(Disclaimer- i own a box of mechanical pencils.)
:D hey there. so im pretty gosh darn excited. i've been trying to make my chapters longer, and
i've accomplished the LONGEST chapter i've ever written. most of the time my chapters are--at longest--
six pages. this time, I've tacked on TWO more pages. EIGHT PAGES BABY! :D wooooo! yeah, but also,
that may not be so great. there is always the chance that you'll be completely unenthused with my new
and perhaps excruciatingly long chapters. if that is the case, and this is too long to the point where it becomes boring,
please do tell me. haha. i would very much appreciate it. oh. and this chapter is going to be a bit confusing, too.
are any of my chapters NOT confusing? i think i secretly like confusing people. not that its much of a secret now.
but yeah. so. read and review please. i've been getting some AMAZING reviews lately. you guys are seriously kicking butt.
if i can get ten reviews or more for this chapter, i'll update three chapters in one day--i'll work overtime for you. :)
oh. and i'd just like to say that this story is not ANYWHERE near being finished. so i truly hope that you're into the long
fanfictions. :D and also, i've been having some problems with this computer. my own computer died, so i've been using
this one, but now this, too, is starting to get sucky. so thats why my chapters have been coming in slower.
sorry. im going to go now. this is long enough already. :P byeeee! leave reviews! :D
Fantasy
"Why are you acting so strange?" I asked curiously, my voice light and cheery, tainted only with subtle perplexity. There were thousands of other questions in my head, so many things that I needed to figure out. It would have been smarter to have been discussing my dreams, finding out if they were in fact real, asking him if that was how our son was made. I mean, I could see no other possible explanation for how this had all happened. My dream had to have been instead a memory. Maybe this was my second time coming back. Maybe I was here—reincarnated—for a second time. Maybe the first time I'd died, I'd been shot. Then I'd died again.
It all made perfect sense if that was the case. In my dream, Jacob and I had…made a child. I'd been pregnant with his baby, but I'd never gotten a chance to have the baby because of the fight we'd gotten in with Tanya and Irina. But then again, that part couldn't be explained. I mean, sure, I still felt afraid around the beautiful sisters, but why would Emmett have asked why I was afraid of them? If we'd gotten into that huge fight, and they'd killed me the second time, wouldn't Emmett have known? Or maybe he just didn't expect me to remember it, because I was part of a different life now. But no, that wouldn't work, either, because both sisters would have been dead.
So that part didn't work. But it did explain the kid. Maybe, instead of my dream ending in Jacob and my baby dying, I had really been the one to go. I could see why—in my dream—I'd thought that they were dead instead of me. Either way, they were taken from me. But then how would Edward have been the one to tell me…? He surely wasn't deceased, either. But maybe I'd only been dying at the time—not quite gone yet.
It was stupid of me not to question Jacob, to ask him for the truth, to find out if what was running through my head was valid. I just didn't want to know yet. I wanted to just shut down my mind and enjoy his presence. One single day of normality with the man that I loved was all I could ask for.
But I could see now that normality would surely avoid me. There was nothing normal about this day.
I smiled up at the beautiful russet creature, cocking my head to the right and shielding my eyes from the bright sun just above his hair. His eyes glistened as he gazed back, his head haloed by the golden rays. He smiled indulgently, shifting his erratic eyes to the ground. His skin glowed as he stood there before me; his warm face was innocent and expressive. He seemed to be having a hard time looking at me, but his gaze kept somehow finding its way back to my face.
His smile expanded then, twitching with embarrassment, and his eyes flickered back to me; they were glistening with tears.
Automatically, the grin melted from my mouth and I stepped to his side, touching my fingertips to his jaw line. I watched him carefully, wondering what it was that I'd done to make him so abruptly sad. I wished that I could wipe away the tears from his cheeks, but I couldn't reach them. Trying, I stretched onto my tiptoes and pointed my fingers as far as they'd go. One lone tear settled on the flesh of my pointer, magnificent and rainbow-colored in the setting sun. I inspected it.
"What's wrong, Jake?" I whispered, snuggling my other hand further into his palm. His mouth pursed, clashing strangely with the sweet smile on his lips. He bent down to press them against my hair, his hand warm on my shoulder. He seemed more than reluctant to give me an answer.
What had I done to make him cry?
He sighed as I continued to stare at him, expecting an answer. His black eyes bore into mine, intense and amused and terrified all at once. I couldn't make sense of his odd expression, the absurd way that he was behaving today. He'd been refusing to leave my side since he'd told me about our son this morning—declining an invitation to Embry's barbecue and refusing to phase into a wolf to help out the pack—and yet he wouldn't talk much. He just kept staring, blushing when he was caught, and looking away. He wasn't acting like Jacob at all.
"It's stupid, actually." He admitted, turning to face me as we continued to stroll through the thin strip of sand. He hadn't let go of my hand once. I glanced at it, hoping that it wasn't getting all sweaty and gross beneath the heat of his, before demanding that he tell me what was wrong. He chuckled at the authoritative tone I'd used, stopping in place.
"I'm just being a baby. I mean, I can't stop looking at you. After all the years I've spent wishing I could look at you…I just can't stop. I don't want to. But then I get all stupid and afraid…"
"Of what—looking at me?"
"No, not really." There was a moment of silence while he contemplated his answer. Then he changed his mind. "Well…kind of," He corrected. "It's terrifying to think that you could just disappear within seconds. One second you're here, beautiful and alive, and then the next—poof. You're not. It's really scary. It hurts to look at you, thinking that any one of these times that my eyes meet yours could be the very last time. No one knows how many chances a person gets with this reincarnation thing. So if we screw it up this time…" He trailed off, voice sad and frightened. His lids contracted around the watery eyes, lip gently quivering. He bent his face to mine and kissed me lightly on the mouth.
"Or this. This could be the very last time I kiss you." He paused, tracing the shape of my bottom lip with both of his. "Bells, I don't want to be a control freak. Really, I don't. But I'm having a hard time keeping my hands off you—in more ways than one. I keep getting this urge to just throw you in my arms and run like hell with you. I wouldn't even know where to go. I just want to get you away…somewhere real safe where I can't lose you again."
We stared at each other, the cool evening air silenced. Not one other person was anywhere near the beach; we had the entire night to ourselves. All of the world as far as we could see it—it was ours alone.
"Jake." I whispered, touching his cheek. He gazed at me as I shook my head. "It wasn't the last time."
His eyebrows met in the center of his forehead, thoroughly confused, his black eyes searching mine. I found no signs of understanding on his puzzled face, but it didn't stop me. He'd figure it out soon enough.
I pressed my lips against his, inhaling the briny scent of his skin. When I finally pulled away, breathless and dizzy, he smirked. His hand curled around the back of my neck, holding me to him. I didn't object, and he didn't remove it. I bit my lip.
"I get it." He informed me. "You meant it wasn't the last kiss."
"Nice job, Captain Obvious." I raised an eyebrow, whispering a tone that very much contrasted with the sarcastic words I used; my voice was gentle, caring, my eyes zeroed in on his face.
He grinned at me.
"Well," I started, teasing, "You don't have to worry about me screwing up my life this time." I smiled at the confusion on his features, placing my right hand over my heart, my other hand straight in the air by the side of my head, arm bent at the elbow. His eyes traced over the motions of my signaled pledge, raising his brows. "I promise to stay far away from the woods unless it is completely clear. I'll even let you check first to make sure that no one is there to shoot me. No hunters." I smiled at him.
His brow puckered further, furrowing deeper, a look of pure confusion stuck there like it was molded into his skin. I blinked at him, waiting for him to smile back, but the smile never came. I looked away in discomfort, feeling awkward. Apparently my joke wasn't as funny as I'd thought.
"Bella…what are you—"
"Dad!" Jacob Junior greeted, running over to us. He was bare-chested, his skin glistening with sweat. I bit at my bottom lip, averting my eyes from the man—my son—feeling the same horror I'd felt when I first was told who he was. I understood now the revulsion that had taken place on his face when he was holding me, understood why my Jacob had told him that it was wrong on so many levels. It made sense to me now…and it embarrassed me completely.
My cheeks burned red as the man-child came closer, nodding politely in my direction. His eyes were shy as they searched my face. My Jacob tightened his grip on my waist, pulling me into him and squeezing my hand. I was frozen there, joints all locked up.
"…Mom." Little Jacob said uncertainly, looking as uncomfortable with his greeting as I was. I swallowed hard, my eyes bulging out of my face. It was the first time he'd called me that, and it was very strange to hear. He looked as though he was in his twenties—older than me—and here he was calling me Mom. Mom!
I shuddered.
"You don't have to call me that if you don't want to, you know."
He nodded quickly, his shoulders relaxing as he sauntered closer still. My Jacob watched us both as we regarded each other. He'd apologized earlier for …our son's behavior with me that first time. He'd said that Little Jake was too much of a flirt for his own good—that he must have inherited some of my skills. He'd said that with an amused little smirk, undoubtedly referring to the time I'd flirted my way into getting information about the Cullens that time at the beach.
Some joke that was.
"Dad, you mind if I talk to…" He paused hesitantly, looking away from us. I could see the wheels turning in his head, trying to think of what would be best to call me. What would I be comfortable with him calling me? Mom? Bella? Anna? It?
"Do you mind if I talk to her for a minute?" He gestured toward me with his chin, smiling apprehensively. His hands were buried under the fabric of his sweat-pant's pockets, the muscles of his chest and arms hard and clear through his reddish skin. He looked so much like Jacob—it was uncanny. Yet now that I knew what I was looking for, I was shocked to see that he resembled me, too.
My jaw dropped.
"Go ahead. Talk." My Jacob said briskly.
Our son grimaced, letting out a sigh. He rolled his eyes at his father, glaring.
"You know what I mean. Alone?"
My Jacob looked at me carefully, assessing my posture, trying to see if I was comfortable enough with my…son…to be left alone with him. His hand rubbed against my arm, warming me as I shivered in the cool air. Little Jacob watched him the entire time, making faces when his father looked too lovey-dovey. My Jacob's gaze turned hard when he saw the scowl on his mini-me.
"No." He said flatly.
"C'mon, man!" Little Jake complained, the whiney tone sounding very odd with the deep voice, stomping over to us and snatching my arm away from his father's hand. He pulled me against his chest, turning me so that My Jacob couldn't steal me back, and waved his father away with his hand. My Jacob looked at him like he was crazy, his eyes bulging.
"You keep your grubby hands off her you little mongrel." He threatened Jacob Junior, glaring the way that parents always do. My neck started to hurt from whipping my head back and forth as they talked. I blinked drowsily as Little Jake's hands ripped away from me, throwing them into the air in a position that often signaled surrender.
"Hey! That's not fair, Dad. You know I didn't know she was Mom then!"
My Jacob chuckled at the defensive tone his son used, leaning across to punch his shoulder. His eyes were warm when they looked at his duplicate, caring the way a parent should be, but there was something else there. Irritation or hidden fury, maybe, but I didn't see why he would be irritated or angry with our son.
Our son.
It hit me again like a tidal wave, and I had to take a deep breath so I wouldn't hyperventilate the way I had when he'd first told me. I shoved my fingers into the pockets of my borrowed coat, glancing down at it again. I unquestionably looked like an idiot wearing Jacob's clothes. They were much too big for me. His coat was halfway down my legs and much too big to even be considered a dress. It was like donning a tent.
"I'll be over at our driftwood tree," My Jake whispered to me, brushing his finger across my cheek with a smile. I shuddered beneath his touch, my eyes darting self-consciously to see Little Jake forge a gag. I snickered at him, finding his repulsion to be amusing.
"But you'll be able to hear us from there!" He interjected, throwing his palms up toward the sky in exasperation. My Jacob looked back at him, letting go of my waist and raising an eyebrow suspiciously. Little Jacob quieted down immediately, watching his father with a wary expression.
"Is there something you're trying to hide, kid?"
"No!"
"Well then I guess I can hear."
My Jacob took off in a sprint, running off into the distance and sprawling out on the white spider that was a piece of driftwood. It was the first place we'd gone together when we met, the place where all of it started. It had significance.
Little Jake scowled after his dad, but when a minute had passed, he seemed to remember my presence and swiftly turned to face me again. He half-smiled, awkwardly kicking the sand beneath his feet.
I watched him, observing the lightness of his russet skin, knowing that it was my fair color that had bleached the darkness of his. His eyes, too, were lighter in shade, more chocolate than black, matching my own. They weren't muddy like mine were now, but they were the hue of brown mine had been back when I was born Isabella Marie Swan. His face was also shaped more like mine was.
He was a beautiful combination of me and Jacob. Stunning, really.
"So…" He started casually. I could hear the hesitation in his voice. "Well, I guess it's probably hard trying to keep up with two Jacobs." He chuckled lightly, his voice deep and throaty. I marveled at the sound of it, blinking at him with my head dipped to the side. He watched in anxiety as I stayed frozen in front of him, not realizing that I should have been laughing along. Before I could correct my mistake, though, he'd started talking again, faster now that he was nervous. "You can call me Jay like everyone else does. Or Kid. I know it's not a name, but that's what Embry calls me. Dad, too, sometimes. Or…Junior, or…JB…I don't know. Whatever makes it easier."
"Which do you like best?" I murmured. My voice shook, embarrassing me. It was stupid of me to have been afraid to talk to my own son. Even if I wasn't sure how he came about…and I didn't remember him…and he looked and sounded like he was ten years older than me. It was still ridiculous. I gave birth to the kid, for crying out loud.
I gasped in disgust, making a face at the picture the thought had conjured, my entire body quivering as I shuddered from head to toe. Little Jake blinked at me, his eyes narrowing under the furrowed brow. I knew he must have been thinking I was crazy.
"Uh…I guess I kinda like Kid, actually." He laughed, only this time the sound was not as carefree as it'd been just moments ago. There was a hint of fear in his tone now. "But that's probably dumb. How 'bout just callin' me Jay? Or Junior."
"Or JB?" I joked, chuckling in an effort to calm him. I wanted him to feel comfortable around me. I planned on sticking around. "Come on, Kid, pick a name."
He grinned at me, his lips stretching far across his face and exposing a thick line of pearly whites. He had a smile just like Jacob's. It was so beautiful and innocent that I nearly attacked him with a joyous hug, but instead I gaped at him for a second before pulling myself together.
My son was so pretty. It was astonishing.
"Junior, I guess. But I really don't care."
"Kay. Junior it is."
We smiled at each other for a long moment, the silence not as uncomfortable as I'd imagined it would be. I was finding Junior to be very easy to be around, much like Jacob had been in the beginning—much like Jacob would always be.
I was glad to know that my kid had gained so much of his father's good spirits. He, too, was like the sun. A little one—in comparison only to Jacob; compared to anyone else he would be considered huge—but still bright and magnificent and warm. His smile comforted me and made me feel safe, the way his eyes danced was alive and free. It made me so happy to see that they were happy, that my son was happy. And so pretty!
I didn't think I was going to get over that.
"I'm so sorry." He whispered suddenly. His voice was so full of guilt and misery that my eyes widened and I gasped a little bit. The change in the atmosphere startled me into stillness. I knew that he was sorry about trying to pursue me that first time we'd met. But he was right. Like he'd said before, he didn't know who I was at the time. For all that he knew, his mother was dead. I wondered briefly why he wouldn't have recognized me, but quickly understood that, too. He couldn't have remembered precisely what I looked like. He must have been young when I passed away.
"Wait." I cut him off as he opened his mouth, staggered by the path my thoughts had taken. If he was young when I'd passed away, then… "How old are you?"
He grinned sheepishly, but there was an edge to the way he held his jaw. It was almost smug. "Well, physically I'm probably like twenty something, but I'm technically fifteen."
Fifteen years.
"So you're fifteen?"
Had only fifteen years passed since I died?
My eyebrows furrowed as I tried to think it through. If only fifteen years had passed, people that I knew would probably still be alive. I'd died at eighteen, so that meant that I'd now—if I'd never been shot—be thirty-three years old, as would Angela and Ben and Jessica and Mike…and Charlie would still be alive. Charlie.
My breathing accelerated.
"Technically…" He drawled, extended the "e" sound. His smirk was definitely haughty now, tugged up on one side of his face. His arms crossed over his broad chest, foot tapping against the ground with a clapping sound.
"What does that mean?"
"Well, I'm only technically fifteen. Realistically, I'm like…two-hundred something."
My jaw dropped.
"WHAT?!"
Junior jumped as I screamed the word in incredulity, shrinking back in his skin. In my peripheral vision, I saw Jacob stand up from the piece of driftwood, leaning forward, ready to spring over here and protect me. I watched him, trying hard to breathe evenly. My body was rocking violently with the force of my hyperventilation. My hands shook.
"I'm sorry!" Junior sputtered fearfully. "I'm so, so, so, so sorry! I should never have said anything. I'm so dumb! I didn't know that you hadn't talked to Dad about it yet!" He paced in front of me, smacking his palm to his forehead. "So stupid!" He muttered to himself.
Jacob was walking slowly over to us, slower than even I walked. He looked like a policeman, afraid to act too quickly just in case it scared the lunatic he was trying to corner. His brow was creased with worry. I could hardly hear over my breathing.
"I'm gonna go." Junior announced, voice cracking like a little boy. I couldn't even blink. "I'm so sorry… Oh! And…I'm sorry for killing you. Really, that's what I've been meaning to say the whole time. I didn't mean it, and I'm sorry. Very sorry, really."
I stared at him. Killing me?
Suddenly Jacob was right beside me, grabbing at my forearms and pulling me into his chest. My breath was so shallow and fast I thought maybe I was dying again. Maybe that was why Jacob's hands were too tightly wrapped around me, his eyes big and intense on my face. He was terrified he'd lose me again.
Is this what Junior meant by saying he'd killed me?
"You did not kill her, Jay." Jacob growled at his son, snarling fiercely over my head. "We've been over this."
"Oh, please, Dad. You seem to forget that I can hear your thoughts when we're wolves. I've been in your head. I know what you think about it." My son's voice was thick with accusations and sharp as the edge of a blade. Jacob winced as it sliced him.
I couldn't even think about the pain the words were causing him. I could hardly think about the words at all. My mind was elsewhere—just beginning to pick up on something that'd been so very obvious the whole entire time.
"My son is a werewolf?! A two-hundred-something-year-old WEREWOLF?!"
Jacob hushed me, placing his hand over my lips, eyes full of sympathy and regret.
"See! You can't even deny it!" Junior shouted at him, stabbing a finger into his chest. Jacob growled back, throwing me to the side—out of the way of all the anger. I couldn't understand the meaning behind their words. None of it made sense to me.
My son was a werewolf. A freaking werewolf!
"Go home, Jacob." My Jacob ordered, sounding more like a Dad than I'd ever imagined he could. I stared at them, my eyes flickering back and forth like I was watching a swinging pendulum. The air was full of violent fury, and it'd started raining fiercely, the world seemingly trying to keep up with the emotions piercing its sky.
My breath had slowed down to nothing. I couldn't breathe anymore. I was shocked into a stunned silence by the shouting match. Who would win: father or son?
I saw briefly the memory of Jacob and Paul fighting—the only time I'd ever seen something like that. It had been terrifying, nightmare provoking. I didn't want to see that again. Jacob and Junior wouldn't…would they?
I gasped, gripping Jacob's arm.
"You go home Dad. I know how you feel—even when you try to hide it. You're pissed at me for killing her, aren't you? Aren't you?! Just admit it!"
"Jacob Samuel Black! Go the hell home before I have Embry come and drag your ass there!" Jacob was really snarling now, his voice livid, face purple, but somehow, he seemed composed. It made him much more threatening. I shivered.
"Fine. But you know what, Dad," Junior paused, sneering the word, his white teeth glimmering in the light of the newly risen moon. Both men were shaking visibly—terrifyingly. I clung to Jacob's arm. "You're a chicken. Nothing but a chicken who can't even admit to himself that he hates his son. Because it's true. I killed her. And you hate me for it." And then he took off toward the house like a bolt of infuriated lightning, pulling my splitting heart along with him. I had no idea what they were arguing about, but for some strange reason, I felt bad for the boy. His words had been angry and seemingly cruel, but I thought I'd seen a touch of pain beneath all the rage. I wanted—oddly—to go after him and pull him into my arms, rock him like a baby.
But if I tried that, he'd probably crush me.
"Why does he keep saying that?" I managed to whisper after a couple of minutes. Jacob and I were both breathing heavily now, my breath quickening in anxiety, Jacob's in anger. He gritted his teeth as I spoke to him. "What does he have to do with my being shot?"
Jake's breathing cut off suddenly, seeming to remember something, and he stepped in front of me again, staring at me like I'd spoken some foreign language. I shifted my eyes so I was looking at his arms, feeling awkward with him staring at me like that. He was watching me like I'd just announced I was a mermaid or something…though that probably wasn't the best comparison. For all that I knew, mermaids could have existed.
My own son was a werewolf.
"What did you say?" Jacob whispered.
"I asked why he kept saying—"
"No, not that. Something about being shot? You said something like that earlier, too." He waited for me to realize what he was talking about, staring at me with that same weird expression.
"Oh. What does Junior have to do with my being shot?"
I watched him as his eyebrows furrowed, as his face tilted to the side and inched closer to me. His eyes were full of wonder and confusion. My face felt red hot. I inhaled deeply to calm myself.
"When were you shot, Bella?"
"When I died…?" My tone implied just how stupid I thought his question was. I raised my eyebrows as I spoke, trailing off at the end sarcastically. Jacob only blinked at me. I felt kind of dizzy, the edges of my vision getting fuzzy like a television screen fading out.
"Bells…" He started, sounding far away, pulling me against him slowly. He looked a little dazed—a lot like I felt. "Bells, what's the last thing you remember?"
"Being shot. Dying."
He shook his head at me. "Bella. I don't know how to tell you this, but…"
"But what?" I whispered, impatient. I could barely see him. My eyes were fogging up with darkness, unable to focus on anything. My knees felt weak beneath my weight, my legs bowing awkwardly. I would've fallen if Jake hadn't been holding onto me so tightly. I could feel something about to happen, something that would turn everything I'd ever known into something of fantasy. I didn't want to hear it. I felt so disoriented.
"Bella, honey…that isn't how you died."
My mouth fell open and my legs gave out.
So much for one normal day.