Entry tags:

fanfiction :: twilight :: jacob/bella, fanmix :: twilight :: jacob/bella

Happy Birthday seeyouupside

Now I wait/Wish these thoughts would go away/I hope
I dream of you/Cause it's taking my life away/No I don't hate/But these
thoughts won't go away/I hope I dream of you/Cause it's taking my life away

The nights are the worst. During the day, he can surrender to the animal inside, give in to the instincts and let them take control. But at night, when he finally curls up to rest, the only person in his head is himself. The wolf goes to sleep.

Jacob Black dreams of home.

He dreams of his brothers, his father, his family

He dreams of walking on two legs, talking and laughing.

And, of course, he dreams of her.

Come on, you could change me/You could
steal me/You could turn all the lights on/And show me the real me/Then maybe,
if I'm lucky/You'll offer me protection/You could even heal me/Just
meet me at my window/With the darkness, coming down/I could use your, saving now

He dreams that he’s standing on her lawn in the middle of the night, tossing rocks at her window like a character from a clichéd teen movie. She appears (alone) throwing back the curtains, laughing and scolding him for making so much noise. He gestures for her to join him, to jump down through the night. He tells her not to worry, he’ll catch her. She chuckles quietly again, her face breaking into a wide smile. Her brown hair waves at him as she shakes her head back and forth, then disappears from view. Seconds tick by until, finally, the front door slowly creaks open and Bella appears in her bathrobe.

“Have you lost your mind?” she hisses playfully. She really is happy to see him.

“Maybe,” he concedes. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just sleeping. You know, that thing that normal people do at night.” She reaches out and pokes him in the shoulder. “Why aren’t you?” He shrugs.

“Felt like going for a drive,” he says, gesturing to where he’s stashed his bike two blocks over so the noise won’t wake Charlie. “Wanna come?”

“You really are nuts,” Bella decides, a look of exasperation clouding her expression. “It’s almost two in the morning.”

“So? It’s a nice night. Do you want to go for a ride?” he asks again. Bella looks ready to shake her head, but then hesitates. Backing up, she carefully opens the front door and slips back inside.

Jake’s heart sinks deep in his chest until she whispers through the darkness, “gimme a minute to throw some clothes on,” and shuts the door behind her.

For every piece to fall in place/Forever gone
without a trace/Your horizon takes its shape/No turning back, don't turn
that page/Come now, I'm leaving here tonight/Come now, let's leave it all
behind/Is that the price you pay/Running through hell/Heaven can wait

Her hands press into the flesh of his stomach, not with fear but exhilaration. Her fingers dig into his skin and he revs the throttle. The yellow lines bleed solid beneath their flying figures.

“Where are we going?” she shouts to the wind, but he can hear her over the roar. He can hear everything these days.

“Wherever you want.”

“What??”

“WHEREVER YOU WANT!” Sometimes he forgets that Bella can’t. She laughs behind him, like a bird song. Her nails dance along the edges of his tee-shirt, skimming lightly against bare skin. Her inadvertent touch sends chills across his skin that have nothing to do with the cool wind.

“Let’s go to the beach!” she yells unnecessarily. “I want to see the ocean!” The wind is wreaking havoc on his clothes – whipping his shirt and jacket around unceremoniously. Bella’s whole hand is now pressed against the warm, bare flesh of his stomach. Unconsciously he tightens the muscles beneath her fingers, and wheels the bike into a sharp U-Turn.

“As you wish,” he chuckles softly, steering them back towards the coast.

“WHAT??”

We could sit on the shore/We could just
be friends/Or we could jump in/The whole world could change in a minute/Just
one kiss could stop it spinning/We could think it through/But I don't
want to, if you don't want to/We could keep things just the same/Leave
here the way we came/with nothing to lose/But I don't want to, if you don't want to

The stones on First Beach are smooth as marbles, worried away by years and tides. Jacob skips them across the calm water while Bella twirls a much different stone on her finger.

“I’m getting married,” she mutters. Jacob is already fully aware. “I’m getting married in a month and I’m sitting out here on a beach with you in the middle of the night. What does that mean?”

“That you enjoy the pleasure of my company?” he suggests. He lobs the next stone too hard, and it splashes into the water, sinking to the ocean floor below. He wonders how long it will take to get back to the shore, and how small it will be by then.

“I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t.” Jacob replies callously. A stone the size of a baseball lands gracelessly in the water with a soft SPLOOSH. Bella continues to twirl the ring on her finger, staring out at the water but not really seeing it. There’s distance in her eyes. “I could buy you a bigger one, you know?” Jake points at the ring. Bella sighs heavily again.

“That’s not the point,” she mutters. “I’m just not looking forward to the ceremony, to the…event.”

“Then I’m sad for you,” Jake says. “Your wedding should be something you’re excited about, ten years from now. You should worry about the bridesmaids dresses, and your mom should cry. The reception should be in a tacky banquet hall, with mediocre food and a fifty dollar a hour DJ who plays Thriller all night long because people have been drinking and they keep making the same request. And you’ll dance with your Dad, who’ll try not to cry, and then you’ll go home so desperate for to be naked in bed with your husband that all those buttons on your dress, which looked so beautiful when you first put it on, are suddenly far too many in number. That’s how it should be.”

Silence grows between them as Jake throws another stone into the choppy waves.

Bella is suddenly at his side, and she throws a rock into the water too.

Then she grabs his hand with her own bare one, and its bliss…until she leans in close to him and rips out his throat with her teeth.

Sometimes it's like someone took a knife baby/Edgy
and dull and cut a six-inch valley/Through the middle of my soul/At night I
wake up with the sheets soaking wet/And a freight train running through
the/Middle of my head/Only you can cool my desire/I'm on fire

It doesn’t matter how hard he tries to control it, he’s always human when he wakes. The change is instinctual, as if he unconsciously wants to have lungs to scream with, and limbs to shake and sweat. The bed of leaves and pine needles are rough beneath his soft, human flesh, and the mosquitoes are biting him in places he’d prefer they didn’t. He swats them away as his heart tries to beat its way free of his ribcage.

He tries to focus, to force the change that usually comes so easily to him. Wolves don’t have adrenaline, they don’t feel this stress, this pain. He wants to be numb, for the both of them. His nails bite into the flesh of his palm till his fists shake, but all the power of his will cannot force the changes to come.

So he walks, because he can’t sit still and he can’t allow himself to think and so he starts putting one foot in front of the other, and hours later when the moon has waned and the sun is glowing on the horizon he realizes the direction that he’s walking.

Home.

This is not the way i saw anything
happening/We spent our summers hanging under flickering street lights/Nowadays
there's nothing on the radio/I just hear your voice, I just hear your
voice/Come on and jump in the fire, the first ones on me
Feel the burn of missing ever opportunity/If you stand the heat
we can play loud enough you'll agree/You haven't seen the last of me

He’s on her lawn, as a wolf, as a boy – some strange combination of the two. Three dawns have come and gone, with a fourth poised on the horizon. It hovers below the skyline, pulsing like a beacon, a warning.

A promise of things to come.

And it’s like the dream, only he doesn’t have to throw any stones. She’s sitting by the window, creased forehead pressed against the condensation of the morning like she’s waiting for something. For someone.

She can see him in the fading darkness, and he knows it. She stands, hands pressed against the cool glass, nails white against the surface as though she could claw her way through to him. Their eyes meet through the clear distortion and a message passes between them both. And he knows that something has changed.

And before he can take in the full meaning she’s sprinting across the lawn in her nightgown and his face is buried in her hair and it smells like home. Her fingers, naked as his chest, are tangled in his hair and his lips are on her neck and her voice is in his ear.

“Jacob.” And her voice is strong and brave and declarative and possessive, and he knows that it’ll be different this time. “My Jacob.”


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