Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, or anything to do with it, however the OC's are all my own. The concept of Jasper being the 'God of War' is something that I've read in a few fics, and I found that it originated from Idreamofeddy, and I'm sorry for not giving credit where credit was due in previous chapters! Plus, I have no idea what Louisiana, or Wisconsin are like - I'm from England, so please, forgive any mistakes. Have a great day, and I love you guys!
Alright, well I've realised that my chapters are a little short - well, not short, but not necessarily detailed enough for my tastes, so I'm trying to focus more on the detail given during the chapters. Thanks guys!
This chapter was, originally just over 2,000 words, and now it borders on 6300 and I'm glad! I hope you like it, and if you like the changes, I hope you will let me know. Thanks!
Jasper POV
October 2020
Madison, Wisconsin
I had spent the last two weeks buried so far inside of Irina that I couldn't taste anythin' but her skin. I had made the impromptu visit, armed with the knowledge that I was an asshole, and I would continue to be an asshole for what I was doing to Irina, but the fact of the matter was, I couldn't bring myself to care much. Everything about the last week and a half sucked major ass, and I needed to just get the thought of her completely out of my system. My chest ached whenever I thought of a specific shade of sharp grey, and I needed some kind of release. I tried hunting; the mass of deceased forest animals - the large, russet coloured bucks littering the forestry in North Dakota, the herd of doe that I slaughtered in the middle of East Edmonton, when I thought I could detect her explicit scent of leather, sandalwood and the raw, heady scent of sex. It was all I could do to not send my fist through the torso of the nearest human.
Eventually I had arrived in Denali, Alaska, the pale white snow blanketing the ground, crunching beneath my boots as I, slowly, walked up the cobbled pathway leading to the picturesque cabin home that housed the coven that the Cullen's considered the closest thing to family as our kind could get. Truthfully, I liked Eleazar; he was a level-headed, reasonably intelligent man, who, on occasion, has proven himself to be far more interesting than he seemed, at first glanced. His wife, Carmen, was a kind soul, who reminded me of Esme, in ways that made me remarkably uncomfortable, especially when she did that whole 'hugging' thing. Their 'daughters' - Irina, Tanya and Kate - all held themselves with the grace and honour that fit a namesake as old, and respected as the Denali's. Eleazar's time with the Volturi has made him both respected, and somewhat feared, as his gift enabled him to be considered both a useful tool and a dangerous enemy. He was able to see into a person's aura and recognising their specialised ability.
When we first met, he stared at me, so vacantly, that I felt unnerved, self-conscious and awkward, all at the same time. At the time, I was new to this lifestyle, having only been 'vegetarian' for just under a decade before I was forced into meeting the Denali clan, in the hopes that being in contact with others that were new to this way of life might motivate me to stay on track. Needless to say, it did nothing to spur my motivation but it did introduce me to Irina, the real reason I was here right now.
Carmen answered the door; her golden eyes sparkling with a softness than I hadn't been expecting, and she threw her arms open and enveloped me in a hug, before I could even step out of her line of fire, and hugged me. Ugh. She laughed, the sound tinkling into my ears, and she said, cheerfully, "Jasper! We've missed you. Come, come inside."
She span on her heel, and led me through the doorway. Their home was hidden away, deep within the mountains of Alaska, hidden from intruding, exasperating humans that could do nothing but get themselves hurt, and Carmen used that fact to her advantage. She didn't have to minimise the grandeur that she would have, if they had chosen to live in contemporary Denali. The cabin was mostly made up of pine, the scent fresh in the air, accosting the back of my tongue, making my throat throb in irritation, and I could taste the timber in my mouth. Not the best taste in the world, but at least beat the overwhelming, festering guilt after I fed off of an innocent. I would take it without complaint, because Carmen was a sweetheart. Their home was empty, shy of their coven leader, Eleazar, who was seated in the coffee-coloured fireside, wingback couch, and his wife settled in his lap, as the flames licked at our pale skin, warming the air, as I levelled Eleazar with a blank stare to match his own vacant one. He glanced at his wife - all intense and tender, like Peter and Charlotte did sometimes, and it made my insides churn - and said, not unkindly, yet also not phrased as a question, as he knew the answer already, "You wish to stay here again."
I didn't grace him with a verbal response, I didn't need to, because we all knew what I would say, but I did nod, once. Not apologetically, because there would be no point, but not exactly proud of myself, either. This really wasn't my proudest moment.
-0-
Irina didn't mind my visit. As a matter of fact, she enjoyed it. I've been alive for over a hundred and eighty years, and in that time, I've acquired a certain amount of skirt, and honestly, I wasn't a bad fuck. My lovers didn't complain, but I liked keeping myself, to myself. I was confident, but not smug - there wasn't any point in that. Either way, Irina and I spent days lost in each other's bodies, and, eventually, when I decided to return home, she thought to take this time to visit my family. Not that I wanted a 'hit-and-quit' relationship, because our families were too close for that, but, Jesus, I didn't want her following me around, all over the U.S. She travelled with me, talking about everything and nothing at the same time, and I found myself growing more and more incensed as the hours ticked by. I was an old, easy soul, with even simpler needs; sex, solidarity, sustenance, survival. I liked fucking, being on my own, if only for the relaxation that it bequeathed me, I liked to hunt and I liked to live. It wasn't difficult at all, and she was encroaching on more than one of my needs, but I couldn't tell her to piss off, because then I'd be an even bigger dick, and I didn't need all of that drama,, so I dealt with it, quietly, and let her chatter on about her nothingness.
Once we arrived back in Madison, I knew that something was amiss, and I found out as soon as I stepped through the threshold of my home. Alice had planned a fucking party for me - a get-together of sorts - and she had invited the entire population of the town's youth that was under the ripe age of twenty. Carlisle was a reasonable man on his best days, and as a doctor, he wouldn't have been able to leave so many juveniles in the same place, at the same time, with all of the alcohol that we already knew they would bring along with them, with his sanity intact.
While I had been gone, Alice had begun work on her outfit for the night, and she wanted everything to be perfect, especially 'cause she wanted to impress Clyde, who was coming over that night and bringing his she-demon temptress sister along with him. Sweet baby Jesus, help me. I had hoped to get her out of my system by going to Denali and fucking Irina into oblivion, but I wasn't entirely certain, and I was kind of nervous about seeing her again.
After having her so close, her sleeping in Alice's room, directly beneath my bed, so close and so warm, her head pounding so loudly in her chest, so strongly that it made shivers break out over my body. It started in my hands; my fingers tingling as I was reading The Catcher in The Rye and I felt my brow crumple as I rubbed my fingers against the silky cool of my bed sheets. The tremble disappeared, if only for a moment, before returning, with a vengeance, and this time, it shocked me into a sitting position. I rolled my shoulders, and hoped to fight away the shudders that accosted my body as she giggled away below me. It had been going on for hours; a laugh here, a chuckle there, an adorable giggle and she would twist and turn as she chewed on some kind of toffee confectionary while watching a ridiculously over-romanticised modern day classical rendition of Romeo and Juliet.
Silently, I paced the length of my bedroom, clenching my hands together and rubbing at my shoulders, like some kind of junkie, suffering from withdrawal, and I chewed on my lower lip, pathetically. I could only imagine what she was doing… what she was wearing, and I- For the love of God, I needed to get out of here. My groin was so tight, I was sure my cock was going to tear through the seam of my pants, and I palmed my erection, in an attempt to quell the fire raging inside of me. Needless to say it was a tough night for everyone involved, especially considering I couldn't control the spikes of lust that flared from inside of me, every now and again, as I sat and just listened, like the animal that I was. Emmett was going to try and deck me in the morning, he was already so high-strung, what with Rose refusing to sleep with him over some petty drama that was entirely between the two of them, and I knew I wasn't making him feel any better. I didn't care, though, because it wasn't my fault that his wife knew how to play him like a fiddle, and the fact that, even after a hundred or so years together, Rose knew how to play him like a fiddle, and she was a master at it. It was truly an art form.
Shaking my head at the poignant memory, I had to force myself to throw away the thoughts that had collected in my head - it wouldn't do me any good pitching a tent here, especially in front of Irina, who just so happened to saunter into my attic bedroom and straddle my waist as I read. She sucked her lip between her teeth, and purred, "Jazz… Why don't you stop reading your silly book and come and play with me?"
With mild annoyance bristling in my chest, I levelled her with a vacant stare, over the head of the book, then, briefly rolled my eyes and drawled, sharply, "Rina… You shouldn't be up here. I'm sure Alice needs you for… something."
With a flirtatious glance through her lashes, she shook her head, her blonde hair falling from her shoulder, down the length of her back as she padded further into my bedroom, with her fingers trailing over the dark wood table along the wall opposite my bed, and whispered, her voice low and seductive, "No, I'm free, baby. It's just you and me."
Without glancing up, I snapped the spine of the novel closed, then placed the book on the table beside me, as I knew I wasn't going to be able to focus on the story anymore, and sighed, heavily, "Great," and tightened my hold on her hips, much to her surprise, and pressed her into the sheets below me, her legs tight around my waist, and her skin smooth and cold against my own, with my nose pressed against the dip in her shoulder, and my tongue slick against her skin.
Instead of blonde, pin straight hair, I imagined uncontrollably curly, brunette hair, and a cute button nose, and a killer smile. Light eyes, shining with smarts that a normal human just shouldn't possess. A quiet confidence about herself, and a secret so big that she couldn't even think about it for too long before she shut herself down, emotionally. I didn't have to know what she was hiding to know that there was something there - something that she would have liked to keep concealed from prying eyes, and I was determined to figure her out. I was a fucking emphath, for Christ's sake. If I couldn't read a seventeen year old girl, I might as well hang up my boots and retire.
After spending a few weeks in Denali, I had been putting my reading of the personalities of those around me into practice, and I had been pushing my range as hard as I could. I hadn't realised just how lax I had gotten over the years, and I would have to rectify that discrepancy as soon as possible. I was sure that I would be able to read her tonight. There was no way she had beaten me, not this time. It was a stupid issue of pride, but my pride is all that I have, and she was messing with that.
-0-
An hour later, it was nearly 8pm, and people would start arriving soon; the sun having disappeared behind the clouds, the weather cool, but not too cold, and a promise of an alcohol-induced stupor was too much of an offer for some to refuse. We had about four hundred people turning up tonight - probably more, considering how quickly rumours spread around town. Madison wasn't small in the slightest, but people liked to gossip, and our family, no matter how private, was the focus of many rumours. Regardless of how hurtful, or volatile, we did not respond - we were above that, as vampires and as a respected coven, but that didn't stop us from getting severely pissed off whenever I overheard some scum-bag talking trash about my family.
As per the rules of our 'parents', there would be nobody, that was under the age of sixteen, was allowed to step through the front door - as per the request of Esme - and there would be no drugs expended, sold or consumed on the premises - Carlisle's rule, of course. If they wanted to do that shit, they could go outside and get fucked up, because, due to our heightened senses, Carlisle would be able to smell any drug paraphernalia as soon as they stepped through the door.
Emmett had taken all of his consoles, his videogames, his devices, and even the television that had previously been stored away in the Games Room, and locked it away in the spare room on the second floor, to make space for the pool table and . The walls were a dark mauve, with a thick tripe of white directly through the centre of all four walls, the floor was carpeted - it was always easier for Esme to clean - and dark in colour. There was a pool table, placed in the direct centre of the room, the matte green felt of the slate playfield of the board still smelt like freshly mown grass and the cigar smoke that permeated the air of the store we had bought it from. We were master players, all of us, in our own way, with our own tactics, but Peter wasn't to be fucked with. With a cue in his hand, and a bet on the table, Pete could, and would, take you of all the money you owned, and he would do so ruthlessly.
Slowly, I shook my head of the fondness that swarmed me as I thought about my first 'son', of sorts, and stood, releasing the large metallic purple balloon filled with helium, and watched as it floated through the air and bounced off of the off-white ceiling. Emmett walked past me, in front of the flat-screen television that was embedded in the ivory walls, and I smirked, at his aggravated expression, as he was holding a bunch of his consoles in his hands. He didn't trust any of these kids, and neither did I - jealousy was an all-powerful thing that could convince even the most mild-mannered teen to become green at the gills with envy.
"You want to give me a hand, brother?"
Instead of gracing him with a response, I levelled him with a blank stare, and quirked a singular brow. It was answer enough, and he huffed then stomped away, but there was no malice in his aura. Emmett was a puppy dog, compared to the other vampires that I have encountered in my life, but that didn't mean he was a pushover. He maintained the strength he had acquired during his newborn year, and that made him a valuable ally - one that I didn't see the need in pissing off. I could take him on, and come out on top, but he was still somebody that I appreciated in my life, and I didn't want to lose that camaraderie.
Alice knew that the teenagers would bring a whole hell of a lot of alcohol in their wake, and so we didn't feel the need in squandering our finances on a bunch of premature tweens that already would knock themselves on their asses within the first hour of being at this party. Honestly, I didn't even see the need to have this party, especially not here, in our home, but Alice just wanted it, like real, real bad, and it was already difficult enough to say no to her, but to have herreally lay her puppy dog eyes on thick… It was almost impossible to say no to her more menial requests. I enjoyed making her smile, it was something that I could give her, something that validated our friendship, our relationship, and it made me feel like I was a decent guy. So I didn't appose her little party plan… Much.
Esme was quick to remove the rug in both of the living areas and rolled it up, and forced it into the garage, that hid each of our parked cars - Emmett's refurbished 2006 Jeep Cherokee, Edward's 2010 plush silver Volvo, Bella's pretty little Mercedes, Alice's vibrant yellow, vintage - if you could call that bulky atrocity 'vintage' - Porsche, Rosalie's 2016, jet black Coupe, and my baby - the literal love of my eternal life -1967 sleek black Camaro, with rough red rims, and silver bonnet and hubcaps. Jesus, I swear I could get a hard-on just thinking about my baby, and I would sear the skin off of anybody who hurt her. What can I say? I'm overprotective.
Everything was clean, sleek and pristine - the garden was perfectly shaped, the grass freshly mowed and the roses freshly pruned and clipped. Esme was almost anally retentive about that kind of thing, her roses were her prize possession, and the one material thing that she cared most. In every home that we inhabited, Esme would have a bunch of dissimilar tinted roses positioned along each of the driveways, and along the boundaries of her gardens; the place she was most comfortable. The driveway was picture perfect; every rough grain of gravel was locked in its place, even though I doubted that those teenagers would realise how much effort Esme put into this. We were all fresh and dressed in our respective outfits, the music pumping through the weighty, large high-definition speakers placed around the lower level of the house and the garden.
Personally, I wasn't exactly waiting for the kids to turn up, because I wasn't exactly excited about it, but Alice was practically vibrating with excitement in the lazy boy in the corner of the room. I was standing with my back against the wall on the left-hand side of the sliding-glass backdoor, and Emmet was sitting, with Rosalie perched, perfectly in his lap, their fingers intertwined and her nose pressed firmly in his neck. Carlisle and Esme were 'upstairs' - in actuality, they were out for a romantic evening hunt, where they would do whatever it is they did together, while we 'partied' like the bunch of rowdy teens that we were supposed to be. They wouldn't go far, just in case something happened with one of the party-goers that required medical attention, which I highly doubted, but you never know, something unexpected might just happen, and Carlisle might be needed.
It took a couple of minutes before we heard the tell-tale sounds of rambunctious teens and obnoxiously loud music thumping from the speakers within their vehicles, then Peter and Char simply laughed at the sounds. Some of them were already intoxicated.
This was goin' to be a long ass night.
-0-
And I wasn't wrong. The room was packed out; the thick scent of saliva, sweat and the overwhelming stench of cologne that many of those boys wore to cover the scent of their hyper-sexuality. The girls here were attractive, don't get me wrong, but they were just so ordinary. They all looked the same; same long hair, dark eyes, bright smiles and petite bodies. They might have been pretty, or whatever, but the attitudes and their personalities are what turned me completely off from them, and the instability that their hormones forced them into was far too much of a headache. They would much rather tear each other down than praise each other for their achievements, and their dismal attitudes towards one another makes me appreciate the collectiveness that my family provides. Being the only single Cullen brought attention that I didn't want, nor did I need, and it was bothersome, to say the least. Honestly, I was old enough to being their grandfather's father, and the very thought of having them touch me - romantically or otherwise - made my skin crawl.
If I stood alone in a corner, surveying the slew of people that were now accosting my senses, I would, undoubtedly, be approached by a hoard of girls, screaming and vying for my attention - some would attack me in a drunken rage, some would cry and bitch about their boyfriends, or lack thereof, and some would outright plead for my cock, all of which is highly unattractive to me, and I would ignore them, as best I could, and hope that they would eventually get the message and float away, but Irina… She hated having me out of her sight for more than a second, and she let me know just how much when she would swoop over, throwing glares at every girl, intimidating them with her beauty, frightening them with her viciousness, and practically spat at them, to get them away from 'her man'. The very thought made me chuckle, to myself, and I levelled her with a fleeting stare, before moving on.
And the cycle would continue, of course.
"Jazz, when are you going to drop the act, baby?" she whined, lowly in my ear, her pale white nails running over my scalp, her blonde hair tied up and out of the way in a very detailed, twisted, asymmetrical high Grecian bun, and I simply replied, dully, "Rina. Not now."
She rolled her eyes, and ran her fingers over my ears, then she leaned in and tried to kiss me. I didn't kiss. Ever. It just wasn't in me. The very thought made me sick to my stomach. It just wasn't something that I did. I turned my head to the side, fractionally, to avoid her lips, and she pressed her cool lips to my cheek. I knew she was embarrassed, but she should know by now that I didn't kiss. We never have, and we never would. She froze, but brushed off whatever traitorous thoughts rushed through her mind, and I glanced over at Edward, his expression was pinched and uncomfortable, and with a flick her of head, she said, "See you in a little while, lover boy."
Her off-white high-low dress flittering behind her, a braided leather belt around her crazy thin waist, a certain swagger in her step, her entire attitude radiating every inch of the powerful, Grecian goddess she was aiming for. She had on a thin gold chain around her neck, leading down between her perky breasts and towards her navel, and I could imagine that it draped around her waist, seductively. Peter leaned in beside me, silently, with his back against the wall, our corresponding outfits matching; both of us wearing similar attire - a button up shirt - Peter's rolled up to the elbow, mine left down, and my buttons tight against my wrist - coupled with a pair of dark coloured, snug-fitting, low-hanging jeans, tucked into a pair of dark boots, and, I had a charcoal waistcoat strewn over my shoulders. He said, after a pregnant pause, his brow pinched as his eyes traced over the pulsating crowd, "That one…. She's gonna get you into a whole heap of trouble, Jasper."
Noncommittally, I shrugged, and said, with an noticeable leer in my expression, "I know… But the sex is great."
He scoffed, in a hushed tone but very obvious, to me, at least, then turned away, only to let out a low, long whistle, and whispered, almost as an after thought, "Sweet Mary, Mother of God, she's gorgeous."
Initially I thought he was talking about Char - because who else would he be talking about? - but I saw her in the kitchen, chatting with Rose, about everything and nothing, being eyed up by a bunch of knucklehead losers, so when I turned my head to follow in the direction he did, I thought I would choke on my tongue. My groin flushed painfully with raw, unadulterated heat, and, after sucking in a sharp, deep breath, I moaned, low, quiet but so very real, my still heart clenched tightly in my chest, "Sweet Jesus.."
Carelessly, my fingers froze and I dropped my beer, forgotten, on the floor, it spilt but I didn't care. Someone would clean it up. Eventually. It's not like I was going to drink it anyway, it was all for show.
Why, dear God, why, were you torturing me?
Those goddamn legs would look great around my waist - I swear they would. Golden brown, toned, taut and oh so soft. Her heels were killer, dark in colour, high and making her body twist and curve in the most delicious of ways. This was what I was used to back home in Houston. Girls with a little meat on their bones, and curves in all the right fucking places. Her ass seemed so firm in that dress that jus'touched the middle of her olive toned, smooth thighs. Her breasts, perky and supple, and would be so fucking warm and soft in my hands, practically falling out of the heart neckline of her dress. Her skin was flawless, her neck was long and her hair styled in just the right way to make her entire aura radiate a playful mischief.
And her face?
Fuckingfuckingfucking fuck.
It wasn't possible to put it in any other way - there wasn't any other way to put it. Her eyes sat sensually on her face, her makeup accentuating her orbs, long lashes, slim nose, and a pouting mouth, with a sharp, distinctive cupid's bow, that made me want to do sinful things to her body. Her deep set, sexual silver eyes moved smoothly across the crowd, surveying all but missing me completely.
I didn't like it at all. She shouldn't be looking at them,
I wanted her to look at me. Into me. Through me. My past, my present, and I wanted her to be there for my future.
I craved for her to see every single part of me, and never let me go.
Her hair was over her shoulder, showing off that perfect expanse of skin on the side of her neck, and I wanted to kiss it.
Everywhere.
All of the time.
Every day.
For the rest of my life.
Those lips, dark and sultry, begged for me to kiss her, calling to me from across the room. And when she tugged on it with her teeth? It took everything within me to not come on the spot, and, if I were in any other mind frame, then I might just care, but I didn't. It wasn't a case of just wanting to kiss her, though. In that moment, if I could have, if she would jus' give me the chance, I would do everything for her. I'd make her feel like she was the only woman in the world. Because, to me, in those precious few moments.. She was. It was all her. There was no Irina. There was no Alice. There wasn't even a Charlotte in my mind's eye, and she was my baby girl. It was all her, and she was the only one that mattered to me. Groaning, I exhaled, deeply, and stated, into the suddenly stifling air, and levelled him with the most intense, piercing stare, "She's killin' me, Peter."
He chuckled, lightly, and the crinkles around the sides of his eyes deepened, as he glanced at me, amusement shining brightly in his expression, and he hit me in the shoulder, softly, before pushing from the wall, and sauntering over to his woman.
And I wanted mine. Mine? No… She wasn't mine, was she?
Well, evidently not, as that fuckwit Danny made his way over towards her, the back of his neck clammy with sweat, and his eyes glassy. Before I could even tense up, he had rested his hands on her shoulders, and pulled her in close, and was hugging her. She was touching him, and I felt sick to my stomach with wretched anger combined with a sharp, acidic flood of jealousy. His fingers were around her neck, as if he was about to kiss her, and I couldn't look. I couldn't watch that. But I couldn't look away. I couldn't physically tear my eyes from their touching bodies, as they swayed and ground against one another, along to the rhythmic beat of whatever trash music was pouring out of the speakers surrounding me. My glare was stone-cold, and the sound of her excited, throbbing heartbeat, pulsating through the air, taunting me from clean across the room, and I felt my throat thrum and itch, truly aching for the first time for the cooling sensation of human blood, not for the first time, but definitely the first in it's intensity.
It nearly knocked me clean on my ass, and I found that I was faced with my internal conflict; I wanted to kill him. I wanted him dead. I wanted his head on a platter. I really wanted to hurt him, badly, just so he knew to never touch the girl that I claimed as my own. The only thing penitence for such an action would be her. If she ever found out it was me - as doubtful as that notion may be, I knew that she wouldn't just 'get over it'. She would never forgive me, she would hold it against me, for the rest of her life, and she would never forgive me.
Swiftly, after the thought ran through my mind, I pushed off of the wall, and turned on my heel, towards the staircase, sure in the knowledge that I was getting laid tonight. I needed to work of f the tension that had built up in my body, but the thoughts of a tight dress, roaming hands, bright eyes and a soft smile burnt itself into my eidetic memory, without even so much as giving me a chance to attempt at wiping it out of my head. I pushed past a few of the kids, one of them tall, with dark hair and eyes, the other fair-skinned with flaxen hair that fell past his chin in greasy, unattractive strands, and they growled, a little, under their breaths, then span on their heels, however as I levelled them with a heated, angry stare, they quickly froze and shut up. The thing was, regardless of how big and intimidating they thought they were, I was bigger and even more threatening, even on my worst day, and I would tear them apart, without even so much as a second glance.
Charlotte placed a hand on the crook of my elbow, and tugged me away from the potential brawl, and whispered, her tone sharp and cutting, yet her eyes warm and showing me nothing but the love and affection she felt towards me, "Don't do it, Jazz. They aren't not worth it."
"I know," I said, with a laugh in my tone, and I growled, "They're nothing. I'm jus' a little out of it right now. I need to get outta here."
Her brows furrowed, in concentration, then her quiet, fragile intonation echoed through the kitchen, hitting my ears perfectly, even over the loud, pounding sounds from the speakers, as she said, "Don't do it, Jazz,"
Quickly, I turned to my youngest 'child' and, once I took in her pleading expression, I felt my eyes tinted black, as guilt bled through my system, and I growled, low, deep and very real, and I saw her flinch, fractionally, but she did nothing to voice her inner turmoil. She placed her hands on my sides, and held me tightly, then said, in a quiet tone, "I know how you're feeling, Jazz. I can see it in your eyes - you want her," and as I opened my mouth to respond, obviously in anger, and she continued on, with vigour, "No, listen, Major. If you can't admit it to yourself, that's fine, but I see it. We see it, and we're worried about you. You're scared about what she's makin' you feel, and it's drivin' you nuts. I felt the same way when I met Peter. He was such an asshole, but.. There was somethin' in his eyes. A goodness that only I could see, no matter how much he denied it. I see it everyday, and I fall for him more, every single time. Please.. For me, jus' don't go to that girl. Take a second, and jus' think about what you want. You, Jasper. Think about you."
Her words touched home for a quick second, and, of their own volition, my eyes slid over the crowd once more, and the only thing I focused on was the retreating head of Danny… With his arm draped around Camilla's waist, and the sick feeling returned, like a slap in the face, and settled deep within my stomach, and I turned my attentions towards my baby girl, and said, pointedly, "I know what I what, Char," and I emphasised my statement by pulling myself out of her hold, and she winced, once more at my curtness. "I'm goin' now, alright?"
I didn't give her the chance to respond, and I span on my heel, and left - I was too busy caught up in my anger, my fury.. My jealousy, and I went to find Irina, with a bitter scowl etched upon my features. She was more than willing to offer to make me 'happy' again. The only thing was I wasn't happy in the slightest. After I left the First Vampire War, I found that instead of being truly content within myself, and the family that I have found over the years, I tended to feed off of the happiness that swelled around me, and that, in turn, ebbed away some of the inner-loathing, stiff guilt that seemed to be eternally laced around my heart and soul. It was a surprise, but I suddenly realised that I hadn't felt my own emotions for a very long time - only absorbing those off of the people around me, and using it as an imitation - as I couldn't experience my own positive emotions due to the thick, heavy, overwhelming layer of self-hatred and regret burned away any possible remnants of bliss that I could feel. Whenever I gave myself a little bit of leeway, and found myself trying to fight for my happiness, I felt physical sickness well up in my body, and the guilt returned like a freight train. My years with Maria ruined that for me, and I was surprised it had taken me so long to realise that fact.
My eyes widened at my inner-revelation, and I stopped breathing for a moment, and as a result of this, Irina believed that she had made me cum, even though her blowjobs were lacklustre at best, and I sighed, going along with the pretence.
I didn't know how to be happy, and therefore I couldn't be.
Hi! So... I'm glad that there are so many of you that like this story. I really am shocked, but pleasantly so. Thank you. All of you. From the bottom of my heart.
Please, R&R, or favorite, if you'd like, and I hope you all have a wonderful days!