There were only a few things I was aware of between the hours of four that evening and six the next morning when my alarm went off: first, that my migraine was still sticking around; second, that pain had spread to the rest of my body, and third, that it was impossible to breathe through my nose. It had been my alarm that'd woken me up at the same time as usual, but instead of hopping up and getting in the shower, I hit the SNOOZE button and rolled over, back to the window. The next time I woke, the walls of my room were dimly illuminated by weak sunlight filtering through the heavily clouded sky. The rushing static noise of rain splattering against the roof was punctuated by thunder rumbling every few minutes. Two more pills, the rest of the water in my glass, and a glance at the clock.
12:06 pm
My cell phone screen lit up with a new message from Angela, who must have just gotten to lunch.
Jess said she waited 20 minutes for you this morning. Are you okay?
The screen's backlight, though faint, was a jarring change from the shadows of my room. I squinted and typed back a short response.
Yeah, I feel like I've been hit by a truck.
Her reply was almost immediate.
Oh no! I hope you feel better! Let me know if you need anything.
My teeth felt slimy and rough from not being brushed. It was the one thing that bothered me most from being in bed all morning. I could survive without a shower, but at the very least needed to brush my teeth and pee. When I extracted my legs from the warm cocoon of blankets, the cold air sent my nerve endings into an angry frenzy. Every part of my skin hurt from touch and cold, even the lightest brush against the door frame. The hall bathroom was only a couple of feet from my room, but the distance stretched on as I shuffled. One look at myself in the mirror and I knew that I was sick sick. Not a cold or the sniffles — something a little more serious. I didn't dare turn on the overhead light, knowing it would exacerbate my migraine. When I got back to my room and crawled into bed, I thought about the loaded pistol in Cara's room that I'd told Charlie about, and how it might be my only defense should someone actually try to harm me while I'm laid up in bed. I was an easy target without it, and a slightly less easy target with it, yet I couldn't bring myself to get out from under the covers again. Instead, I pulled them up to my chin and closed my eyes. Whatever monsters were roaming through Washington would just have to stay away.
No less than thirty minutes later, I'm stirred awake by the sound of the front door opening. It's the monsters I thought as I lay in bed, blanket covering my head, and waited for whoever it was to come eviscerate me. I should have gotten the gun. Maybe in death, my head wouldn't hurt. There was a soft knock against the door frame, then whoever it was called out my name.
"Collins?"
I'd know that voice even on death's door. It's…
"Jasper?" I answered, then dissolved into a fit of coughing. Just add it to the current symptom list, along with the migraine, body aches, congestion, and fatigue. He poked his head through the doorway, then strode in as if he did it all the time. I would've been happy to see him if I weren't feeling like shit.
"You look like hell," he said, and sat just at the edge of the bed, then reached over and placed a hand on my forehead. I didn't bother pulling away from the touch of his icy skin.
"Jesus, your hands are freezing," I mumbled and buried my face deeper into the fuzzy blanket. A strand of my bed-head hair tickled my nose, reminding me that it was probably looking like a rat's nest given that there'd been no shower earlier.
"And you're burning up," he said matter of factly.
"I think it's just your hands. There's a thermometer in the bathroom behind the mirror."
He disappeared out the door, then returned with the small glass tube, shook it a few times, and offered it to me. Sitting up made my head spin, but I made it and placed the thermometer under my tongue. The red number on my clock read 12:54.
"What are you doing here?" I asked from the other side of my mouth.
"Shhhh, you're not supposed to talk."
I usually would be annoyed at him, but there's not enough energy in my body to care. The room swirls too much. Jasper just stands patiently, waiting for the results, and when there's been enough time for an accurate reading, I hold it out of reach. The little silver line had moved all the way to one hundred and three.
"What is it?" he asked casually, but I am too stubborn even in sickness to be easy on him.
"First, tell me what you're doing here and how you got the door open, and then we'll talk about my health."
I must have a talent for eliciting annoyed sighs from Jasper Hale because he does it almost every time I see him lately. He doesn't sit again, but leans against the wall and crosses his arms.
"Angela said you were sick, as if it weren't already obvious. And the front door was unlocked."
I never forget to lock the doors, murderers on the loose or not. Either I had already been sicker than I thought yesterday afternoon or he was lying and had gotten in some other way. But that was ridiculous; I'm sure he didn't just go around picking locks. I looked up to him, and saw that he wasn't amused.
"One oh three," I handed the thermometer back.
"Let me take you by the hospital. Carlisle could squeeze you in right away."
I shook my head. Nothing besides normal bodily functions were getting me out of the bed.
"Of course," he whispered exasperatedly. I watched as he sat on the floor beside my bed and leaned his head against the wall. He looked so peaceful with his eyes closed and head back, arms loosely folded and resting on his knees. Jasper Hale was in my bedroom alone with me and I couldn't even enjoy it because I was sick. The irony.
"What about a phone consultation?" he asked with his eyes still closed. "I'm sure Carlisle could call you something in, and I can pick it up."
"Why are you being so…."
I knew I was shooting myself in the foot. Sick or not, Jasper was being nice and trying to be helpful but my own pertinacity got in the way. It's not that I didn't want him to be kind; it's that I didn't know what it meant. He said himself that the dance we shared was just a dance, and not to read too much into it, so I hadn't. It was a good thing too, with how unpredictable he could be. By tomorrow, he could be ignoring me completely or responding with snarky remarks. Maybe I should've just taken it for what it was worth and leave it at that.
"I'm just trying to help," he huffed. His eyebrows pulled together just a smidgen; his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, like it was painful.
"Okay, you can call him."
Jasper opened his eyes, the golden color of his irises appearing dull in the lowlight. He took out his phone and pressed the 1 key, calling Dr. Cullen via speed dial. Even I didn't have my parents on speed dial.
"Hey, it's me. Yes, everything's fine. I skipped free period to come see Collins; she's pretty sick but refuses to see a doctor."
I glared at him as menacingly as I can muster but he just smiled like I'm as dangerous as a bunny. My stomach fluttered; whether it's from butterflies or nausea, I'm not sure at this point.
"Here, let her tell you."
He handed me the phone then set himself on the floor, back against my bed.
"Hey, doc."
"Good afternoon, Miss Walker. Feeling a little under the weather today?"
"More than a little if I'm being honest. Migraine, body aches, sinus and chest congestion, and a fever of one hundred and three. I feel awful."
The sound of rustling papers came through the speaker, and I imagined that Dr. Cullen was in his office sorting his desk out between patients.
"That'll do it. It's hard to diagnose over the phone without running any tests, but it's of my professional opinion that you have the flu. Airports are some of the nastiest places you can be, and you've traveled to several in the last week. That's likely where you got the bug from."
"Yes, I reckon you're right."
"I can write you a prescription for an antiviral that will help you recover quicker, but I also recommend taking acetaminophen and a decongestant to help with the symptoms. Would you like to use the hospital's pharmacy?"
I agreed and thanked him for his time before handing the phone back to Jasper and slipping back into bed. My sinuses filled again.
"I can pick up your medicine. It should only take thirty minutes or so."
I shook my head, and not because I was being pervicacious.
"You've missed enough school as it is. I'm not going to be the reason you can't graduate due to attendance. Just head back in time for the end of free period and you can get the medicine after school. If you don't mind."
I was sure I could've asked Charlie or Jess or Angela or even Mike to grab the medicine, but with any luck, maybe Jasper's mood would stay good. Or maybe, I'd projectile vomit all over him. Either seemed likely.
"Fine. Is there anything you need before I leave?"
"No. I'll just be getting a shower and then coming back to bed."
When I tried to get up, I was so light headed that I nearly fell back onto the mattress. That is, if it weren't for Jasper. His hands reached out to grab my arms before I could fully stumble.
"Maybe you should wait on that shower," he suggested but I shook my head and instantly regretted it. It just makes the spinning start again.
"No, I just had to get my bearings. I'm not an invalid."
"Alright, if you fall and end up with another concussion, don't say I didn't warn you."
I turned the water as hot as it would go and just sat on the floor of the shower, letting the water stream over me and down the drain. I imagined it washing away all my sickness, but when thirty minutes passed by and the water started to go cold, I felt equally as bad as I had before, just more pruny. My sinuses open up for the duration of the shower, then go right back to being clogged before I can finish braiding my still damp hair. Once dressed in my clean pineapple pajamas, it's back to bed with my computer and the vampire detective book. Skipping school when you're sick sounds great until you're actually sick. At that point, you'd gladly trade clear nasal passages for a pop quiz and a detention. I watched A Walk to Remember and as always, it left me crying, just not as much as the book. Then, I spend the rest of my time waiting on Jasper to get back by reading and wondering how I'd react if I learned that my significant other wasn't human. From the main character's point of view, it's sad that she isn't given a chance to explain herself before her boyfriend (possibly ex) storms off, leaving her to try and solve the current case without her partner and with a broken, undead heart.
I was near what I hoped would be a reconciliation chapter when the sound of a motorcycle turning onto my street reached me. I don't have to get up and check to know that it's Jasper. After another minute, the engine cuts off and the door to the house squeals open.
"Decent?" he asked, but didn't wait for me to reply before walking through the doorway, a paper bag in one hand and a Thermos in the other. I was immensely glad for the shower.
"Thank you for getting that," I said as he handed me the bag and I fished out the blister packet of large white pills. "What's in the Thermos?"
"The quintessential meal for anyone that's sick: chicken noodle soup, courtesy of Esme. She insisted."
"That's awful sweet of her." I opened the lid and inhaled, but couldn't smell much. Even still, my stomach growled. It occurred to me that I hadn't eaten anything but Excedrin all day. The first sip might as well have been a gourmet meal, it tasted so good. I forced myself to stop long enough to take the medicine that Dr. Cullen sent, but then washed it down with more soup.
"Go easy. Last thing you need is to start puking everywhere."
Jasper just stood there, arms crossed, until I had my fill of the soup and sat the Thermos down on my nightstand. When I laid back to rest on the headboard, I felt acutely aware of the fact that Jasper was still in my room, and what he'd been waiting for, I was not sure. I didn't want to ask him to stay to see me continue being all snotty and lethargic, and I also didn't want to ask him to leave, as it's strictly against Southern culture. But there was nothing left to do except what Carlisle said: wait it out and try to mitigate the symptoms as much as possible. Of all the times to be sick with the flu, it just had to be two weeks before AP exams, something that I've been dreading all semester.
"I know you don't feel up to it, but I did bring your homework. It's mostly math."
That is the last thing I wanted to be doing while sick, but it does occur to me that a week of studying could be the difference between a score of 2 or 3.
"Yeah, thanks. I guess I could get started on that since I won't be going anywhere anytime soon."
Jasper reached into his bag and brought out a paper with what was reviewed this morning, along with his notebook and the notebook that we use during tutoring sessions, then grabbed my own calculus notebook from where it sat on my desk. Before I could say anything in protest or otherwise, he plopped down on the other side of my bed and flipped to the most recent page in his notes.
"It probably wouldn't hurt for me to study, too," he mumbled. I knew, and he knew, that if his grade in calculus was any indication, he'd have no issue scoring a 5 on the exam. And yet, he stayed anyway to make sure that I understood the material.
"My brain is fried," I said only an hour later. The sinus pressure in my face had started up a fresh headache, this time in a different spot than yesterday. The steady fall of rain that's been going all day started to peter out until it was down to a few heavy drops against my bedroom window. Whatever meager sunshine made its way through the clouds had gone, leaving my room shrouded in deep shadow broken up by the warm glow of the two lamps, one on my desk and the other on the nightstand. Once Jasper had finished his math homework, he started reading a book that was so tattered and dog eared, it might've been a first edition. The cover had faded so much that the title only became clear once I squinted my eyes and stared at it for a few seconds.
"I've never read True Grit, but my dad loves the movie adaptation with John Wayne and Glen Campbell. He watches Westerns all the time."
"Both are considered American classics, but I think the book is better. There's more…"
He trailed off and I immediately knew what he was going to say.
"Don't you dare…"
"...grit," he concluded, showing his perfect white teeth in a smile. "It's the only word that fits. You should read it sometime. I would offer to loan you my copy but it's a little worse for wear."
"Yeah, I noticed it was pretty worn out. How long have you had it?"
Jasper turned the book over in his hands, this way and that, to examine the nearly blank cover.
"A long time," he sighed, the smile fading. I had a hunch that he was thinking of his past, the part that Dr. Cullen referenced over a week ago in his office, but I don't pry. The still silence stretched out until my ears strain for the smallest sound to focus on. I'd like to know what his life was like in Texas, the things that he misses and the things he wishes he could forget. To know more completely the upbringing that's created the similarities and the differences between us.
"I guess I should head out before Edward has a conniption fit. He's worked himself into a tizzy about Bella already."
I'd wondered about Bella and the guy, Jacob Black, that'd whisked her away on a bike yesterday morning, though Jasper and Edward were apparently not fond of him in the slightest. I felt confident that Bella wouldn't cheat, but something was going on between the three of them and it had looked ugly.
"Thanks again for coming over. Maybe I'll be back at school before the week's over," I suggested optimistically.
"Oh, no you don't. Carlisle wrote your school excuse for the rest of the week. You're officially off the hook for the next three days. And I'll be by with the rest of your homework. Can't have all that tutoring go to waste." He casually leaned on the door frame, and although the lighting was dim, I could make out his nearly ever-present smirk. "Luckily, Mr. Savrda is the only teacher that's holding my attendance record against me."
"That's really not necessary–"
"Collins."
"I don't want you getting sick–"
"Collins."
Whatever else I had planned goes dry in my mouth. I'd see Jasper again, maybe each day that week. He was going to be here. With me. Alone. It's any girl's dream, mine too. If I weren't hell bent and determined to not let him know how I feel, that is. But some people just can't be told.
"I'll see you tomorrow. Good night."
"Night," I called after him, and in a few seconds, the door was closing, followed by the sound of his bike revving up in the short driveway. Lord help me.
The next day, after waking up around nine, showering, and getting dressed, I knew that if I didn't find something to keep myself preoccupied, I'd go stir-crazy; there's a fine line to walk with how much work I can do before the flu thoroughly kicks my ass. After a dose of DayQuil and Tamiflu, my first task was starting a load of laundry and folding the towels that were dried before we left on our spring break trip. I then texted Cara to inform her of my condition, but she already knew because of Dr. Cullen. I called Charlie at the station and nearly gave him a heart attack because he thought something was wrong. It's only after I convinced him that everything was okay and he didn't need to come check on me that he calmed down and wished me better health. Immediately following that, I texted Jasper and warned him to park his bike in the backyard away from the road in case Charlie cruises by to check in. I remembered the gun in Cara's room and grabbed it on the way back to bed for a little peace of mind until Jasper showed up. Just as I'd assumed, it had a loaded magazine with one in the chamber. Cara was not playing around with the threats of violence spreading to Forks, this much I know for sure.
Around lunch time, I kept checking the clock and wondering when Jasper would arrive until half past when I heard the distinct sound of a motorcycle engine. I made myself stay in bed instead of running to the blinds to watch him walk up the cement; the body aches make it a little easier to resist temptation. The back door swung open, letting in the sound of the rain pouring.
"Real gully washer out there," he remarked, taking off his jacket and hanging it over my desk chair while water dripped from the ends of his hair. He had to be freezing in a soaked shirt and jeans.
"You could've waited until later, once the rain let up," I laughed and pulled myself out from under the multiple blankets that were piled on my bed. Chillbumps rose all over my skin in the cool air. I grabbed a towel for him from the bathroom and started rummaging in my dresser for one of my old t-shirts that I usually wore instead of pajamas. I found a faded Auburn "Punt Bama Punt!" shirt with a hole in the sleeve. "I don't think I have any gym shorts that'd fit you but I can toss your clothes in the dryer if you want to–"
I stopped mid sentence while looking up and saw him turn around and peel off his shirt. The light from my desk lamp shone in just the right angle to faintly illuminate a scar like the one I saw on his arm during the dance. It was gone in a flash at the slightest movement, and I wondered if there were more and where they could have come from. My gaze traced the lines of muscle in his back and arms, then up to his neck and shoulders. I knew he was strong, strong enough to carry me across the parking lot and up a flight of stairs with relative ease, but I'd never seen him in a t-shirt, and I've definitely never seen him without a shirt. In my bedroom. Alone. I swallowed and looked away, my face burning so hotly that it put my fever to shame. I had to think about something else, some other emotion, before I embarrassed the crap out of myself. I settled on Matt, whose face conjured up enough anger and disgust that I should be set for the rest of the day.
"Um, if— if you want to take a shower," I finished.
"I'd appreciate it, if you don't mind," he turned back around and smiled at me and I had to think about something else. Matt. Matthew. Matthew Reese and his stupid, stupid face.
"There's towels under the sink and you're free to use anything in there," I busied myself with grabbing my calculus book and notebook from my desk, then acting like I was looking for a pencil until he exited to the hallway. "And toss your wet clothes outside the door!"
It's only then that I feel like I can breathe. He never told me what range he had for sensing and manipulating my mood, but I hazard a guess that being in the same building is close enough for both. Once I heard the bathroom door open and shut, along with the wet plop! of clothing, I tried to busy myself with the laundry and then worked on everything I'd missed in my other classes so far, so that when Jasper got out of the shower and fully clothed, we could go over math homework. He took about thirty minutes, which is fine by me because it gave enough time for his jeans to fully dry and for me to fold and return them outside the door after throwing his shirt and hoodie in for the next cycle. When he emerged wearing the faded blue shirt and jeans, barefoot and still towel drying his hair, my mouth went dry and I was struck by how…cute he looked. Yeah, that's the word, because usually when I see Jasper, it's at school and he holds himself with such a straight posture and has perpetual RBF. He's always hot, but just then, standing in my doorway, he'd looked more relaxed than I'd ever seen him, aside from the muscle in his jaw that's always, always, twitching.
"Auburn looks good on you," I said, and only realized after the words have exited my mouth that not everyone cares about intra-state football rivalries and my comment could come across different than intended.
"I'm more of a Texas A&M fan," he said, shrugging his shoulders and sitting at my desk.
"Ew, no. Y'all don't even have a fight song."
"We have a war hymn," he retorted, opening his notebook. I threw two air quotes up and recited the "Hullabaloo, Caneck" line of the so-called war hymn.
"Mhm, very intimidating," I drawled sarcastically, really only wanting to antagonize him than to start going toe to toe about season statistics. He threw a crumpled up piece of paper at my head, but I dodged it and laughed. And then he laughed and we both were in such a good mood that I hoped there was never another day that we had to be catty and rude to each other, because even if we can only be friends, I wanted to really be friends.
"Oh, I almost forgot," he reached into his bag and withdrew the Thermos from yesterday. Judging by the soft thud it made when he tossed it on my bed, it'd been filled with more chicken noodle soup. Again, I hadn't had much to eat that day, so I set my homework aside, grabbed the book I'd been reading, and took a break to drink the soup while hopefully finishing another chapter. When Jasper's done with his homework in a matter of minutes, it made me wonder what his plans for college were, since he seemed to have amazing grades and the financial support to afford him whatever opportunity he wanted. It's not something that we've ever talked about.
"Thanks for the soup."
Jasper shrugged and looked at me with a confused expression. I wracked my brain for what he could be thinking but came up empty.
"When I got in the shower," he started, and I have to think about calculus again, "you were upset about something. What was it?"
Oh, thank God that's all he seems to have picked up, because I can explain it away easily and truthfully, for the most part.
"It was Matthew. The idea of him has a strong effect on my mood; I'm sure you can understand that."
"Is he bothering you again?" he asked, and I had the feeling he's gearing up to bust his lip again.
"No, the only thing he does is stare at me during class, but I can handle that."
We both lulled back into a comfortable silence until I finished the last bit of the soup, which tasted even better than before. I was distinctly aware of him watching me while trying to act like he's not watching me, and the effect it had is much different than when Matt blatantly eyes me in English.
"I guess it's time for calculus, isn't it?" I asked, and reluctantly pulled my math book back into my lap. I had a little nest of blankets due to ward off the chills sticking around, along with books and my computer so I could stay occupied until this darn flu left me for good. Jasper cleared a small space and got situated, notebook open and turned to the current section. "I think I just need help on these two, if you can give me a hint on how to solve them."
I watched as his hand moved over the paper, writing small corrections but not revealing the answer so I can try to work it out. The second time he checked them, they're completely correct, and I feel a little pride in the fact that I've gotten better at my least favorite subject. The rain outside picked up right around the time he finished checking my work, lightning flashing across an already dark sky. Thunder rumbled intermittently and the electricity gave a little flicker, but ended up staying on.
"I don't think it's safe for you to head home in this weather," I finally said after listening to a particularly loud combo of thunder and lightning. I only counted two seconds between them each.
"Collins, it'd take a lot more than a thunderstorm to do me in," he glanced at me and the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk.
"Yeah, well, you're not super-human, so please, just indulge me and wait for it to let up," my words are punctuated by another loud crack of lightning flashing across the sky. "Wanna watch a movie? I already watched A Walk to Remember yesterday and thoroughly cried my eyes out, so unless you want to see that happen again, we can pick something else."
"Not unless you have a hankerin' for crying, I guess."
I scrolled through the video library on my computer and settled on Red Eye, a thriller about a woman trying to outwit a terrorist on a plane to Miami. Near the end, Jasper checked out and picked up his tattered copy of True Grit, while I saw it through until the end. Honestly, it was a little predictable but I enjoyed it all the same.
"Not a fan of Rachel McAdams? Or is it Cillian Murphy that doesn't do it for you?" I poked his arm, careful not to touch skin.
"I like them both fine. I just saw the end coming."
"And you don't know how your book is going to end even though you've read it I don't know how many times?" I asked incredulously. He was nearly done with it, though it didn't look like that long of a book.
"This is a classic, Collins. Surely even you can appreciate the value in reading a book more than once."
"And just what is that supposed to mean?" I tried to feign hurt at his purposefully vexing insinuation, but his mouth curved into a playful smile and I couldn't keep a straight face. "You're such an ass, you know."
My insult doesn't faze him at all.
"Have you even thought about reading it?"
"No, but I've seen the movie. My dad loves it, remember?"
He rolled his eyes and flipped back to the first page.
"You've gotta read it. It's got everything you could want: the Wild West, a strong female lead, and revenge, which I presume you enjoy because you checked out The Count of Monte Cristo. Did I mention the Wild West?"
I thought back to that day in the library when he'd retrieved the book too far above my head. It was only a few months ago, but so much had happened between then and now that it felt like forever.
"I don't know. Westerns haven't ever been my thing unless they're in movie form, and even then it's only a select few."
He rolled his eyes, so annoyed, so thoroughly exasperated with me putting off his book suggestion that I felt the tinges of annoyance myself. I'd rarely felt his unintentional influence on my mood except for extraordinary circumstances. Turns out that protesting the Western genre is extraordinary.
"Come on. I'll even read it to you; you'll get the full Texan experience."
"You're not gonna let up on this, are you?" I asked, but felt a little fluttery at the idea.
"Like hell I will."
"Ugh, fine."
I pulled the topmost blanket around my shoulders and scooted closer so I could follow along as he read. I wondered if he even thought twice about how close we sat on my bed, but he was always so sure of himself. It was close enough that I could smell my laundry detergent and lavender soap on the shirt he borrowed and his skin, respectively, and the faint scent of tobacco. I'd never taken him as a tobacco user, though the scent was always there. Maybe it was some faint note in the cologne he wore, but whatever it was, I really liked it.
"Ready?"
"Mhm."
"'People do not give it credence that a fourteen-year old girl could leave home and go off in the wintertime to avenge her father's blood but it did not seem so strange then, although I will say it did not happen every day…'"
I settled in for the story and tried my best to visualize like I do when I read, but if I'm being honest with myself, there's no way that I could focus when Jasper was so near and the sound of his voice was so soothing. He's right about a Texan accent making the book even better and I noted the ways that it was different from my own. I'd been familiar enough with the story that it's easy to skip over some of the details, and at the point when Rooster Cogburn is giving Mattie a drunken lesson about how serving papers to rats doesn't work— though he isn't really talking about rats— I started to feel exceptionally drowsy. It's his voice and the lighting and the rain and the fuzzy blanket and this cussed flu. It's the warm feeling swirling around in my stomach that comes around when Jasper's in an agreeable mood. It's everything. I made it to the halfway point before I dozed off. I knew that my head was drooping onto Jasper's shoulder, but he didn't mention it, didn't even act as if he noticed, and I took that as a good enough reason to not care either.
It's really dark. That was my first thought when I opened my eyes in my room, shrouded in shadow after sunset. The rain continued drumming against the roof, a steady murmur in the otherwise quiet night. My vision slowly adjusted to the moonlight streaming in through the open blinds, casting streaks over the floor. The next thought was about how dry my mouth felt. In the middle of trying to swallow as much spit as possible to alleviate my equally parched throat— still halfway between awake and asleep— I noticed a pale hand in front of my face, gripping a paperback novel. Immediately, I registered a weight across my midsection and the sound of someone else's breathing. After the smallest instance of panic, my memory started to clear.
Jasper.
It couldn't be. There was no way on this Earth that—
I slowly rolled over to confirm or deny my suspicions, only to come face to face with the one guy I'd developed a huge crush on, sound asleep in my bed. Stuff like this only happened in rom-coms and romance novels; it did not happen to me.
Moonlight washed over Jasper's skin and hair, illuminating him in a soft white glow. The features of his face that were usually set in a scowl or a smirk or occasionally, a genuine smile, rested in a peaceful expression I'd yet to see on him. For the first time, I could examine everything that made his face so excruciatingly perfect: the thick, dark lashes above perpetual dark purple circles, flawlessly smooth pale skin, and full lips set in a neutral line. A blonde lock of hair fell over his face, resting against his tall, straight nose; I reached up to tuck it behind his ear. He stirred, pulling me closer until my body pressed against his. He must have thought I was a pillow. My breathing stilled as his hand skimmed over my spine before coming to a stop at the small of my back. It wasn't until my lungs started burning that I allowed myself to breathe again. His scent filled my nose, causing a thick fog to swirl around my mind. It was exhausting, constantly keeping up a metaphorical wall around my emotions to lock them in and lock him out. Now that he was asleep, I could take a break and let it down, succumbing to the intoxicating feeling that drifted through my brain. My arm rested over his shoulder, now that there was virtually no room between us.
My chest thudded painfully with each shuddering beat of my heart, loud enough in my ears that it drowned out the sound of our breathing. Jasper's hands were always freezing, but even now, snuggled against each other, there was no warmth coming from his body. It would have been concerning if my mind hadn't been dulled of rational thought by how nicely he smelled. I grabbed the edge of my fuzzy blanket and tugged it over us, hoping it'd be enough to warm him up. Maybe I should have woken him and sent him home with a cup of coffee for good measure. Or called Dr. Cullen to let him know that we'd both accidentally fallen asleep (in separate places of course) and that Jasper would be home first thing in the morning. But it was already past midnight, my eyelids were getting heavier by the second, and damn it, it felt too good, being wrapped in his arms like that. We would handle the consequences in the morning, I decided, burying my face in the crook of his neck and letting the sound of his breathing lull me back to sleep.
The next morning, just before ten, I awoke to the other side of my bed vacant of hot men that were exceptionally good at calculus. In the open space was the t-shirt I'd lent Jasper and his tattered copy of True Grit. I didn't remember him leaving, but I did remember waking up to find him in my bed sometime last night; the thought made my stomach flip uncontrollably. What would happen the next time we saw each other? What if he'd woken up to us intertwined and freaked out? I couldn't entertain the alternate possibility that he'd been happy to wake up in my bed, given our history of not getting along.
As if my poor stomach hadn't been through enough with the antivirals and copious amounts of Excedrin and DayQuil, it didn't benefit from my brain vacillating between the memory of Jasper's fingers running along my back and the prediction of how he might react when I saw him later that day.
It was only exacerbated by the text he sent hours later, that he couldn't come by today, but maybe tomorrow after school. It nearly sent me into a panic attack. I had to tell someone or else I'd absolutely lose my mind worrying. There was only one person whose secrecy and advice I trusted. I postponed the call until after eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a glass of sweet tea and a shower. Angela wouldn't be able to answer until her lunch period anyway.
"Hello? Is everything okay?" her voice echoed as the sound of her locking the stall door came through the phone.
"Yeah, nothing's wrong per say but something happened and I'm freaking out a little," I said, trying my best to keep my voice from rising an octave. It really wasn't a big deal and in the grand scheme of things; people around the world were dying and I had bigger fish to fry (studying!), but needed to get it off my chest just the same.
"So uh, Jasper kind of stayed over last night."
"He WHAT?"
I pulled the phone away from my ear as I heard a loud smack! There was a scramble and then the sound of slightly rushed breathing.
"Sorry, I just dropped my phone on the bathroom floor."
"Ew, gross."
"Yeah, but did you just tell me Jasper spent the night at your house?" Angela answered in a loud-whisper that would hopefully be difficult for anyone to hear should they also enter the bathroom. I pulled a hand through my still damp hair, trying to work out the tangles in my brain and hair simultaneously.
"It's not like that," I started, hoping that telling her hadn't been the wrong choice. "He came over with my homework and we were studying and then we were reading and the next thing I knew, we both fell asleep on my bed."
It's the truth, but even to my own ears, it sounded contrived. I decided to leave out the whole part about him stripping half naked and then wearing my old t-shirt. Recalling it flooded my stomach with warmth I didn't feel like sharing.
"When I woke up this morning, he had already left and he's since texted me that he can't come by today. I'm trying to figure out how much I should be freaking out, if any at all."
Angela let out a long sigh into the receiver, then made a humming noise.
"That's a tough one. Who fell asleep first?"
"Me. I kind of nodded off with my head on his shoulder," I added in that bit, and it made my stomach do a little flip.
"Oh my gosh, that's so cute. He could actually like you, Collins; it's not that far-fetched. He and Edward are both absent today, so he's probably not coming by because of a family thing. You know they miss allllll the time," she paused there, then continued. "Come to think of it, Edward has been in a horrible mood since Monday."
Monday, the day Bella left school with that Jacob Black dude and Edward was pissed off.
"You're right, I'm probably overthinking that text," I conceded, forcing myself to think positively. "What should I do the next time I see him?"
"Just do whatever you feel like doing. The worst he could do is turn you down."
It sure hadn't felt that way, though if you had asked me what could happen that would be worse than him turning me down, I wouldn't be able to think of a reasonable example. And I couldn't decide on what I wanted to do the next time I saw him. In a perfect world, I'd tell him how I was feeling and we would work it out, but this world, and I, are not perfect by a long shot. Talking to Angela alleviated some of my anxiety but it didn't give me a clear answer.
I needed something to do to occupy my mind for the rest of the day. The worn-out copy of True Grit remained atop my folded t-shirt. I'd assumed it was important to Jasper, given that he hadn't offered to let me borrow it while insisting I should read it. I gingerly picked it up, being careful to not bend any of the already worn corners. The last part of the story I remembered when he read it aloud was Mattie crossing the river after Cogburn and LaBoeuf kept her from taking the boat across. I knew the general high points of the story, but couldn't remember the details about how she had gotten into the predicament in the first place. It was a short book, less than 300 pages and the type wasn't very small. I had plenty of time on my hands given that Jasper wouldn't be stopping by. I refilled my glass of tea and settled into my bed, which was becoming my main spot during recovery.
The story was simple enough: Mattie Ross seeks out to employ a US Marshal to track down the man that killed her father in cold-blood. She teams up with a one-eyed, drunken ex-Confederate, based on his reputation for having true grit, and a Texas Ranger that thinks mighty highly of himself. The story is written from Mattie's point of view, Arkansas dialect and all. She tells it so plainly, but with plenty of detail that you could imagine yourself in what was once called Indian Territory, hunting down the coward and his band of thieves. It's the only thing that I did for the rest of the evening, and by the time I finished the story, my eyes were so tired from reading— and crying— that I could barely make out the time on my alarm clock. If I hadn't got teared up at the death of Little Blackie and Rooster Cogburn, my sinuses would have been nearly clear, but once again they'd become congested and swollen. I decided to take another shower before bed to hopefully get the snot moving again and to give me a little more time to shamelessly get cried out. I was probably hormonal, which didn't help my mental deliberation in the slightest.
I took my time rather than only having a quick shower since it was the first time I felt up to it all week. I washed my hair and conditioned it, shaved my legs, and even used a eucalyptus & spearmint body scrub Cara had gotten me for Christmas. It helped my sinuses clear along with the steam; I felt like a new person by the time I emerged from the bathroom, hair in a towel and plush robe tied around my clean body. My sickly-pale coloring had gradually returned to its light-golden post-spring break tan. I towel dried my hair until it was only slightly damp and braided it out of the way. There was one more thing that I needed to revisit before sleeping: Things About the Cullens that Don't Geehaw. I'd resolved #2, the interaction of mine and Jasper's empathic abilities, and I technically had an answer for #4, why the Cullens had left for several months, but the answer wasn't satisfactory. The rest of the original items (#1, Cullen Effect, #3 synchronous perfect features, and #5, bad vibes from Edward) had yet to be resolved. There were a few that needed to be added, and I tried to remember the details as I wrote them down:
The Cullens and Hales = alarm bells in my head.
Jasper makes my empathic abilities go haywire.
They all look strangely alike (skin, teeth, eye color), but also not (hair color, features, stature)
They all left for a few months and then came back after Bella went to find them.
Edward gives me bad vibes.
Bella lacks emotion
Jasper never eats
The Cullens don't go to LaPush
Jasper's mood swings
Jacob Black (see #8)
Jacob Black was added as an afterthought. He seemed harmless enough, but it was too odd to be a coincidence that we'd seen Sam Uley and his band of Hollister models at the beach, and then Jacob showed up at school. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that Jacob had been one of the friends that was cliff jumping that weekend, I just hadn't known at the time to pay him much attention. The way Sam had looked at me, like I was growing two heads before abruptly ending our conversation and running off, still stayed etched in my mind. It was a little embarrassing. Did I smell? Had I had something on my face? Were my boobs falling out of my swimsuit top? All answers to those questions were likely a no, but one could never be too sure. And then there was the fact that Jessica said the Cullens never went to La Push. I hadn't thought of it all that weird except in terms of Edward not going even when Bella invited him. They really were inseparable, until Jacob showed up and toted Bella away on his bike. Edward was understandably mad, but was that because his girlfriend was hanging out with another guy, or was it more personal than that? Maybe it had something to do with why they avoided the beach.
The NyQuil started kicking in, making my mind feel a little sluggish and my eyes heavy. There was something I was missing, some piece that would probably explain everything on my list, I just didn't know what it was yet.
Friday morning, when I woke up, my stomach had unanimously decided it would be excited about seeing Jasper rather than anxious about what to do when he got here. I was feeling better too, thanks to all the medicine and the adequate rest I'd had. I changed out my bedding, started more laundry, and spent the time between each drying cycle to give the house a general straightening-up so that Cara wouldn't return back to a pig's sty on Sunday. By the time all of the usual household chores were completed, I had just enough time and energy to shower and get dressed for the day.
Outside, the sky was overcast, like normal, but not nearly as dark as it had been earlier in the week. A light drizzle of rain coated everything in a thin sheen of water. It was the kind of rain that tended to make you mad; just enough to be a bother but not enough to warrant turning on the windshield wipers when driving. I grabbed a fresh blanket from the pile we kept in the living room and pulled out an old thrift store book that'd been in my "to-read" stack for months. It would have been nice to get my mind off of Jasper, but it took rereading the same page three times before the setting of the story really stuck enough to continue. And just when I started to form a picture in my brain of the main character, the sound of Jasper's motorcycle turning onto my street broke my concentration. Butterflies beat their wings mightily inside my stomach. The sensation wasn't foreign to me, but I hadn't expected it to be so strong. It demanded my attention and focus to tamp down those feelings before it was too late. I bit my tongue and my cheek, pressed my fingernails into my palms until they left little crescent imprints, even held my breath for ten seconds. The butterflies subdued themselves to a restless ruffle. It was the best I could do before opening the front door.
Jasper stood there in a gray t-shirt, jeans, boots that he wore more often than not, and a quintessential rain jacket every Forks's resident wouldn't leave the house without. When I'd started noticing details about him, like the shoes he wore, I couldn't tell you. But then again, when you see only one person for several days at a time, you start to pick up on those things. Especially when you have a slight crush on said person. His hair was damp from the misting rain; he ran a hand through it, which only made him look more attractive in a messy, rugged way. The butterflies were prepared to take flight again. I squashed them back down.
"Hey," I said, softly grinning because although I could subdue the butterflies, I couldn't act as if I wasn't happy to see him. "You made it."
"Of course I did. You're all sick and whatnot. Gotta make sure you don't spontaneously perish," he said all of this so casually that the nervousness I'd experienced since waking up melted into nothing. He matched my smile and stepped through the door, taking off his jacket and placing it on one of the wall pegs, like he lived here. Like he was used to coming here. Which, after nearly a week of bringing me food and homework, he probably was. So falling asleep on my bed the other night either meant absolutely nothing or it absolutely meant something but Jasper was too cool to act like it was a big deal. I couldn't decide which was worse. If it meant something, then we'd eventually have to address it; on the other hand, if it meant nothing, then—
Well, I guessed that would be best, even though the thought turned my stomach into a lead ball. It didn't matter that I'd be out of state in two months; the idea that Jasper could be so indifferent as to be able to spend this last week together, to sleep beside each other no matter how accidental it had been, and think nothing of it. I didn't want to consider that possibility, no matter how much I needed to.
"Collins?"
We were still standing in the foyer, the sound of the rain kicking up into a loud pitter-patter. Jasper reached past me to close the door, shutting out the cold, damp air; I held my breath, knowing that if I breathed him in, it would set the butterflies aflutter once more. I needed to avoid that until I could decide what to do and how to feel.
"We can start on calculus homework if you want. Our exam is next week after all."
I returned to my spot on the living room couch, the nest of pillows and blankets to keep out the lingering winter chill. There wasn't enough room for two people, which was good. Friends didn't have to sit so closely to each other, especially friends that had a hard time regularly coexisting. The homework was simple enough — mostly a conglomeration of the material we'd already covered. I split my concentration between not looking at Jasper and finishing each problem. But every few minutes, I couldn't resist stealing a glance — couldn't resist noticing how the warm light from the lamp bounced off the golden strands of hair that fell into his face, or the focused look in his eyes as he scanned over his notes. The way his hand steadily moved over the page, answering each question correctly. I steered my gaze back to my own problems, intent on not letting the emotional block, the one that I had built up brick by brick, come tumbling down. I would deal with my feelings later when he was out of range.
"How's Edward? You mentioned something about him having a conniption fit over you being out late the other night?"
The day before you fell asleep in my bed.
I hoped that the conversation would keep even more of my mind occupied as I finished up the last calculus problem.
"He's…Edward. Dramatic as usual and moody as ever."
"Still sulking about Bella and Jacob?" I asked. He looked up, meeting my eyes, and I watched the slight movement of his jaw, the curiosity that flashed over his face for only a split second.
"Uh, yeah. I guess. We haven't really talked about it much."
How could they not, I wondered, after seeing how pitiful Edward had looked. Sure, Cara and I didn't share all of our feelings, but there was no way I could act so mopey around her without an interrogation at some point. Maybe it was different with adopted siblings, maybe it was different with brothers. I had very little perspective for either.
"What about you and Cara? Have things gotten better since- you know…"
Since Matthew Reese tried to forcefully drag me from the Valentine's dance after spiking my drink with several ounces of vodka, planning to do only God knows what with my incapacitated body?
"Mhm, we always make up in the end. Kind of hard to stay mad at someone when you live and work with them. We're just too stubborn for our own good sometimes."
"You? Stubborn? Naw."
I grabbed the nearest throw pillow and made good on its name, hurling it across the room at him. Of course, it took no more than a flick of his hand to knock it away, laughing the entire time. A rich, full laugh that reverberated in my chest.
"Don't start getting too big for your britches. You're stubborn as a mule on your best day," I couldn't keep that same laughter out of my own voice. It felt like the sun had come out just in the room, warming me from head to toe.
"And on my worst day?"
"Downright unbearable."
Jasper huffed good-naturedly, closing his textbook and reclining, never taking his eyes off of me. I returned the look, noting the way his fingers curled and uncurled around nothing but air. This banter, if that was what it was, only made the decision to shut him out even more confusing. Things had gotten so much more amicable between us in the last few weeks. From supporting me at the police station to coming by every day to keep me company rather than just dropping off my homework and leaving right away. He'd brought me food and watched a movie and read me a book. And fell asleep on my bed; I wouldn't be forgetting that any time soon. Maybe giving it, giving us, a chance wasn't the worst idea ever. Unless he didn't feel the same way, in which case I would ask Sam Uley about the lethality of jumping from the cliffs at La Push.
There was a chime, Jasper's phone, that pulled me from my thoughts and grabbed his attention.
"Speaking of the devil," he muttered, then rose to his feet in one fluid motion. "I should get going. He'll have a fit if I'm late for supper again."
Damn Edward, I thought. I just wanted a little more time, just a few minutes more of the lighthearted conversation that was hard for us both to come by with each other.
"Oh! I almost forgot. You left your book."
The other night when you fell asleep in my bed after reading to me.
By the time I had retrieved the book from my bedside table and started back down the stairs, Jasper stood at the door with his jacket on and his bag slung over his shoulder. I handed him the worn out paperback, careful to not damage it any further.
"I read it," I blurted out, wanting to stretch out our conversation as much as possible.
"And what did you think?"
"I—," I thought for a moment about how it felt reading the book for the first time, so I could be honest. "I actually really liked it."
Jasper examined the cover, as if checking for any new tears or creases and stuffed it into the interior pocket of his jacket before meeting my eyes.
"You cried, didn't you?" his mouth tugged upward in a knowing grin. Was I that predictable?
"Only at the end when Little Blackie's heart gives out. I can't stand animal deaths."
He nodded, like maybe he had once cried at that part too, but not since he was a kid.
"It was all a part of the effort to save Maddie."
"I know, but she was just a pony; she didn't understand."
"A loyal horse will do what's best for its rider, no matter what the cost," he said, a hint of sadness entering his voice. He cleared his throat and put on a smile. "Are you feeling well enough to stay by yourself until Cara gets back?
I nodded, wishing in a weird way that I would get just a little sicker again. He tilted his head slightly and placed a finger under my chin to lean my head back and examine my face, much like he had on Monday.
"Clear eyes, minimal redness, no stiffness of the neck," he turned my face this way and that, until I couldn't hold back a small laugh. The ends of his fingers drifted to both sides of my neck as he leaned down to get a closer look, a shit-eating grin pulling the corners of his mouth up. "Your lymph nodes aren't swollen anymore. That's good."
Silliness I'd felt at his mock examination faded the closer his face got to mine. The foyer felt even smaller with us standing so close together; when I inhaled, his scent filled my nose, clouding my brain and just as potent as always. It was all the more difficult to keep a pathokenetic wall up while thinking through the haze, coupled with his hands on my skin. I was slipping, all efforts to regain any semblance of control faltered while I watched the color of Jasper's eyes fade from a light butterscotch to a warm amber. A tugging sensation, like an invisible line pulling me forward, started in my chest. The slightest guidance of his fingers turned my head in the direction of his lips, which had gradually relaxed into an expression similar to when he'd been asleep. Everything came to a standstill, even the rain outside stopped momentarily. My pulse thudded in my ears so loudly that I wondered if he could possibly hear it, though that was preposterous; humans couldn't hear each other's heartbeats.
"Edward'll be mad if you're late," I whispered, afraid to break whatever spell had fallen over us in the last thirty seconds. That tugging sensation brought us closer until there weren't inches, but only centimeters of space. His breath, cool as the spring breeze, fanned over my face, slowing my thoughts like molasses in December.
"To hell with what he thinks," he whispered back.
There was no more space as he finished saying those words. His smooth lips brushed mine, sending a shiver running up my spine and into my skull while warmth flooded the rest of my body. Electricity sparked everywhere his hands touched me as they slowly moved to rest at the back of my neck, holding me steady. I was kissing Jasper Hale; Jasper Hale was kissing me. It couldn't have lasted more than five seconds, but for all I knew, it was an eternity before we parted.
It wasn't enough; I leaned in again, savoring the tingle that crept over my skin as my lips touched his for the second time. One hand tangled into my hair while the other arm slid around my waist, pulling my body to him until there was more of us touching than not. My own hands grasped at his shirt, his jacket, anything that'd give me better leverage to press my mouth harder against his because, God, he tasted just as good as he smelled, just as intoxicating. Any alarm bells at the back of my mind were too heavily blanketed by mist to be noticed.
Several things happened at once, or at least so closely together, they seemed simultaneous. Whatever remaining rein I had over my emotions dissolved as I ran my tongue along Jasper's bottom lip, tasting smoke and the sweet burn of whiskey. A strangled noise from his throat cleared the slightest bit of fog at the edges of my brain, aided by a sharp tug on my hair and a borderline painful squeeze of my hip. Suddenly, we were fully separated and both gasping for fresh air. With clean oxygen filling my lungs and a clearer mind, I had enough sense to feel embarrassed at getting carried away, regardless of how it may have been reciprocated. Jasper's own wide eyed expression was enough to make my face burn.
"Sorry, I–"
Before I could get the rest of my apology out, he was halfway out the door, slamming it shut hard enough to rattle the surrounding windows.
A/N: Good news: school is out so I'll have more time to write. Bad news: I got pink-slipped from my teaching job. More good news: I've unofficially accepted a position at a different school that I'm super excited about. More bad news: it may require some training this summer.
No matter what happens, I'll continue to update as soon as possible. This chapter was pretty long, and there were a lot of details I've tweaked until I was satisfied enough to post. I hope everyone enjoys ;)
PS: I think it's time for another Jasper POV chapter. All in favor?