. . . . .

I've always been set in my ways—I chart my path and go with it. And it usually works for me. There's so much less confusion when you make up your mind and then stick to the plan. So, naturally, that's what I did when I fell in love with Edward.

I was sure I'd never want anything as much as I wanted him, and so I pledged myself to him and promised him forever.

But now I'm seeing what Charlie—and maybe my heart—had been trying to tell me all along. That 16, 17, even 18 is too young to make such a life-altering decision.

. . . . .

I don't have many memories of Jacob from when we were young, and the few I do have are just fuzzy recollections of us playing—or, more often, him spying on me playing with his sisters. However, I do remember every moment we've spent together since I moved back to Forks. Back to Charlie. And back to Jacob.

I can close my eyes and see the first time he came to see me—and his truck—just as I was getting re-settled here. His beautiful brown skin, long hair and wide white smile are burned into my memory. Even then, practically strangers, I could tell he was a gentle soul, someone I wouldn't want to have to live without.

So why am I trying so hard to push him away?

Maybe it's because Jacob is the one who truly sees me for who I am. And that's scary. With Charlie, with my mom, even with Edward—especially with Edward?—I have to be careful with what I let out. It's comfortable, though, keeping people at a distance. Not letting anyone see what's really going on in my head. It saves me from so much sadness and frustration. From disappointing them by showing them who—what—I really am. Still, I'm so afraid of letting them down that I never let down my guard.

But it's different with Jacob.

No matter how much I try to hide it, he sees me. But there's a sense of unconditional acceptance; and maybe that's the love I've been missing. Because with Jacob, I don't have to be anyone but me. There's no pretending I'm fine when I'm not, and no trying to please. It seems that everything I do, everything I am already pleases him. Just the way I am.

And that feels good. Better than good.

More like perfect.

So why am I trying so hard to push him away?

. . . . .

His hands were in my hair and his breath on my neck. I whimpered and pushed up against him, pressing our faces closer. I hungrily pulled his bottom lip between my teeth.

The bed creaked and woke me, tearing me away from my imaginary bliss.

But I could still feel him near, his hands in my hair, his breath still hot on my neck. Groggily, I blinked back the sleep from my eyes. Jacob's form was dark against the backdrop of my ceiling; his knees were on either side of me and his chest was hovering so close that I could feel him through my thin nightshirt.

Surprised and more alert, I tried to sit up.

He gently pushed me back to the pillow and pressed his face into my neck, moaning as he inhaled my scent.

"What are you doing here?" I hissed, trying to wriggle out from underneath him, unsure whether I was angry or wanted him to keep going.

He didn't answer with words, just kissed harder and aligned his body flush with mine, just a few layers of fabric between us.

"Jacob!" My whisper was strained as I tried to force his weight off of me. He did a half-push up over me, and I could see his smile in the soft light streaming in through the window.

"You can't just sneak in here and make out with me in my sleep!"

"Why? Are you afraid he might be watching? Because I'm definitely quiet enough to not wake Charlie. That is, unless you can't keep quiet..." His insinuation made me roll my eyes.

"Regardless of who is watching, this is slightly disturbing behavior—creeping into girls' rooms at night and crawling into bed with them." I couldn't help but smile though.

He slid off of me and curled up on his side, his body winding around mine. His arm stayed stretched across me, his hand tight on the left side of my ribs.

"I actually came to apologize for the other night. I shouldn't have tried to force you to say you loved me. It wasn't fair."

I dropped my gaze, glad he wasn't angry with me but confused as to why he was starting up exactly where he'd left off—even with my blatant rejection.

He kissed my forehead and forged on. "I didn't really mean to kiss you or crawl into bed with you—I just couldn't help it. I don't care if you aren't ready to pick me. I had to do it. And you sure didn't seem to mind. I actually thought you were awake for a minute."

"Oh, great!" I snickered into the darkness, happy for the lightened mood and for the fact that I apparently didn't need to apologize for my behavior last time we were together. "I'm so good at making out that you can't tell if I'm awake or sleeping."

"No, you were making those cute little noises that I like so much."

I blushed and bit my lip. I hoped that I hadn't said anything incriminating in my unconscious state.

"I was dreaming."

"Hmmm…" He nuzzled into my neck and pulled back before speaking. "Then it had better have been me you were dreaming about. It seemed pretty… good."

I turned my face away to hide my smile and my embarrassment.

"It was me, wasn't it?" He was astride me again, his hands holding my wrists up above my head on the pillow. I playfully pushed back and he ducked down to kiss me. His full lips tasted like the night air and I knew he'd been running.

It was comforting to me how I just knew him, how everything about him felt like home to me. I smiled as his lips made their way down my cheek, my neck, my collar bone and stopped just inside the v-neck of my tee shirt before moving back up to my lips. He let go of my wrists and I pressed my hands against the thick muscles on his back. I pulled him toward me and groaned again, this time glad that I wasn't dreaming.

. . . . .