. Turning the sentence over, flipping it backwards, hopelessly trying to make some sense of it all.

The Pack is silent. The Pack didn't know what to say. The Pack was never good at this sort of comforting thing, although Jacob thinks that Quil should be saying something encouraging because he's the one that started this whole 'manly healing' crap. But everybody's all too absorbed in their own thoughts, even if someone were to console Embry right now, he doubts that Embry would actually paying attention.

"OH! GOD!" Screams the woman next door.

"Oh, god," Jacob echoes through clenched teeth, his hand over his face.

He thinks that Quil let slip a short, involuntary giggle at that moment, but he isn't sure. Maybe it's the woman again. In any case...the moment was over. There's nothing any of them can say now. Not that it would matter, anyway.

Thankfully, the couple next door has, in fact, expended all their energy. Jacob can hear them driving away in two separate cars, and don't seem to have much to say to each other after finalizing their physical exchange. Soon, another group arrives, but they're much quieter. The stink of sharp vodka and drowsy beer find its way through the thin walls. It's entirely tolerable, compared to the earlier performance.

All these people, thinks Jacob Black, they come and they go.

That was the night Jacob Black ran away.


It's storming, just like Jacob predicted it would.

They arrived back at January Jansen's house just as the rain started to pour. She had offered to drive him back home but with the lightening and the brooding darkness, Jacob wouldn't ask her of it. Plus, Janie's clumsy grace has descended into an awkward glide as the rain caused her wound to act up in strange ways.

So, January invited him to stay for the night.

"You can have the bed." There was only one bedroom in the house. January stands in the center of the living room with her hands on her narrow hips. Her long, raven tress is shimmering and furling around her waist like a silk curtain, the pearl pink ribbons falling messily onto her round shoulders as she furrowed her brows in thought. "I'll take the couch. I'll fit better."

That was true. If Jacob were to sleep on the couch, most of his legs would stick out, and his back would probably hurt. It was nice of her to offer.

They hadn't talked much. Not since the kiss in the park. Jacob didn't know how to approach the subject and since Janie didn't bring it up, he just didn't bother. Sure, he wanted to talk about it, but he wouldn't know what to say. She would probably ask him what he wants and where they're going with this, but he doesn't know what he wants and he mostly certainly isn't sure what he's feeling.

All he knows is that his chest burns whenever he's near her. And his face goes hot. And everything else in the world seems to fade. Being with Janie was like having the sun on your skin. Not necessarily a sensation, but rather an experience.

She hops around and sets up pillows and blankets, piling them high before wiggling into the sofa. She's holding a mug of tea with both hands and all cattishly curled up. Jacob settles by the arm of the couch and stares into the cackling fireplace. He tugs at the collar of the annoying plaid shirt. It was hideous and he longed to take it off.

"You know, I was just thinking about Peter."

Jacob was so surprised that he almost lost his balance, his hand slipping out from under him. He blinks rapidly, propping himself back onto his arms. He wonders why this conversation sounds so familiar.

"What about him?" He questions. Deep down, he's hoping that she'll say she realized what a huge idiot she's been, dating that moron, and that she's fallen deeply and madly in love with him instead. But then again, a part of Jacob wishes she wouldn't say that because he wouldn't know how to react after that confession.

Jacob feels light-headed. He wonders if it was due to the bloodsuckers. They must've done something to his brain. He's not making any sense.

"It's funny," She continues. She leans back into her seat, her silvery eyes dim and charcoal gray. She seems sleepy, but she looked so silly with her childish bangs hanging in front of her face, that Jacob's hand tingled until he brought it up and brushed it away. His heart gave a little jolt at the gesture; it felt nice knowing that he can do that without feeling hesitant anymore.

Jacob asks, "What's funny?"

"Hmm?" She hums, sounding confused and lost. Then, "Oh. The habits we form without even knowing it. You know how you go to bed with someone for six years, night after night, and then suddenly they're gone, and the bed just feels so...empty?" Her dove gray irises are distant. She seems more delicate and smaller than usual. Even more elfin. "And you can't sleep—you almost don't even want to. It's like having an addiction. Like going through withdrawal." She pauses. "You know what I mean?"

Jacob's hands are clenched into a fist. His shoulders gave out shivers ever once in a while. He looked pale. He pushes his fingers through his shaggy, matted locks then sighs, trying to ignore that instinctive flood of anger streaming in his blood. "Can't say that I do."

"Oh."

Jacob sits up and props his arms up on the side of the couch. "Hey, Janie?"

January's arched brow soared, raising in that expert, fluid motion only she can manage. She alternates her storm gray gaze between his sunken eyes to his hands. "That wasn't an invitation, Jay-cub." She explains pointedly.

It takes Jacob a minute to realize what she's talking about. Then he flushed, his neck growing hot and his ears on fire. He retracts his arms immediately, and tussled his hair in frustration. He glares at her with as much ferocity as anyone can gather against an elf.

"I wasn't—that's not what I was doing! Honestly, the things you assume..." He splutters, shifting with unease.

January rolls her eyes skyward, "Relax. I was just joking."

It wasn't funny. Jacob just grunts, and lets her have her little moment of sadistic fun. He wounds his finger around a piece of thread at the hem of his shirt. He's suddenly brought back to that night in Medora, North Dakota. Brought back to that conversation with Embry and Scarlet Kaysen. The 'manly healing'. And he echoes, "What did he say? Before he took off?"

"I took off." She corrects him without as much as a glance in his direction. "I don't know, I mean I just don't feel right ever since I broke my leg. It's like—I don't feel like the same January anymore. And it just wasn't fair to Peter." She shrugs, "I ended things."

"—Before he can end them with you."

January grinned, "Peter would've never ended things with me. He's much too nice. Even if I made his life a living hell, he would've found some way to tough it out. It's part of the Pretty Peter complex."

Jacob keeps his expression perfect stoic, "What you're saying is that you dumped him so that he won't get his heart broken."

"Do you think I'm a terrible person?" The words were uttered quietly, as if she needed his assurance. She's chewing on her bottom lip, her snowy skin frosted white and silvery irises glimmering lowly. He doesn't recall ever seeing Janie vulnerable. She always seemed so brazen and carefree. Like nothing ever got under her skin and stayed there. Like she can always just shake it off like the rain.

He swallowed, his throat feels tight. "No." He whispers, "I don't." Her chest deflated, and the sharp, agitated planes of her face softened ever-so slightly. A ghostly smile tugged at his lips, "Do you think it's worth it? For Peter?"

There's an odd expression on her face. A cross between curiosity and bewilderment. She tells him, "Peter's special because he's special to me." She looks into his dark eyes and Jacob can tell that they're both broken; damaged goods. Two different molds made from the same fabric..

"Your sentimentality doesn't make him special," Jacob disagrees with a raise of his brows.

January shrugs, half-arguing and half-sadly, "You're only insignificant if nobody loves you." She states firmly. She falls back onto the couch with a sigh. Rolling onto her back, she adds somewhat cruelly, "I guess that means we're the insignificant ones," Her impish grin made his heart stutter, "You and me. Pretty funny punch line, isn't it?"

Jacob isn't sure how he should respond to that. Part of him is insulted—an old, old part of him that still bristles at the memory of best-friend-Jacob's humble reflection. Another part is a little hurt, and he tries to shun that part, because it makes him feel small and foolish. His face is hot, as if he's blushing, so he's thankful for the lack of light.

He asks casually, "How do you suggest we solve this issue at hand?"

Janie closes her eyes, "I say let's just get together and let that be the end of it."

Jacob smiled.


Jacob Black pulls open his eyes groggily. He had just fell into the deepest sleep he had in a long time. He felt so comfortable that he thought he might've been dead if not for a repeated, light smacking against his foot.

"Mm—hmm?"

"You don't sleep naked, do you?" Comes the quiet, crisp voice from the foot of the bed. Janie's bed. Janie's bed is in the shape of a racecar. Very very much like her.

He scrubs his hand over his face. "What?" His voice is hoarse, his eyes bleary.

"What are you wearing?" She persists, sounding exasperated. Well, it wasn't like it's his fault. She raises her voice to aid his lagging comprehension.

"Um," He shakes his head in order to clear the growing fog there, bedfuddled. "Not much." A pair of dark blue boxers, that's it.

She lets out a huff, then presses on impatiently, "But you are wearing something, right?"

"Ye-ahhh? Why?" He frowns sleepily, "Is something wrong?"

"No," She whispers briskly, walking around the edge of the bed, "Just go back to sleep." Flipping up the corner of the blanket, he feels her slipping in. He scoots closer to the wall to accommodate her as she shifts to make herself comfortable.

"You know, I don't sleep with girls on the first date." He reminds her. Not that he's complaining.

Her answer comes swiftly and dryly, "I assure you that your record remains untarnished, then."

He couldn't understand her. Damn it, he can barely comprehend her words on a regular basis when he's fully awake. It's only natural that he hasn't got a clue what she's saying now. Why did she insist on being so goddamn articulate in the middle of the night, anyway? "So?" He asks dumbly.

"So, I'm just a figment of your imagination, Jay-cub." She snaps in a weary tone. She is not so nice in the night, Jacob decides.

"Oh." He drops his head back against the pillow thoughtfully, "That would explain it."

She stretches, the smooth curves of her legs running briefly against his knee. Her skin is warm. The only sort of noticeable warmth he's used to feeling in his bed when he rolls over into a spot he vacated moments before. Someone else's body heat feels foreign and overly conspicuous, as if his nerves are suddenly hypersensitive.

This must've been what she's talking about when she talked about withdrawal, he assumes astutely.

People. They come and go. Insignificant.

But Jacob Black hopes that him and Janie will stay the same for a very, very long time, because for once in his life—he just can't bear to let go.


End Note:

This chapter is a bit of a filler but I thought it was important because it hightlights the beginning of Jacob's relationship and kind of the entire NATURE of their relationship. It's definitely a start for them. An unusual and kind of hesitant start, but a start nonetheless. Thank you so much for the overwhelming support over the last few chapters, you guys! You've really been the best readers in the whole wide world. And I PROMISE that I'll give ya'll a shoutout in the next chapter.

Question of the day: What's your favorite part of this chapter? Favorite line? What did you think of Embry's story?

And for those of you who are interested, I have a NEW STORY out called 'ELLE WORDS' and it's also a Jacob/OC story. It's slightly darker and more cynical but I'm afraid as hell of it and would be SUPER pleased if you guys went and checked it out. Drop me a line and tell me what you think, cool? Cool.

--Loves, Kitty.