A/N: I wanted to thank everyone for their comments. I know the story has taken a turn they didn't like. Perhaps Anya needs to grow up, maybe she and Jasper need to have a talk. But ... relationships are messy. That's reality. And Anya thought she was being mature. This might be the straw that breaks the camel's back - her wake up call as it were for her to realize she needs to re-evaluate her position as the passive reader. That, and i needed to create conflict. The entire premise of this fanfic was 'and the Cullens took to various pursuits' out east while Bella mourned and healed her way through New Moon back in Forks. It can't all be perfect for Anya and her vampire lover Jasper.
Let's see how our couple work their way through this...

Chapter 17: Possessive

APOV

December 2005, Catskills, NY

There are a lot of unknowns when living with a vampire. Minefields you must navigate, parts of life that Meyer glossed over under the theme of 'suspend disbelief'. Like the fact that a vampire's presence can fill a room with tension, or that their very existence constantly tugs at the threads of reality in ways I wasn't prepared for. But there was one thing I did know about living with a vampire. Or at least, with an empathic vampire.

He's a goddamn walking polygraph machine. And I hated that I… well, it wasn't a lie, per se. More like a half-truth, or maybe something I hadn't fully admitted to myself yet. Because the thing is, intellectually, I knew that he and Alice would do whatever it took to get through this awful limbo Edward had imposed on his family. The whole thing was one big, emotional mess, with Edward at the centre, pulling strings like an emotionally stunted 17-year-old. Which, of course, he was.

Are we getting any closer? I mused. When does the plot change, when does the damsel get her time in the spotlight to save the hero? Because that's what this feels like—a never-ending wait, inching closer to some inevitable climax where everything is supposed to make sense. But the waiting? It's suffocating.

To be honest, I'm surprised it took Jasper and Alice as long as it did to give in to their vampiric instincts. Almost three months. I mean, kudos to them. But I knew that eventually Edward—because it's always Edward—would do something only an emotionally stunted 17-year-old would do, and that would tip the scales, and…

Well, I don't need to spell it out.

And I knew Jasper would need me to comfort him, to tell him it was okay. And as the passive reader looking down on the situation, I completely understood it. I told him it was okay. Because in the grand scheme of things, I really did understand. I could see the way the story was unfolding, and I knew my part in it was that of the passive reader. Don't make ripples let things play out.

But I sure as hell didn't like it.

I told him I didn't care. Which, again, I didn't—not in the logical, detached way. But there's this other part of me, the part that's still so very human, so very female, and Jasper… he brings out this primal instinct in me. Vampire—mine. It's a feeling that's hard to explain, but it's there, thrumming just under the surface, something ancient and instinctual that flares up whenever I think about him being with anyone else, even if that someone is Alice.

An instinct I wondered if it bordered on what mated vampires feel for each other. Except I'm still human. And that difference—it's not just biological, it's everything. Jasper and I are worlds apart, not just in species, but in the very fabric of our existence. He's seen centuries past, lived through things I can barely comprehend, and here I am, just trying to make sense of my place in his world. A fictional world. Although, I was technically from the future. There was that in my favour.

But I digress.

That instinct, that primal, possessive urge, it's not something I can just shut off. It's what made me slap him—not out of anger, but out of a need to snap him out of his self-loathing, to remind him that no matter what happened with Alice, he is mine. Even if I'm just human. Even if I'll never truly understand the depth of what he feels, what he needs.

And so, I told him it was okay. I told him I didn't care. But as I sit here, days later, contemplating having a shower while he's out running, I can't help but feel the simmering conflict beneath the surface. My boyfriend had sex with his ex-lover. Sex I could not provide for him. Because while I might understand the situation intellectually, the emotional reality is something else entirely. It's messy, and it's painful, and it's complicated in ways that don't fit neatly into the story Meyer had written. Which, in a twisted way, kinda made sense. Because the plot is about a vampire and a human. Not a vampire, human, and vampire love triangle.

Although there was Team…

Nope. Passive reader. Don't let on what you know is happening back in good ol' Forks.

I cut that thought off before it could spiral any further. I need to stay focused on our story, on what's happening here and now, not what's playing out on the pages back in Forks. But it's hard not to think about it, not to compare the melodrama of that story with the mess I'm living in now. The difference is, I'm not just reading this story—I'm living it. Every moment, every decision, it all carries weight, and sometimes I wish I could just flip ahead to see how it ends.

But I can't. I'm here, stuck in the middle of it, with all the uncertainty and raw emotions that come with it. The intellectual understanding, the logic, that's all well and good, but it doesn't make the pain any less real. It doesn't make the possessiveness any less powerful. And it sure as hell doesn't make the situation with Jasper and Alice any easier to swallow. My boyfriend had sex with his ex-lover. Wild crazy vampire sex.

Would it be wrong of me to want to take to the bottle tonight? I mean, after everything that's been happening, a drink—or several—seems like a reasonable coping mechanism. I could drown out the lingering doubts, the what-ifs, the very real fear that Alice and Jasper may need to commune with nature again.

But then, there's the question of whether my liver can handle it. I mean, I'm still human, after all, and binge-drinking my way through this existential crisis might not be the healthiest option. Yet, the idea is so tempting, like a shortcut to a few hours of numbness, a brief respite from the constant churn of emotions.

And then there's Jasper. Could my vampire handle it?

He's an empath, a walking polygraph machine who feels everything around him more intensely than anyone should. Every flicker of sadness, every spike of jealousy, every ounce of my pain—I might as well just wear a sandwich board: "JEALOUS GIRLFRIEND". Would my drunken haze wash over him, pulling him into the storm of emotions I'd be trying to escape? Or worse, would it amplify his own guilt, his own conflict, until we're both drowning in it?

I told him it was okay. I told him I understood. And at the time, I believed it. Hell, I convinced myself it was true because anything else would mean admitting just how much it hurt. But now, I'm left questioning my own sanity. How can I expect him to feel remorse when I practically handed him the permission slip? I encouraged him to comfort Alice, to be there for her in her time of need. What the hell was I thinking? Did I really believe I was strong enough to handle the aftermath? Or was I just fooling myself into thinking I could rise above my own insecurities? Or worse, did I think that Alice requiring comfort was such a remote possibility that we would laugh over this once we were back in Forks?

I wish he could have comforted Alice without it leading to that. Without spending the entire night with her, without feeling the need to bathe in a freezing creek to wash away her scent before coming back to me. The image of him standing in that cold water, scrubbing away the evidence of their time together—it haunts me. It's a stark reminder of the physical reality of their connection, a reality I now have to live with.

Is this going to be a weekly thing? Can I expect Alice to just show up whenever, and off into the woods they race, staying out all night because they're vampires—indestructible and free from the need for sleep or hydration? God, what do I say to Alice when she flits into our cabin next time? "Did you have fun the other night with my boyfriend?" Or do I just pretend it didn't happen? What the hell was I thinking, saying I would be okay with this? With wild vampire sex.

Ugh, why the hell did Alice have to show up at our doorstep the other week? Or more importantly, why the hell did we have to run into Edward earlier that night?

I've never been cheated on before. Does it count as cheating if I all but gave him a hall pass? I thought I was being mature, understanding, but now I'm left with this gnawing pain, this jealousy that eats at me. I wanted to be the bigger person, to show that I trusted him, but instead, I feel like I've betrayed myself. I don't know how to navigate this, how to reconcile my love for him with the hurt I'm feeling. All I know is that I can't keep pretending I'm okay when I'm not.

I find myself in the shower, sitting on the bench, choking on all the emotions I've tried to swallow: the jealousy that claws its way to the surface, the bitterness that leaves a metallic tang in my mouth, the ache of knowing there's a memory out there, fresh and vivid, where they're tangled together, lost in something I'll never have a part of. Wild, crazy vampire sex. The kind of thing she probably knows how to do better than me. Because hello – she's a damn vampire and I'm a human.

The thought of it burns in a way I can't put into words. It's not just anger or sadness—it's this nauseating mix of both, a storm I can't outrun. I find myself racing out of the shower to be sick in the toilet. Why the fuck should I feel such guilt? I didn't do anything wrong! I didn't race off into the woods all night.

No, I just forced him to have the conversation with me and now I must reap what I sow. If there is blame to be had, it's with me.

I can't even blame Edward for this.

I am sitting on the bathroom floor, water dripping around me, hugging the toilet as my body ejects what I am feeling.

I am so thankful Jasper is out running. But I need to clean up soon. I can't let him see me this way. I can't let him feel it, can't let it bleed out and consume us both. Because that's what would happen. If I don't get it together before he returns home, if he feels what I am currently feeling in this moment as I purge myself of my feelings, it will wreck him. And God help me, I don't want to wreck him.

Mais Sacrament! I want to scream, to rage, to slam the door on this whole goddamn situation and just let myself feel. I don't want to have to rage in secret. I don't want to have to time my ugly crying for when he goes out to run, or when he hunts. I just want to let go for one night, to not care about the consequences, to silence that inner voice that keeps telling me to be strong and understanding and patient. That voice can go to hell. It doesn't know what it's like to carry this weight, to feel like you're in competition with someone who isn't even here but is still so present, so unavoidable.

Which leads me back to wanting to hit the bottle because, God, oblivion sounds great right about now. Do I have time for that? Can I binge drink myself into passing out before he gets home? No, I can't do that because I've never done that. When I have drunk myself into oblivion, he has always been here in the cabin. So, for him to come home from a run to a passed-out Anya on the couch would probably be a red flag, and then he'd be eaten with guilt. More so than he currently is.

I find myself getting dressed and putting my game face on. Jasper will be home soon, and he cannot see how hurt I am. I truly am a special kind of stupid to ever think this was a good idea and I can handle it.

Merde!